Page 114 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

“You’re okay. Come here.” He pulled me against his chest.

I heard the other footsteps rushing around us. They could take care of this. I could collapse into Gav and let him hold me together as I fell apart.

“You’re okay. Everything’s over.”

“She shot my dad.”

“In the fatty part of his arm. He’s going to be fine.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, seeing the edges of my vision clear.

“I shot Ira.”

“I saw.”

“Is he dead?”

“No.”

“What about the kid?”

“Kid,” Gav scoffed. “He’s not that much younger than you. He’s okay. Everyone is okay. You don’t have to worry about anyone. Take a few slow, deep breaths with me.”

I followed his lead, breathing with him and pressing my ear to his chest to listen to his heartbeat.

Slowly but surely, the panic started to recede, leaving me feeling shaky and wrung-out.

“Dad?” I whimpered as I pulled away from Gav.

“I’m right here, Nugget,” my dad said, making me turn to find him still sitting on the ground with Leo looking at his arm. “I’m okay.”

“Can you come with me, Cait? I want to get you back in the car while we get your dad treated and figure all this out.”

Maybe I should have insisted I stay, see this out, listen to all the facts of the situation.

But, honestly, I was just exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, physically. And I knew I could trust Gav to handle things.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he agreed, leading me back through the trees to the car.

Where we walked up to the kid with a medical kit spread over the roof of the car. His shirt was off. And he was leaned over himself, shoving tweezers into the hole in his side.

“Oh, God,” I groaned, turning, dropping to my knees, and heaving.

“Don’t think about it,” Gav said. Like he knew where my mind was going. “Think of long, romantic walks through the bookstore. Collecting more bookish totes. Fuzzy socks. Warm blankets. Junk food.”

That was helping.

I sucked in a few deep breaths, then let Gav pull me back to my feet and lead me to the car, using his body as a shield so I didn’t see anything that would make me sick. Even knowing what was going on was bad enough to make my stomach keep lurching.

“Are you going to be okay for a few minutes?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you just saying that to say it, or do you mean it?”

“I think I mean it.”