As we pull up in front of the smoking building, where police cruisers and fire trucks are already on the scene, I make a bargain with fate—give me Theo, and it can take whatever else it wants. My building. My money. My career. My hands. I can find another way to make music. I can’t find another Theo. There’s only one of her.
Please, let there still be one of her…
Bolting out of the car, I dash around the officer stringing yellow crime scene tape around the light post on the corner. “Stop! You can’t go in there!”
I ignore his shout and hurry to join the men already on the front lines, clearing the rubble. Before anyone else can tell me to stop, I find a place and start dragging bricks and hunks of plaster from a mound covering the side of the building, justifying my right to be there with a simple statement. “My girlfriend’s inside. I’m not going anywhere.”
The firefighters could tell me to get lost, of course—or dispatch two of their bigger guys to drag me back behind the tape—but thankfully, they don’t waste their time, and I keep doing the only thing I can. At least it’s something.
I funnel all my pulsing fear into clearing a path for the rescue workers to get inside, Theo’s name echoing through my head on an endless loop like a prayer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Theodora
I come to, teeth-first, gums screaming, and every muscle in my body clenched tight.
It’s the strangest sensation, this certainty that if I relax a single sinew, my teeth will shatter and crumble out of my mouth. The weirdness consumes my attention for a good thirty seconds, long enough for the smell of burnt plastic to make it through my one unclogged nostril.
The smell brings it all rushing back—the man in the restaurant, running through the kitchen, finding a place to hide, and the ominous boom.
And then the door attacked me like a wooden block hurled by an angry child.
And it knocked me airborne, and I hurt my head when I landed.
And now…
Now there are heavy things under me and on top of me, and I can feel the walls are too close, way closer than they should be.
Oh God…
Being buried alive is one of my top five worst fears of all time, right after being forced to wade through a swimming pool filled with live snakes.
My heart pounds harder and faster, and the throbbing in my face becomes a vicious pulse that makes my swollen lips twitch.
I creak open my eyelids to assess just how much trouble I’m in, but it’s dark in here, wherever here is. After a moment, my vision adjusts enough to make out a pile of rubble above my head, but I can’t move enough to see much else.
Lifting my throbbing arm gingerly from my side—it hurts, but it doesn’t feel broken—I curl my fingers around the hard thing sitting on my face. It’s rough to the touch, but cool, which seems like a good sign. There’s still that burning smell in the air, however, which is all the reason I need to risk shoving the rock-brick-whatever-it-is from my mouth.
A skittering, rumbling sound follows, but nothing new slides onto me, and after a moment it feels safe to shift my head gently from side to side.
Thank God, my neck seems to be okay, but the throb in my head is almost as painful as my mouth. It feels like someone tied weights to the backs of my eyes, reminding me of the time Bridget and I hung upside down from the monkey bars too long in junior high, and I had a migraine for twelve hours after.
Upside down…
Upside down?
Clenching my stomach muscles, I lift my head, gazing up the length of my aching body to see faint light coming from somewhere close to my feet. The moment my head pulls even with my shoulders, the pressure behind my eyes dissipates, confirming my hunch that down is up and up is down.
I can only hold the position for a few seconds before I have to relax back onto my bed of rocks. The longer I’m awake, the more certain I am that nothing is seriously wrong with me—even my face feels better now that the rock is gone, and a careful probe with my tongue proves my teeth are still lodged firmly where they’re supposed to be—but I’m so tired.
And cold.
And numb around the edges.
All I want to do is go back to sleep, to sink into that soft oblivion where I won’t be aware of the fact that I’m in deep shit. But the fact remains that I am in deep shit. And I’m probably going into shock, which can be fatal on its own, even barring any possible internal injuries.
I can’t afford to sleep. I have to get out. Or at the very least call for help and hope that a rescue team is around to hear me.
You can’t blow up a building in Hidden Kill Bay without attracting attention. It’s one of my favorite things about my hometown.
