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“Please.” The door stopped, but not before a hand eased through, a voice… “Please. It’s me. Don’t hurt her. I just want to talk. I’m not armed.”
I gasped again, and the man beside me did too. Shaking, the gunman kept his focus on the door. His gun was shaking too, and I wondered if he’d ever shot anything before. Or maybe he was just scared. He sniffed. “This is a stupid move, kid. I gave you simple instructions.”
I shrieked when that cold gun touched my temple, and I thought he would shoot me when the door swung open. It’d been quick after I screamed, and Thatcher filled the door. He had his hands up, and he was still in his Regency costume without the shirt. Thatcher knuckled his hands. “Please, don’t shoot her. I swear to fuck, I just want to talk. I don’t have any weapons. It’s just me here.”
“I don’t want to fucking talk, kid, and you’re killing her,” the gunman gritted, and tears squeezed out of my eyes when that gun dug into my temple.
I couldn’t help but think, was this it? Was this how I’d die? Like this, and with a broken fucking heart. It certainly felt that way, and I closed my eyes.
The guy grabbed my head, making me open my eyes. He shook me. “I don’t want to do this, kid. I don’t want to hurt her.”
I looked at the man upon hearing the crack in his voice. Pain lanced his face in the same way it had as when he’d been talking about his brother. He probably didn’t want to shoot me, but in my heart, I knew he would.
“Don’t make me,” the man threatened, and though Thatcher stayed in his place, he appeared horrified. Like he did care. Like he was affected when he stared at me, then the gun.
Thatcher wet his lips. “Like I said, I don’t have any weapons. I don’t have anything. You can check me. I legit just came to talk to you. I’ll do whatever you want after that. I just… Just let me say what I have to say, then I’ll do whatever you want. No one knows I’m here, and I brought no one. I swear to God, I just want to talk.”
It was rare I saw true fear on Thatcher Reed. He was so big and all-encompassing, but this situation had his large body shaking and his hands clenching. It had his expression tight and a cringe on his lovely face. He was so beautiful, handsome.
Thatcher’s throat flicked, the bright light in the hospital room reflecting off his earrings. “Please. Check me. I have no weapons.”
The man with the gun seemed to be debating, and something told me he really didn’t want to shoot me when the gun lifted off my temple. I released a breath, and Thatcher’s broad shoulders sagged when he did the same.
“You move, I shoot you both,” the guy said, coming over to Thatcher. Thatcher nodded, and after he did, the man put a hand out. He patted Thatcher down cautiously, and the expression Thatcher made while he searched him knotted my stomach. His jaw locked as well as his body. He even closed his eyes, and his hands knuckled so tight whenever the guy touched him.
His reaction had me gripping the bed. Especially when Thatcher started shaking. There was a quake to his big body every time the guy touched him, and at one point, he was breathing through it. Like he was two seconds away from punching the guy in the face and the opposite of logic made me want him to give in to the urge. I didn’t want that man touching him. Making him look that way…
Eventually, the pat-down was over, and I gripped the bed more when the guy pressed his gun to Thatcher’s head. “Go over by the window. You talk over there.”
Thatcher nodded again, and his body finally relaxed with a decent proximity between them. Actually, he appeared entirely more calm despite a gun being on him. Like he was more bothered by the man touching him than putting a gun on him.
I might have misread the situation. I didn’t know, but at the present, I was more so focused on the fact that a gun was on him. I didn’t know it was possible for me to feel more scared, but I did in that moment.
I loved him.
I did despite the gunman’s accusations and even Thatcher admitting them. I didn’t know what that made me. I just knew someone I cared about was in danger, and I couldn’t do anything to help.
“This was really stupid of you, coming here…” the gunman said. He was by my side again. “I mean, how the fuck did you even get in here?”
“A window on the first floor. No one saw me.” Thatcher’s focus stayed on me, his expression calm but haunted. He was clearly trying to reach me from across the room, and I was here, but my mind was in a whirl.
Thatcher…
How was it possible he’d done the things he was accused of? He was so kind and sweet. True, he was a big guy, but he was such a teddy bear when he let his guard down. None of this made sense.
“I wanted to say you don’t know the whole story,” Thatcher continued again, only keeping his attention on me. His face screwed up. “You don’t know shit.”
His voice cracked, and my heart tattered at the sound. He looked to be in physical pain. Like someone was cutting him with a dull knife.
“There’s nothing you can possibly say that could excuse what you did to my brother, you sick fuck,” the man said, and Thatcher winced. I did too. The man cringed. “Nothing you can fucking say.”
His voice cracked too, but Thatcher gave no reaction to that. If anything, the man wasn’t there anymore. It was like just Thatcher and I were in the room then. His eyes narrowed at me like he was almost pleading…
Snowflake…
I could almost hear his voice in my head, and the next thing I knew, he wasn’t looking at me anymore. It was like I wasn’t in the room, Thatcher’s blue eyes only on the gunman now.
“Nothing, huh?” Thatcher questioned, and the gunman shook his head.
