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“And let me guess,” I say. “To ensure nothing happens to him, I’ll have to pay you some cash. Or maybe some gold. Or Bitcoin. Or precious freaking jewels. Right?”
“No.” She’s crying now, and I start to take her more seriously. “I’m telling you because you need to get out of there. We were never close, but hell, I don’t want anybody to get killed.”
I’m about to tell her I don’t believe her again, about to call her a bully for even trying to make me believe this. It’s twisted to call somebody and drop all this crap on them. Maybe somebody else would give her words more weight, but she’s been too cruel in the past, lied too much, and ganged up on me.
I’m about to tell her all of this, and I think they’re all good points, but then, from the restaurant, there’s a gunshot. A loud pop bursts through the walls.
“Get out!” Lily screams down the phone. “Hide somewhere! Don’t get hurt, Jane! Please!”
I drop my phone as time slows down, draining to creeping moments. I can still hear Lily’s voice, screaming at me to hide, to find a safe space, and then there’s another gunshot.
I don’t think. I start running.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Luke
I struggle to catch up to what’s happening—too much at once.
Two loud cracks that sound like a whip at first. I throw myself around toward the sound, expecting to see somebody holding a whip, some flash-mob scenario. My mind crashes into the present. It’s the guy from Jane’s apartment, the douchebag. Only he’s wearing chef’s whites now. He’s got a pistol in his hand, and tears are running down his face.
“Sir,” Christopher yells, leaping in my way.
A third gunshot sends Christopher’s body shuddering backward. Over the douche’s shoulder, I see my woman appear in the hallway.
“Luke,” she screams.
My security team is rushing toward the man, weaving through the tables, but I tell them to stay back so they don’t come under fire. Christopher was seated close by, but now he’s on the floor, clutching his stomach. There’s so much blood.
When the douche looks toward my woman, suddenly, I black out. Everything fades away, and then I jolt awake. My throat hurts from shouting. I’m on top of the man, my hands wrapped around his neck, slamming him against the floor.
There’s a weird pulsing in my shoulder. Jane is still shouting, but it all seeps into nothing as I pick the man up, hold him a few feet off the floor, and slam him into the wall as hard as I can. He roars as his body gives a violent jolt, legs kicking, hands reaching for something. I turn and spot the gun. One of my security men scoops it up.
“Enough, sir,” Lance says, placing his hand on my arm.
I wince from the pain pulsing in my shoulder. It’s a wound with too much blood pouring out. When I collapse, I hear the douche yelling at them to let him go, protesting like they will give a damn.
“J-Jane,” I say, lying on my back, which is annoying. I want to sit up, but it’s like there’s a heavy blanket draped over me. The aching in my shoulder gets worse.
Jane appears, her eyes red, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Oh, Luke.”
“Ch-Christopher,” I say.
“They’re helping him. What do I do?”
“Ma’am.”
A security guard kneels at my side and applies pressure to the wound, but I don’t break eye contact with Jane, holding her in my gaze, knowing she’s the last thing I’ll ever want to see. I won’t die from this, but I will tell her everything before I pass out. Even if she doesn’t have a crush, I’ve got destiny in my heart and certainty in my soul.
I love you, I say, but no, I don’t. I can’t speak anymore. I fall into a dark abyss, and then, just like that, it’s bright. Huge waves of sunlight burst into the scene—Jane sitting in a chair by the window, a baby in her arms, rocking side to side.
She looks up and smiles. Then everything goes dark.
When I wake, the words are still on my lips, my mind cloudy, and events difficult to grasp. They dance away, except for one essential fact. I was going to tell Jane I love her because it’s the truth.
I’m not sure how the hell that can be possible. If somebody had told me I’d feel this way just a few weeks ago—hell, days ago—I would’ve laughed, but the feeling is there all the same. It’s the type of love I always thought was a joke, the first-sight kind. I know without question that I will always cherish, value, and need her.
“Luke,” she whispers beside me, and everything comes crashing back.
I’m in a hospital bed, propped up, my shoulder bandaged. The pain is dull and distant. The date, the shooting, and before… Jane told me the crush wasn’t real.
