Wordlessly, Harper nods. Her hands tremble, and I realize her entire body is shaking.
I try to inspect her as quickly as I can, looking for injuries. “The blood, Harper. Whose is it?” I try again, this time more agitated that she can’t focus.
She’s probably in shock from whatever transpired, but I don’t like being kept waiting or in the dark.
“His—” Harper gestures to the hallway behind her, and there’s a trail of blood seeping into the carpet.
I glance past her, take a side-step, and I can see the body, the man crumpled on the floor.
“He’s dead,” Nova says, confirming the question I haven’t yet asked.
“He broke into Zeke’s bedroom and was kidnapping my son. I had to stop him. It was self-defense.”
“Our son,” I correct her, pulling her against me. “How did you shoot him?”
“With a gun.”
I pull back, surprised. Did she really just answer with a smartass remark?
The look on her face tells me she’s disassociating. Her mind is far from her body, probably reliving the trauma over and over again.
My jaw clenches. I hate that I wasn’t there to protect her. My hands are on her cheeks as I try to get her to make eye contact with me.
“The weapon, Harper. What gun did you use?” I grind out.
“The one in the hall closet.”
Shit.
We had a gun in our bedroom closet, locked and stored securely, which was intended to be used in the event of a break-in or attack.
She wasn’t supposed to use the gun in the hall closet.
In fact, she wasn’t even supposed to know about it, but when she found it putting linens away, I didn’t want to worry her. I made up the excuse that it was solely to be used for emergencies, because, quite frankly, that gun could land my ass in prison. I made it abundantly clear it was not to be used at the shooting range.
The gun needed to disappear. Why the hell hadn’t Ashton gotten rid of the evidence?
It was his gun that I used to shoot and kill Massimo.
Wincing, I curse and glance her over. This evening just went from bad to worse. “Get showered and dressed. You need clean clothes. We need to burn all of the evidence.”
“Burn it?” Harper repeats, her brow pinched. “Why?” Slowly, she’s coming back, like she’s been sinking at the bottom of a pool and is finally breaking the surface, coming up for air.
Ashton and Liam help Nova with Zeke, trying to settle him down until I finally offer a hand.
But Zeke doesn’t want me.
I wrestle him from Nova and cuddle him, trying to calm him down, offering him kisses and hugs, even grabbing a grape popsicle from the freezer, hoping to distract him with his favorite flavor.
The tears are now silent but keep flowing, and Harper can’t seem to look at him and can barely look at me.
I carry Zeke closer to Harper, but stand so that the dead body isn’t in Zeke’s line of sight. Zeke slowly licks his popsicle, his eyes red and splotchy as he sniffles. A few more tears streak down his cheeks.
I rest my forehead against Harper’s. “What’s going through your head?” It’s just the three of us, Harper, Zeke, and me.
Nova is relaying everything that happened to Ashton and Liam in the living room, giving them the full details of the assailant and what Harper had to do.
“I shot him in self-defense.” Harper’s answer reaches not only my ears, but Liam and Ashton’s as well.
