by Hazel James
“I don’t owe you shit.”
She slaps at her face with her free hand, then unleashes a maniacal peal of laughter. “Not anymore, you won’t.” Still smiling, she raises the revolver. “You always were a horrible child. I should have done this a long time ago.” She curls her lip in disgust and cocks the hammer. A year ago, I might’ve let her pull the trigger just to get relief from the guilt and darkness destroying my life. But now? There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell. I’d shoot her in the heart, but I’m certain she doesn’t have one, so it’d be a waste of a bullet.
I aim for the gut instead and squeeze the trigger.
She howls and grabs at her stomach, then, in a drug-powered rage, rears back and fires in my direction before crumpling to the floor. The bullet grazes my right deltoid, causing more anger than pain. That fucking bitch. I want to shoot her again. Maybe in the ass this time.
Before I can raise my gun, three officers burst into the living room. “HANDS UP!” I hold both arms in the air, my Glock still gripped tightly in my right hand. Sheila only groans, and I narrowly resist the urge to kick her in the abdomen for good measure. Sergeant Rodner heads for me while the other two rookies take care of the guns on the floor and radio for ambulances. A fourth guy, Sergeant Bryant, I think, calls from the door that the rest of the building is clear.
“You okay, man?” Rodner asks. Exhausted, I hand over my weapon, which he passes to one of the rookies, and sit on the corner of my bed.
“Fuckin’ peachy, dude. How are you?” We were on the same basketball team in high school, and his sister had a terrible crush on me. We had an intense three-week relationship that mostly involved make-out sessions in the locker room and me taking her virginity in the bed of my truck. Come to think of it, that sums up my relationship with a lot of girls in high school. Rodner never held that against me though.
“You know. Slow night at work. Thanks for giving us something to do.” He smirks and takes a first aid kit from Bryant. “I’ll need to get your statement, but let’s get you cleaned up and over to the hospital first.”
“It’s just a scratch. I’m good.” I wave him off as the first of the stretchers arrives in my living room. Unfortunately, the evil monster living inside Sheila is still clinging to life, so the medics load her first. I hope they drop her ass on the stairs.
“Bro.” Rodner gives me a pointed look and gestures at my shoulder. I look down and see a missing chunk of flesh and a stream of blood down to my elbow. Curious, I check the sign above my headboard. There’s a bullet hole two inches above it. Thank God for small miracles.
After Rodner gauzes my arm, I pull on a pair of shorts and follow him to his cruiser. Halfway to the hospital, I kick myself for not grabbing my phone to give Paige a head’s up. “Hey, gimme your phone.”
“What?”
“Your phone. I need it.” Rodner looks confused, but he passes it over anyway. She answers on the third ring.
“Hey, babe. How’s your shift going?”
“DH? Why are you calling me at,” she pauses, “three in the morning from another number?” Rodner pulls into the emergency entrance and walks around to my door to save me from having to use my right arm.
“Well, it’s been an interesting night.”
“What do you mean ‘interesting night’?”
I clear the sliding doors and see Paige at the nurses’ station, her face a mixture of confusion and concern. “Well, I missed you, and—” Her head snaps up when she hears my voice in the room. I hang up the phone and pass it back to Rodner as Paige rushes to me. “I got a little bit shot.”
“How did you get a little bit shot?” Her hands are on my face, my neck, my chest, making sure the rest of me is uninjured. I’m not going to lie—I love it.
“Well, Sheila and her friends decided to drop by for a gun party but forgot to invite me.”
“Sheila? Your mother? Why?” She’s outraged. Disgusted. Sad. All the things I felt the first thirteen years of my life. One of the things I love most about Paige is how fiercely loyal she is to me. Having her in my life now makes every single fucked up thing my parents ever did to me worth it.
“She wanted payback for me not giving her money or something. I killed the two guys that broke in and ended up shooting Sheila in the gut when she raised her gun at me.” Smirking, I turn to Rodner. “You writing this all down?”
“The trauma team got a female with a gunshot wound in her torso about twenty minutes ago.”
“That’s probably her,” Rodner confirms. “Any word?”
“Let me check.” She walks back to the nurses’ station and chats with a short gal with dark hair who looks over at me, then nods her head. Paige’s expression is unreadable as she walks back. I know I lived and breathed the motto “That others may live,” but not this time. Whoever coined that phrase never met Sheila. “I’m allowed to share this information with you because you are her immediate family member. She had massive blood loss and extensive organ damage. They called time of death about five minutes ago.” Careful of my injured side, Paige wraps her arms around me and kisses me on the cheek. “Ding dong, the witch is dead.”
ADRENALINE HAS ALWAYS BEEN A great therapist. Chasing storms, riding mechanical bulls, bungee jumping, skydiving… they help me process my thoughts better than a couch and a box of Kleenex ever could. But now I can add a sledgehammer to the list. There’s something about listening to rock music while crashing a giant piece of metal into a wall that’s just good for a man’s soul.
Uncle Kurt said he would call around about crime scene cleanup, but I told him I needed to do this. Not because I feel bad or guilty for what happened, but because it gives me a sense of closure that I’ve never gotten before. It’s nice to put another ghost to bed.
And destroy shit.
As soon as the guys at the station were done gathering evidence, I ripped up the carpet, and that’s when I came up with a crazy-as-fuck idea for the future of the garage apartment. I’ve been staying at Paige’s since the shooting, and we’re moving into our new house next Friday—which she still has no clue about. I almost slipped up last week, but I tossed out a semi-plausible excuse and distracted her with a few orgasms.
