So long as I survive to see it.
The coffee shop has been a constant stream of patrons all day today. Since Tessa and Zane had something to handle in town, it’s Weston who’s sitting at the table with Sawyer. The two men have been there all day, playing cards and chatting.
Pastor Reeves was even here earlier, sitting with Sawyer before Weston arrived. They’d visited for a while, and it was nice to see, given Sawyer’s hesitation to attend service regularly.
It’s just me working right now since Katelyn had to leave to go to an appointment. Of course, both Sawyer and Weston offered to help, and for a while, I let Sawyer run the register. But when things started to die down a smidge, I sent him back to rest. After last night’s declaration, I’m desperate for him to heal and my normal life to resume. That way, we can actually get to know each other as more than friends.
There’s still so much I haven’t told him.
Does he have more secrets, too? I think of those scars on his back. Cigarette burns left from a childhood riddled with trauma. It makes me sick. And so very angry. Remembering that God has a plan and that He was there with Sawyer is hard to do when all I want to do is the exact same thing to the man who put those scars there. Just to see how he likes it.
The door opens, and three teenage girls come in, each of them giggling.
“Hey, what can I get you ladies?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing.” The one in the middle looks to each of the girls on either side. “But we have something for you.” She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a small, blue box, then hands it to me.
“A present? For me?” I accept the gift with a smile. We’re such a small town that it’s likely word has spread about what’s going on. My guess is that someone is just trying to be kind. I open it right as the girls are racing back out onto the street.
But the moment I see what’s inside, all joy vanishes like a heavy rock beneath the surface of a lake.
My heart begins to hammer.
Bile burns the back of my throat. I toss the box to the counter and sprint outside after them. “Hey! Who gave this to you!” I scream, but they’re already gone.
“Anastasia!” Weston grabs and spins me right before glass shatters.
I scream, the shards raining down on me. But Sawyer is right there, dragging me into the coffee shop and to safety while Weston retrieves his firearm and scans the street before rushing out.
“Are you hit?” Sawyer demands as soon as he’s got me tucked back behind a wall. His good hand travels over my arms, my face, my legs, searching for injuries.
“I—I don’t think so.” My entire body is trembling, but even so, my gaze lands on that discarded box.
Sirens wail in the distance, but all I can see is what was in the box.
“Baby, talk to me!” Sawyer’s hand grips my chin, and he forces me to look at him. His caramel eyes are wide and full of fear.
“I think I’m okay.”
“You’re bleeding. Don’t move.” Staying low, he moves through the shop and disappears behind the counter. Seconds later, he returns with my first aid kit. Using only his good arm, he sets it down and unzips it, stabilizing it with his knee.
The entire time Sawyer’s moving around the contents looking for what he needs, I’m focusing only on the contents of that tiny box.
One question echoes through my mind loud enough that it drowns out everything else.
How does this monster know my deepest, darkest secret?
Chapter 17
Sawyer
I’ve been shot more times than I’d care to admit. No matter what danger I’ve ever faced, I never let fear win. At first, it was pride, my refusal to face death afraid. And then, once Zane introduced me to faith, I started realizing that death in this world doesn’t matter. Not when we have faith in Jesus Christ and what He did for us.
But seeing Weston throw Anastasia to the ground as a bullet shattered her front window—that was more fear than I’ve ever felt in my life. Those moments when she was too stunned to speak, when the blood began to trickle down the side of her face, courtesy of a shard of glass, I’d seen my entire world come crumbling down.
She’s sitting at her kitchen table now, all the window shades drawn, that small box right in front of her. She hasn’t said anything, hasn’t answered any of my questions. Even when the paramedics were talking to her, she only answered with a single word.
“The street is clear,” Leopold says as he and Weston come into the room.
