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I could have hit her. I could have hurt her.
What was I thinking, coming here? Who did I think I was, letting her work as my temp?
Bristol puts one of her small, clean hands on mine. “I think you should sit down.”
All my ribs are cracked open. My heart doesn’t fit. It’s a useless muscle now, and it bursts from the pressure. From her kindness. From the awful mistake she’s making.
She’s worried about me.
Me.
I was a goddamn fool. I thought there was nothing worse than a woman leaving. I’ve been so sure of it. For as long as I can remember.
But it was an unfounded fear.
The nightmare is a woman who stays.
The nightmare is Bristol, touching me like this, understanding in her eyes when she can never understand.
She’s not going to walk away from me. She’s never going to leave.
I have to leave her. I have to saveher.
Because there’s hope for Bristol Anderson. She’s sweet and smart and determined and the world is going to love her.
There’s no hope for me.
Her sister’s sobs beat themselves into my head. Hope for all of them, if I leave them be.
I’m afraid to move. No other choice. I’m too close to Bristol. I could hurt her.
But I’m a weak motherfucker after all. I let her touch me for another heartbeat. Another two.
And then I ease my hand away from hers.
“Don’t come any closer.”
Bristol shakes her head, stepping in anyway. I back up. That puts me closer to the twins, and I can’t be there either. If Mia screams again my head will split in two. I’m about to lose teeth as it stands. I have too much adrenaline and not enough air.
I don’t trust myself. They shouldn’t trust me, either.
I angle around Bristol, giving her a wide berth. “Stay over there. With them. Where I can’t reach you.”
“Will, please. You’re—”
“I’m going to take care of this. There are things that have to happen now.” Cops, unfortunately. I take out my phone. This fucking thing is rattling, too. I squeeze it in one fist so I can see the screen to dial.
First call is to my private security firm. The one that staffs my apartment building and the Summit offices. My jaw aches from forcing my teeth to be still long enough to get the orders out.
“We’ll have an advance team there in twenty minutes,” the man on the other end of the line says.
I dial 9-1-1 next.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” A woman’s voice. Warm. Collected.
Me. I’m the emergency. Send as many people as you have to get me the fuck out of here and keep me away from Bristol Anderson.
“We’ve had a break-in. A man with a gun entered and threatened—” My Bristol. Mine. “—the woman who lives here.”