That, and the beaches.
We’ve got some really nice beaches.
Stop thinking about the beaches, Theo, and start digging. If you can see light, you must not be far from the surface.
But the surface of what? A pile of burning rubble? What if things are worse up there than they are down here? I mean, at least here I have all these nice comfy rocks to sleep on.
I should really just take a nap. Everything is better after a nap.
I let my eyes slide closed, the protests of the inner voice growing faint and easier to ignore. She’s just an uptight worrywart, and if she knew how to relax and appreciate a nap, we wouldn’t be in this situation. We would have stayed home on the couch, crying and watching sad movies and eating a gallon of ice cream, lamenting the loss of our job and our happiness and our heart.
Our heart…
Cutter…
His name drifts through my sluggish thoughts, and the fog begins to retreat.
What was it Windbreaker said while he was chasing me? Something about collateral damage and this not being about me…
I bet he meant the bomb. Thanks, hindsight. He must have known it was here and been trying to get me out of the building before it exploded. Though I doubt his motives were all that pure. A pesky body discovered in the rubble would make this more interesting to the police than he’d want it to be.
No matter what he would have done with me, this explosion was foul play. Maybe Windbreaker—or whoever hired him—just wanted to destroy an empty building for kicks.
But more likely he wanted something else and blowing up the building—Cutter’s building—was a way to get it.
Cutter could have a target on his back.
What if that man is out there right now, hunting Cutter down with a gun or a knife or just his scary bare hands? Cutter is strong, but Windbreaker looked like a professional, the kind of person who strangles people and small animals for a living.
Why small animals? Why would a hitman need to strangle small animals, Theo? You need to get your head checked, woman, because I can promise you that you aren’t thinking straight.
Right. Head checked. I’m going to do that.
But first I have to find Cutter.
Pulling in a deep breath, I shout as loud as I can, “Help! Please, help me!”
Almost instantly, I hear voices and then a louder, oh, so dear voice shout, “Theo! Hold on, baby, we’re coming for you. We’re almost there—you sound close!”
Cutter! He’s here! And he’s okay. At least for now.
“Cutter, be careful, there’s a bad guy.” My words turn into a cough as I suck in a lungful of dust dislodged by the rescue team near my feet. “Windbreaker. He was wearing a blue windbreaker.”
“Just try to relax, ma’am,” another voice says.
“But he could still be here,” I insist. “Watching. Sometimes the sickos like to stick around and watch. I know, I listen to true crime podcasts every night before I go to bed.”
“No wonder you have trouble getting a good night’s sleep, princess,” Cutter says, so close now. I feel his warm hand close around my ankle, triggering a sob of relief.
“I want out.” I suddenly feel more trapped than I did before. Knowing I’m almost free has unleashed a flood wave of claustrophobia
that sets me to trembling as I lift my head. And then my gaze meets Cutter’s through the growing hole by my feet, and I start crying like a baby.
It’s just so good to see him, to know that he’s right there waiting for me.
As the crew shifts the last of the rubble out of the way, an older man with a mustache warns me to lie still, but I’m already sitting up and reaching for Cutter, going into his arms as a cheer rises from the firefighters around us.
He gathers me close, as I wrap my arms tight around his neck, and finally, I feel safe.
“She could have a spinal injury. We need to get her to the ambulance,” the man behind me says, but I shake my head and burrow my face deeper into Cutter’s neck.
I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had a few more moments of this.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmurs as he gently strokes my hair. “I’ve never been that scared.” He shudders against me, and I squeeze him tighter.
“I’m okay, just a little bruised.” My voice is scratchy but getting stronger. I pull back, gazing up into his worried green eyes. “But there was a man here. He chased me through the restaurant, and he said—”
“I’ll kill him,” Cutter says in a weirdly calm voice. “But we’re not going to worry about him now. We’re going to get you to the hospital.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“You’re going to the hospital,” Cutter insists. “That’s non-negotiable.”
