“No,” I say. “They wouldn’t.”
“That’s one of the things I love about you, Keller. You make me feel safe. It’s something about you specifically, being in your arms.”
I nod, speechless. She does the same for me. Makes me feel human, that is.
“Anyway, the memories have been trying to come back for a while. I have dreams where I see little bits and pieces here and there. But you…” Britt studies my face. “Your eyes,” she whispers, raising a hand to touch the thin circle of skin just below my right eye. “They were so familiar, but I didn’t know why.”
No. My body tenses, liquid ice drips down my spine.
“I saw your invitation and I knew. Somehow I knew.”
“My sister,” I rasp, amazed I can make any sound at all.
“Yes. I-I held her, Keller. We…” Britt chokes on a cry. “We held each other. I saw… I watched her die. Her eyes. How they lost their life. It’s the last thing I saw before…” Britt reaches back and touches her scar. “I’m so sorry, Keller.” Britt is openly sobbing, her tiny frame shaking as she lets out a decade of misery. “She saved me… her body was between me and the… the…”
Stunned by her revelation, I try to stand, to get a minute to put myself together, but Britt has a death grip on my hand.
“Keller! Don’t leave me!” Britt’s eyes are wide with panic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t remember!”
“Just…just give me a second.” I tug my hand free and run it through my hair and over the stubble that grew overnight.
Britt held Kinsey as she died. Britt was shot in the head. They were together. My sister’s body saved Britt from certain death.
Everything crashes over me at once, the tsunami of emotions I’ve held back breaks through the dam, washing away the last vestiges of Killer, leaving Keller Keating alone and vulnerable to deal with the fallout. After ten years of hiding behind anger and violence, I have no choice but to face my grief. As my shields erode, guilt rises to the surface, exposed and raw as my divided soul repairs itself.
I turn to Britt, my vision blurred with tears. “I killed her, Britt. I was supposed to pick her up after school and forgot. It was my fault my little sister died.”
“No! Keller, that’s not true.”
“It is. I was so selfish, Britt. I forgot about Kinsey because I wanted to party and she died.” My legs nearly give out from the sheer weight of my sister’s death pressing down.
“Keller, please. Come hold me.”
Britt’s voice is like a beacon in the fog, pulling me in.
“Your sister saved my life, Keller. I’ll never forget that.”
Britt lowers the side of the bed and I climb in, pulling her warmth against my chest, heating my frigid skin. We stay wrapped up like that, holding, caressing, comforting each other through our shared pain. Eventually, Britt pulls back, brushing her lips over mine.
“Maybe we can find our way out of the darkness together,” she says.
“Maybe.”
Britt lays her head back on my chest and I bury my nose in her hair. For a brief moment, I allow myself the luxury of believing everything will turn out all right. Just this one time, maybe it can.
Epilogue
Ten years later.
Britt
“Honestly, Marco. If you don’t stay off of it, you won’t be able to fight next month.” I look over my laptop and shoot the young fighter a serious look.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on injuring it again.”
Shaking my head, I finish typing my notes and walk over to the exam table.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Marco. If I tell you to elevate your ankle and keep weight off of it, I’m not secretly saying ‘go jogging then jump rope for an hour.’ Understand?”
The young man nods, properly chagrined.
“Okay. You’re all wrapped up and iced. Go home and keep it up, I want you here in two days so I can look at it again.” I tap his leg gently and step back, knowing he won’t want help getting down from the table. They never do.
“Thanks, Britt.” Marco gives me a crooked smile and heads for the office door.
“Oh, and Marco?” He stops and glances over his shoulder. “You get to tell the boss what happened.”
The fighter’s eyes nearly bulge from his head. “No, no, no. You need to do it for me. Please? Oh my god, he’ll kill me.” Marco’s olive skin is significantly paler than a minute ago.
“For Pete’s sake, he won’t kill you.”
“Oh yes he will.” Marco shakes his head. “He’s scary as hell. I don’t know how you do it.”
I laugh and pat the young man’s shoulder. “He’s really not that scary, Marco. Just… ummmm,” I have to concentrate to keep from smiling. “Just don’t look in his eyes when you tell him. That’ll help.” I push the reluctant fighter out of my office and close the door, managing to last until it clicks in place before I burst out in a fit of the giggles.
I clean up the table, spraying it with disinfectant, and toss the open wrappers. My conscious gets the better of me. With a sigh, I go to my desk and pick up the phone.
“Hello, my love.”
“Keller.” I grin even though he can’t see it.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Boy, he’s laying it on thick today, not that I mind. Not one bit. “Marco is coming to see you. Can you go easy on him?”
“Britt,” Keller warns.
“I know, I know. I’m too soft on the fighters. You’ve told me. Just, don’t make him pee his pants.”
Keller’s laugh lights up my insides, filling me with warmth and love. Laughs were rare our first few years together. Between Max’s trial in which he was sentenced to twenty-five years in jail, my therapy for PTSD, and Keller dealing with his sister’s death, neither of us had much to laugh about. Then our life completely changed and the good times began to outweigh the bad.
“I won’t make him pee his pants, I promise,” Keller says when he finally stops laughing. I hear a soft knock on his door though the receiver. “I believe I have a visitor.”
“Be nice,” I warn.
“I’m always nice,” he drawls in his sexy voice. The one that after ten years together still gets me hot and bothered in less than three seconds flat.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.” The phone clicks off and I grin, a silly, stupid, lovestruck grin. Why wouldn’t I? I have everything.
