“You come in here, distracting her with your dick, and she can’t realize she loves me.”
Because that makes sense.
“She doesn’t love you,” I counter.
“She does.”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t.”
“She does,” he shouts.
“No.” The low, calm tone I use is at direct odds with his agitated yelling. “She loves me.”
I don’t give one fuck that she hasn’t admitted to it; I know she does.
“No, no, no, no, no, no,” Paul chants, starting to unravel.
“She does.” Two more steps and I’m now in the middle of the cabin.
“No.” He whips his gun around and the room sucks in a collective breath.
Time stops and every muscle in my body locks. Staring down the barrel of the 9mm myself barely even fazes me, but seeing it pointed at the love of my life has me quaking in my metaphorical boots.
The thick black border around her pale irises becomes the most prominent feature of her face as her eyes flare wide like saucers.
“Tell him,” Paul demands.
“Tell him what, Paul?” Maddey speaks like she’s talking to a child.
“Tell him it’s me you love.” He waves the gun in her face.
Two more steps and I’m coming to the end of the kitchen table, only stopping when the gun swings back my way.
“STOP!” Paul screams, coming completely unhinged. He can rage all he wants; the important thing is the gun is on me and not Maddey.
The reprieve doesn’t last long. “Tell him, Maddey.” The barrel almost smacks her in the face when he whips it back around. “TELL HIM!”
“No.” Her shoulders roll back as she stares down Paul and his gun, her hand clutching something I can’t make out and coming to her stomach.
What is she doing?
Is she insane?
Doesn’t she know it’s okay to lie when your life is in jeopardy?
I just had to go and fall in love with a McClain.
“It’s because of him, isn’t it?”
Maddey follows the path of the gun as it swings back to me.
“ANSWER ME!”
Back to Maddey.
“This has nothing to do with Dex.”
Back to me.
“Of course it does. He’s here and now you’re confused again.”
Back to Maddey.
“No.”
“No?” Paul arches a brow and comes back to me so I’m once again the target. “Maybe I should just shoot him and eliminate the competition.”
“NO!” Maddey screams. Something arches through the air as she jumps from the bed and launches herself at Paul.
Gunshots echo in the small space, and I wait for the tell-tale pain.
Chapter Fifty-Six
I fucking hate hospitals. The smell, the sounds, the lingering sense of death that permeates the hallways. Intellectually, I know they do good, know they heal and help fix the broken, but none of that hits home as I pace the tiny waiting room while a team of surgeons work to save Maddey’s life.
I may not be a big believer in serendipity, but the way the Coast Guard’s Maritime Security Response Team showed up seconds after Maddey was shot might just convert me.
Blood…there was so much blood. What the hell was she thinking?
The skin on my hands is raw from washing it—her blood—off of them, but it doesn’t stop me from rubbing them together. The sting of pain helps ground me in the moment.
“No!” Ryan’s shout has everyone, including me, looking in his direction. “Don’t tell me to calm down, JD.”
I’ve been keeping my distance from the hockey captain since the rest of their group arrived at the hospital. Any time I’ve met his gaze, he’s looked at me like I just told him Bauer stopped making his favorite hockey stick.
“Why are you still here?” He steps around his sister and into my space. He may have a couple of inches on me, but I’m bulkier and a whole lot more deadly, so he doesn’t intimidate me.
I don’t dignify his question with a response, having had enough of his shit earlier.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“That’s not gonna happen.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“You don’t deserve to be here. You’re the reason they had to pull a bullet out of her. Maybe if you had spent more time actually working on finding out who the stalker was and less time working on how to get into Maddey’s pants, we wouldn’t be here right now.” Ryan shoves my shoulder, but I don’t react.
Acid churns in my gut, wondering if he is right. Sure, what I’ve been doing with Maddey is so much more than getting into her pants, but did it pull my focus? Was I trying so hard to get her to admit her feelings for me the same way she did for him that I lost sight of the true reason I’m here? Is that how Paul slipped through the cracks?
“I don’t know why the fuck Just even called you”—Ryan points to Justin behind me—“because clearly you being here only made the situation worse.” He slams a fist onto the closest chair, the sound reverberating through the room. “You should have never fucking called him,” Ryan says over my shoulder, speaking to Justin this time.
Do not punch Tink’s bestie, I tell myself when Ryan shoves me again. If you harm a hair on his stupid, annoyingly perfect hockey head, she is liable to tase you in the nuts again.
“Fuck!” Ryan punches the chair again. “You’re just some asshole with a hero complex.”
I’m able to keep myself from jumping off the cliff of anger, but the longer he berates me, the more I worry that he might be right.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
What kind of Shakespearean tragedy am I living in where I finally realize I’m in love with a man, only to have him be held at gunpoint by a psychopath?
The headache that was starting to fade earlier is now back in all-Seven-Dwarfs-digging glory.
In the distance, I can make out the sound of deep male voices…arguing?
Is Paul still trying to say I’m in love with him? When is he going to get a clue?
In addition to the headache still raging, there’s a throb in my shoulder that is both blinding and hazy around the edges.
I go to bring my hand up to check on the spot causing me pain, but then something pulls the skin on the back of it.
“Madz?”
Sammy? Why does he sound so…relieved?
Bitch, open your damn eyes and get some answers.
With considerable effort, I lift my lids to see my partner in crime hovering over me.
“She’s awake,” he shouts over his shoulder then turns his caramel eyes back to me, scanning me from head to toe.
A door slams against a wall followed by a rush of footsteps, and then I’m surrounded by hulking figures.
I pay them no mind as I try to process what I can. Looking down, I take in the blue and white material of a thin cotton hospital gown, and sure enough, an IV is taped to the back of my hand.
Machines beep from somewhere off to the side, but aside from the IV, I don’t feel like I’m connected to anything else.
Questions come at me from all angles, but I ignore them as I follow the line of the white blanket tucked in over my lower half and up to where the snaps of the gown are open at my left shoulder. White bandages are wrapped around the joint, so aside from telling me I’m injured, I can’t make anything else out.