“But I need to tell you about the guy first. I think he’s the one who rigged the bomb or whatever it was. He’s the one who blew up the building.” I turn over my shoulder, expecting to find a giant pile of rubble, but the old factory is still standing. There’s a massive hole in the back wall of the restaurant space, offering a view into the ravaged innards of the building, but the damage isn’t all that bad.
Thank God the closet I was hiding in was near an outside wall, or they might still be digging me out.
I turn back to Cutter, trying to smile, but my swollen lips aren’t up to the challenge. “It looks okay in there, huh? I bet the construction crew will be able to fix it. Might not even delay condo sales by that long.”
Cutter’s breath rushes out as he leans down, bringing us face to face as he cups my cheeks in his hands. “I don’t give a shit about the condos, Theodora. You’re alive. That’s all that matters. That’s all that’s ever going to matter.”
I meet his open, vulnerable gaze, and sense that something has changed.
Something big.
But even as my heart lifts, and my eyes start to sting, I warn myself not to get my hopes up. I’d be acting the same way if I’d just pulled Bridget or Colette from a pile of rubble, and I don’t want to live happily ever after with either of them. At least not until we’re in our eighties and sick of men and decide to go live in a cottage in the woods and raise herbs and baby goats and only have our aging husbands and boyfriends out to visit on the night of the full moon when we’re feeling frisky.
This is probably just friendly concern.
I’ve nearly talked my heart back out of my throat when Cutter says, “All the way over here in the car, all I could think was that I didn’t want to live in a world without you in it, and how much I hoped I’d have the chance to tell you how much you mean to me.”
His handsome face swims as I lose the battle against the tears pressing at the backs of my eyes. “You mean a lot to me, too. I’m glad we’re friends.”
“Fuck being friends,” he murmurs. “I’m falling in love with you, stupid.”
“Don’t call me stupid,” I say, even as my heart starts to squeal and run in giddy circles, pumping her fists in the air.
“I didn’t mean it. I’m the stupid one,” he says gently, his lips curving in a nervous smile that is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen. Cutter Comstock, rock’s bad-boy sex god, is nervous because of me.
Because he isn’t sure if I like him as much as he likes me.
“But I’m getting smarter,” he continues. “I swear, princess, if you give me the chance to be with you for real, I won’t fuck it up. I’ll bust my ass to make you happy.”
“You don’t have to bust your ass,” I whisper, threading my fingers into his hair. “I like you just the way you are.” I pause, eyes narrowing as I add, “But with less pretending and calling other women sweetheart.”
“I can do both of those things,” he says, hope flickering in his eyes. “So does that mean you’ll be my girl?”
“I’m you’re girl.” My elated grin turns into a wince as my split lip reminds me that I’m not in smiling shape.
“I’m glad you two figured that out,” a deep voice says.
Cutter and I both to turn to find half a dozen firefighters with arms crossed over their chests, watching us with a mixture of amusement and impatience.
“But we need to back to work,” finishes a man in dust-covered overalls. “So if you wouldn’t mind moving this discussion to the back of the ambulance, that’d be great…”
“Sorry,” Cutter says, scooping me into his arms and heading that way.
“I can walk,” I say, putting my arms around his neck. “You don’t have to carry me.”
“I want to carry you. And to kiss you, but your lips are about twice their normal size. Not to freak you out, but it looks pretty messed-up, Squirt.”
“But you still like me,” I tease, “and want to be my boyfriend.”
He laughs. “I more than like you.” He glances down at me. “But you haven’t said much about your feelings yet…”
I hum beneath my breath, playing innocent. “No, I haven’t, have I?”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Well, I mean, I do have feelings. Sometimes. And I’m usually pretty open to talking about them.”
“So talk about them,” he says. “Maybe before we get to the ambulance?”
