Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)(44)
I can’t bear to lose Livie. Or Mia.
Finally Storm stops asking me questions. She instead grabs hold of my hand and holds it to her chest. And I let her, finding solace in her racing heart beat. It tells me that I’m not alone in this.
A circus of police and ambulance lights greet us when we arrive at the apartment. The four of us run past the opened gate, past an anxious Tanner who’s talking to a police officer, past the wrangle of curious neighbors, all the way to Storm’s apartment to find the door half-hanging off its hinges, split in two by someone’s fist or head or both. Three police officers hover over a hunched male form. I can’t see his face. All I see are tattoos and hand cuffs.
“I live here,” Storm announces as she breezes past them and through the door, not batting an eye at the guy. I follow her steps to find a puffy-eyed Livie sitting on the couch with a form curled up on her lap, sucking her thumb and choking on ragged sobs, well past the point of hysterical crying. An officer stands over them, reviewing notes. The table lamp that sits next to the door is in pieces and Storm’s giant stainless steel frying pan rests on the ground beside Livie.
Storm is on her knees in front of Mia in a second. “Oh, baby girl!”
“Mama!” Two scrawny arms fly out to wrap around Storm’s neck. Storm scoops Mia up and into her arms and begins to sway. Tears run down her cheeks as she hums a song.
“She’s unharmed,” the police officer assures us, his words releasing the lungs worth of air I’ve been holding. I rush to Livie, throwing my arms around her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you. It was so scary!” she cries.
Her words hardly register. I’m too busy fumbling with her arms and legs, grabbing her chin, rotating her head this way and that, checking for wounds.
Livie laughs, grabbing hold of my hands and holding them together in hers. “I’m fine. I got him good.”
“What …. what do you mean, ‘you got him good?’” I give my head a shake.
Livie shrugs. “He got his head through the door so I slammed Storm’s gargantuan frying pan over it. That slowed him down.”
What? I look at the pan lying on the floor. I look at my dainty fifteen year old sister. I look at the pan again. And then, whether in relief, in fear, in madness—likely all three—I burst out laughing. Suddenly we’re both doubled over, falling against each other as we laugh and snort hysterically. I clutch my middle in pain, the muscles tested in a way they haven’t been for too long.
“Who’s the crazy in handcuffs?” I whisper between fits.
Livie’s laughter cuts short, her eyes widening expressively. “Mia’s dad.”
I gasp as I glance back at the busted door and then over at Mia and Storm, my imagination running wild. He wanted to get to his daughter. “What was he doing here?” I can’t keep the horror from my voice, all urge to laugh evaporating. Dread ripples through me like an aftershock, permanently detaching the unstable plates I’ve balanced myself on all these years. Just the thought of something bad happening to Mia sends me reeling. Or Storm, for that matter.
Because I love them.
Mia’s not just that gap-toothed kid who Livie babysits. Storm’s not just my stripper neighbor who got me a job. As hard as I’ve tried to keep everyone at arm’s length, just like Trent, those two have found a way in. A different way, but one that has inevitably led to a place in a heart I thought long since frozen and incapable of feeling.
Livie wraps her arms around her body as she watches Mia and Storm and I see fear envelop her thoughts. “I’m just so glad Trent came when he did.”
Another gasp. “Trent?” I jump to my feet and spin around, my heart leaping into my throat as I scan the apartment. “Where? Where is he?”
“Here.” I turn to find him passing through the entry way. I’m on my feet and colliding into him in seconds. His arms tighten around me instantly, protecting me with their strength. He buries his face into my hair and we stay like that for a long time before he pulls back to rest his forehead against mine. My hands slip around his sides to his back, my fingers crawling up to dig into his shoulder blades and yank him back close to me. His muscles tense beneath me. All the fear and nerves and terror of the day is suddenly morphing into some animalistic need. I need to hold him. I need Trent. We stay like that, as I press my nose against his chest, inhaling the wonderful mix of woodsy and ocean scents.
“I missed you,” I hear myself whisper, surprising even me. Kacey Cleary doesn’t admit to missing people out loud. But Trent feels like something valuable misplaced and then found again and I’m overwhelmed with relief.
Trent leans in and kisses my jaw line, near my earlobe. “Missed you too, babe,” he whispers into my ear, sending shivers through my core.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you sure you don’t want to press charges?” A voice asks.
“I’m sure. It’s just a bruise,” Trent answers, not releasing me from his grip, like he’s as in need of me as I am of him.
“What bruise?” I pull away and look up to see Trent’s bottom lip swollen. My hand flies to it, but he grabs it and holds it away. “I’m fine. Really. It’s nothing. Completely worth it.”
“I’ll need to ask this young lady a few questions. Are you her guardian?” I hear the cop ask and I assume he’s talking to Storm so I continue staring up at Trent’s face, unable to peel away. He’s equally unwavering in his gaze.