Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(53)

My side was on fire, but I had to move. My boy wasn’t going to win this fight. His dad was too strong. But there was nowhere to go. The way out was to get past them, and as they exchanged punches and banged into walls before rolling onto the floor, it was impossible.

I found my voice with another scream when the sound of the gun rang out once more, deafening me all over again. I scrambled on all fours, slipping in my own blood as I wedged myself into a corner.

The fighting continued.

The grunts. The groans. The sound of my sobs.

He was losing.

He was on his back.

That man was going to kill my boy, the only safety I had left. And just like with my mother, I had no idea how to save him.

Drawing my legs up to my chest, I begged the universe, the stars, the gods, and Jesus himself to help us.

And then, just as quickly as my hero had arrived when I’d been lying on the floor in the middle of the food court, holding my dead mother’s hand, our savior appeared in the form of the big tattooed guy I’d seen hiding behind one of the tables.

Blood roared in my ears as I watched him enter the kitchen. He no longer looked like a frightened child, but rather a murderous man on a mission. His face was tight and his eyes were hollow pits, but his steps were filled with dangerous purpose that broke the dam inside me, flooding my system with hope.

Without hesitation, he dove into the fighting, tackling the gunman off my boy.

I tried to keep up, but it was all happening so fast.

My boy shouted for someone to get the gun.

His father cussed.

But the tattooed man said nothing.

Fists against flesh, heads against tile, and then a second later, just as it had started, a single gunshot ended it all.

The room fell silent, my pulse pounding in my ears was the only sound I heard.

The tattooed guy rolled off the pile first, the gun in his hand.

And I waited, holding my breath and praying to gods I wasn’t sure existed that my boy would be next.

I rose to my knees, searching for any sign of life.

But he was so torturously still.

As far as I knew, I’d lost my entire family that day. But I still had him and I needed him to be okay.

If it was truly over, I needed him to be okay.

“Oh, God,” I cried when he suddenly pushed up to his knees—swaying and unbalanced—revealing the gunman dead beneath him, a puddle of red haloing around him.

My boy’s face was covered in blood, and it had already swelled to the point that he was unrecognizable. But his blue eyes felt like spotlights when they landed on me. “Are you…” He fell over to the side, catching himself on a hand, his other going around his bloody midsection.

My whole body shook, but nothing could have stopped me from getting to him. I rushed toward him and threw my arms around his neck, holding him up as he tried to fall over.

He didn’t return my embrace as he burst into loud sobs, his body shaking with every breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

He’d saved my life. I had no idea what he could possibly be sorry for.

“Stop,” I choked out during my own hysterical fit of relief. “Please stop.”

He never stopped though.

Not until the paramedics rushed in and dragged us apart.





CAVEN


The sound of Rosalee’s cry hit me hard but it was Hadley’s scream that shot straight to my central nervous system.

“Caven!”

I was up off the couch before my eyes found them across the room. Hadley was on her knees, beside the table, her face so pale and filled with fear that it nearly stopped me in my tracks. It was my baby girl crying in her arms that pushed me faster.

“What happened?” I barked.

Hadley shook her head, her eyes unfocused as she pushed to her feet and lifted our daughter in my direction.

“Daddy!” Rosalee cried as I plucked her into my arms. “I fell down.” Blood seeped from her mouth, spiking my pulse, but she was alive and crying.

After years of practice, I could deal with the rest.

After marching her to the kitchen, I set her on the counter and snatched a paper towel from the dispenser. I dampened it before pressing it to her upper lip to clear away some of the blood.

“Tilt your head back so I can look at it.” I instructed, and though she was still wailing, she did as she’d been told.

There was a nice gash on her upper lip, but her teeth were fine and the blood was already starting to slow.

“You’re fine. Just breathe.” I kept my hand on her thigh as I stretched toward the closest cabinet and retrieved a coffee mug. Filling it under the faucet, I gave her a reassuring smile. “You’re good. Just a little busted lip. Let’s rinse your mouth out. Cold water will help stop the bleeding.”

Rosalee swished water around like she did after she brushed her teeth. When she repeated the process, the water came out almost clear this time, and I finally took a second to look for Hadley.

My heart stopped all over again the moment I saw her. A semi-truck’s worth of guilt and understanding slammed into me. Her face was still so white, a stark comparison to her green eyes, that it made her appear almost supernatural. Her arms were drawn close to her chest, and her trembling hands were covering her mouth as she stared at Rosalee so intently that I wasn’t sure she knew anyone else was in the room.