Keller
I shut down my computer and head into the main area of the gym.
“Bye!” I look up to see Roxie heading out the front door.
“See you Monday, Roxie.” I wave as she leaves.
Left alone in the huge space, I put a few things back where they belong and turn off a few lights. When Gabriel retired a few years ago, he asked if I wanted to take his place as head trainer. After five years of fighting and winning three AFL Championships, I was ready to spend more time at home and less time training and traveling to fights.
The door to the gym opens and footsteps pound on the cement floor, echoing in the warehouse-like space.
“Daddy!”
Two colorful blurs dash across the mats and leap on top of me. I pretend to be knocked over and fall to the padded ground. “Oh no, you took me down!”
“That’s because my takedowns are the best, Daddy.”
“Nuh-uh! Mine are. Besides, my arm bar is better than yours!”
The two boys begin bickering so I hold up my hands. Instantly, two sets of eyes focus on me and the noise stops.
“You’re both excellent fighters, okay?”
They seem to think that over for a minute.
“Okay, Daddy,” says Gabriel, my oldest, who is almost eight.
Not only is my son named after the only man to ever believe in me, a man who has become a father to me, but my little Gabriel really is an angel like his namesake. Britt and I were both having a hard time working through our pasts when we found out she was unexp
ectedly pregnant less than two years after we met, pushing me into finally getting the courage to give Britt the diamond ring I had stashed in my sock drawer for several months.
Something about creating a new life, being parents, sparked our determination to move on from our pain. To live how Kinsey would have wanted. I can’t bring my sister back. I can only accept the gift she gave me by saving Britt, honor her by being a good man. A good husband. A good father. Everything our parents weren’t.
“I don’t know. I still say I’m better than Gabe,” Lucas pipes in. At five, he doesn’t understand the concept of losing or good sportsmanship, but I’m working on it.
“No you’re not!” Gabe shouts.
“Lucas, you are both very talented and I’m proud of you.” I get up and haul them with me, one in each arm so they don’t start grappling right then and there.
“Hey! You guys coming?”
Britt is leaning in the doorway, trying to hold on to the wiggling pink bundle in her arms.
“We’re coming.” I put the boys down so they can race each other to the car and shake my head. Everything is a competition with those two. Literally everything. Who can eat faster, who can jump higher, who knows more superhero trivia. It never ends.
I flip off the final lights and crowd Britt against the doorframe, giving her a sweet but lingering kiss. “And how is my gorgeous wife?”
“Ready to eat,” she says, giving me a wink that lets me know she’s not thinking about food.
“Daddy!” Two chubby hands reach out for me. Backing away from Britt, I sweep our daughter into my arms, making loud raspberries against her soft neck. She squeals in delight, the sound going straight to my heart.
“How’s my little Kinsey? What did you do at preschool today?”
“We made puppets and mine had a lot of glitter and it spilled everywhere, but Miss Martinez said it was okay.” My adorable little girl goes on and on about the trials and tribulations of being three years old while I lock the front door of Sousa MMA.
By the time Britt and I make it to the car, the boys are loudly arguing over which one of them runs faster. The whole time, Kinsey is still giving a play-by-play commentary on crafting puppets. Britt breaks up the fight while I strap Kinsey in her seat. Britt and I have to tag team Gabe and Luke, wrestling them into their car seats before we drop, exhausted, into our own seats.
I start the car and look over at my wife, my love, my soul mate. The woman who pulled me from darkness and showed me beauty in the light. She threads our fingers together and smiles while the three kids battle over which superhero is the best, Superman, Batman, or Wonder Woman. It’s chaos and love. Arguments and hugs. Boo-boos and sweet kisses.
It’s absolute perfection.
* * *
Author’s Note
Some of you may be wondering about the shooter. Why did he do what he did? Who was he? What were his motivations that brought him to commit such a horrific crime?
My answer? In the context of this story, it doesn’t matter. Killer is about the victims and how they stumble through life after such a traumatic event. The shooter’s motivation doesn’t make one bit of difference in Keller or Britt’s journey in healing.
There is no excuse for what the shooter did. What does it matter what he was thinking? Nothing is a good enough reason to walk into a school and fire a weapon at staff and students. Nothing.
Do Britt and Keller know the shooter’s reasons? Possibly. If they needed it for closure, maybe his reason was known and I just didn’t feel the need to include it in their story. Maybe the shooter didn’t leave a note. Maybe his reasons weren’t clear. Maybe everyone was left wondering.
This book is not about the shooter. It is about the journey of the victims. I hope you enjoyed it.
Thank you for reading.
Heather C. Leigh
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Book Links
Killer (a dark romance) March 15, 2016
Sphere of Irony (a rock star series)
Incite — Adam
Strike — Dax
Resist — Gavin
Wreck — Hawke
The Famous Series
Relatively Famous
Absolutely Famous
Extremely Famous
Already Famous (Drew’s POV)
Suddenly Famous (a novella)
Reluctantly Famous (a novella)
Ricochet— Military Romantic Suspense
Locked & Loaded
Friendly Fire
Extraction Point
As Leigh Carman- M/M Romance
Sports of the Seasons -by Dreamspinner Press 2016
Match Point- Volleyball (Summer)
Fair Catch- Football (Fall)
Power Play- Hockey (Winter)
Full Count- Baseball (Spring)
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Killer Page 21