I glance up to see Colette standing by the emergency vehicle, and a happy noise escapes my battered lips. “Oh, poor Colette. She looks so scared.”
“She was terrified. So was Megan. I told her how I feel about you, by the way. She said she was glad and suggested I find a therapist to help me get better at loving people. So I’m going to do that.”
I look back at him, my heart melting. “For me?”
“No, for the other asshole who’s fucking with me when she should be telling me that she’s crazy about me, too.”
“I am not an asshole.” I tighten my grip on his neck as I add in a whisper, “But I am crazy about you. I’m totally falling in love with you, and last night was one of the best nights of my life.”
“We’re going to have so many more nights like that, baby. I promise,” he says, with such tenderness that I feel like the most beautiful, special woman on the planet.
Even after I finally catch a glimpse of myself in the window of the ambulance, confirming I look like absolute hell, I’m still flying high all the way to the hospital.
* * *
Love makes you feel pretty from the inside out, not the outside in, and sometimes, when it’s the really good stuff, it can work miracles. That’s the only explanation for the fact that it only takes two days for my severely bruised lips to shrink back to kissable size, ensuring Cutter and I are able to make out on my couch between visits from friends.
Kirby and Colin bring pizza and tacos the first night, and Colette and Fernando make sushi the next. And then Bridget and Shep come back from their honeymoon, and we have a very low-key party at Shep’s parents’ house, grilling on the back deck and watching the waves churn as we catch the newlyweds up on all the drama they missed.
“So, wait,” Bridget says, holding up a hand with a shake of her head. “So, the guy who chased you and planted the bomb was hired by Megan’s husband? Because he saw Megan and Cutter having coffee?”
“Yep. They arrested him yesterday, and he confessed to everything,” Cutter confirms, his hand curled possessively around my thigh as we rock slowly in the porch
swing, sharing one of Shep’s famous Bloody Marys with extra horseradish. “Megan’s husband already fled the country, but there’s a warrant out for his arrest, too.”
“Good riddance,” Colette says, emerging from inside the house with a fresh drink of her own. “I hope he never comes back. Poor Megan’s been through hell with that crazy bastard.”
“That really is crazy,” Bridget agrees. “I can’t even fathom that kind of jealousy.” She pauses, nodding soberly. “I mean, unless Shep took a pretty girl bowling or something, and then all bets are off.”
Shep, busy pulling burgers off the grill, laughs. “Don’t worry, baby. I’d never go bowling with anyone but you.”
“Good.” Bridget grins at him. “I love bowling with you.”
“It’s the very best,” Shep rumbles back.
“Call me crazy, but I don’t think you two are talking about bowling anymore,” Colette says, settling onto a lounge solo since Fernando had to work late.
“They’re disgusting is what they are,” Cutter says, but he’s grinning as he adds, “I trust Theo to go bowling with whoever she wants. End of the day, I know she’s coming back to me.”
“Because you’re the best at bowling?” Colette teases.
“No, I suck at bowling, but I’m dynamite in bed.” He squeezes my leg. “Right, baby?”
I roll my eyes with a laugh. “Stop. I’m not stroking your ego in public.”
“As long as you’ll stroke it in private,” he says, leaning in to kiss my neck, making me giggle again.
“I’m disturbed by how cute you two are,” Bridget says seriously, studying me with narrowed eyes as Cutter plucks our shared Bloody Mary from my hand and takes a drink.
“Why disturbed?” I ask with a smile, so grateful to be able to move my mouth without pain. It’s the little things you take for granted when you haven’t escaped a pile of rubble lately.
“Because I didn’t see it coming. At all. But look…” She waves a hand our way. “Adorable. Completely adorable.”
“Speaking of adorable,” Kirby says coyly from the lounger-for-two where she and Colin have been canoodling since they arrived a few minutes ago. “We were going to wait to tell you guys but decided we can’t keep good news from friends. I took a test this morning and—”
Bang on Loosely Page 19