Anyway, the apartment will be empty, so I want to turn it into a two-bedroom, one-bathroom place for veterans looking to get on their feet again. Uncle Kurt agreed one hundred percent. Better yet, he said if any of the tenants didn’t have jobs, he’d hire them as mechanics or office staff. The local Mathis Brothers even offered to donate new bedroom furniture for each room. It’s my own version of Bringing Veterans Home, that fake organization I told Paige about, and aside from getting engaged, I haven’t been this fucking happy in ages.
Dr. Williams gave me the green light on my shoulder yesterday, which is why I’m covered in sweat and drywall dust right now. I don’t want to waste any time moving forward with this project. Clay’s got a few people in mind who might be a good fit here, and that’s all the motivation I need. He’s also been pestering me about applying for that paramedic position. I was skeptical at first, but I’m considering it. It’d be nice to get back to a job where I can help people again. It’s funny—both Sheila and Kevin were nothing but leeches, taking everything they could from anyone they came across. By all accounts, I should have ended up the same way.
Thank Christ that nurture beats the shit out of nature.
Speaking of Kevin, Rodner called this morning and said they have some leads that point back to Dear Ol’ Dad and a drug ring that would have benefited handsomely from my life insurance money. “Next of kin, my ass,” I chuckle to myself, raising the hammer to take down the last two-by-four on the bedroom wall. Kevin thinking for one second that he and Sheila would be the beneficiaries of my policy is fucking hysterical. What they lacked in brains, they made up for in bad intentions, and now he’s looking at a life sentence for first-degree attempted murder. The additional drug charges will just be icing on the cake. Thinking about that makes me smile all over again.
Aunt Helen would typically kick my ass if she knew I was enjoying someone else’s misery, but even she’d give me a pass this time; I’m never going to have to worry about that shitbag again.
My back pocket starts vibrating as I toss an armful of drywall and wood over the stairwell to the construction dumpster below. I pull off my gloves and turn the music down, then swipe a sweaty finger just below the image of Paige’s boobs.
“Hey babe, what’s up?”
“Did you save that bag of shirts?”
I glance at the Hefty sack on top of the dining room table. She’s been hounding me for it since we got engaged, but won’t tell me why. This morning she threatened bodily harm if the bag ended up in the dumpster instead of my truck. “Yes, I saved the bag of shirts.” I’ll take them over to the new house later this week. One less thing to move.
She sighs with relief. “Thank you. Also, don’t forget about dinner tonight at Maggie’s. We’re supposed to be there at four.”
Shit. I did forget about that. Paige has been great at calls, texts, and little notes—my favorite—to help me remember things, but it doesn’t always work.
“Why four? Isn’t that a little early for dinner?” That still gives me a couple of hours to clean up the mess I made, but I wanted to get started on the new framing tonight, too.
“She didn’t say, but I know we’re having barbecue chicken, corn, and mashed potatoes.”
My irritation vanishes instantly. “I guess four isn’t so bad.”
Paige giggles. “I thought that would make you happy. I’ll see you in a little while. And don’t forget my shirts!”
“What?” I ask, turning the music up again. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you!” She ends the call, and seconds later, my phone pings with a middle finger and a winking emoji.
I fucking love that girl.
“Jesus, did they invite the neighborhood, too?” There’s got to be about ten cars spilling onto the street in front of Eric’s house. I steer my truck toward the end of the line, but Paige points to the driveway instead.
“I think they saved us a space.” She raises her brows once and smiles, telling me she knows a lot more about what’s going on than I do.
“What are you up to, Shawshank?” I ask, parking in the empty spot in front of the garage.
She bats her eyelashes. “I have no idea what you mean.” Her lip gloss makes a quick appearance, and then she blows me a kiss, grabs her purse, and jumps down from the truck.
She’s such a terrible liar.
With my hand in hers, she bounces on the balls of her feet all the way to the front door and leads me inside to a chorus of “Surprise!” and “Happy birthday!” The house has transformed into a sea of streamers and balloons, and people must have carpooled, because there are at least twenty-five people scattered across the living room and kitchen. They’re all wearing white shirts that say, “DH is ______.” The responses vary: great with cars, crazy, bad at pool, a thrill seeker, secretly in love with Justin Bieber—that one makes me laugh. By the time I make it back around to Paige, she’s pulled a shirt out of her purse that says, “DH is a great kisser.”
“You’re not the only one who can keep a secret,” she teases, slipping it on. Her entire face is glowing, like the best part of her day is this moment, and that makes me feel like a million fucking bucks.
“You look proud of yourself, Nurse Paige.”
“I know it’s corny, but you mean a lot of things to a lot of people. I wanted you to see that on your birthday.”
I indulge myself in a quick kiss that earns a few whistles from the crowd. “Thank you,” I whisper. Knowing that everyone is here to celebrate me—and that Paige is the one who orchestrated all of it—is better than any adrenaline rush I’ve ever had. It’s another moment that makes me grateful to be alive.
“Get a room,” Eric teases, walking up with two bottles of Shiner. His shirt says, “DH is not as good looking as me,” which makes me laugh even harder than the Bieber one.
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.” I take a bottle for myself and offer the other one to Paige, but she holds up a hand.
“I’m gonna grab some punch and see if Maggie needs help.”
Knowing I’ll only drink one, Eric takes the second bottle and heads for the grill to baste a small farm’s worth of chicken in barbecue sauce.
“You get the demo done today?”
“Yeah. I just wish we could go chasing on Thursday.” News 9’s saying this will be the biggest storm we’ve had in a couple of years, but that’s the day the furniture for the new house is being delivered.
“I tried convincing Maggie to let me take Austin out, but she said she’d castrate me in my sleep if I did.” He runs the brush over the last of the chicken and closes the lid. “How about Paige? Is she freaking out?”
“Nah, she hasn’t paid much attention. She’s too busy thinking about wedding plans and honeymoon destinations.”
“I don’t miss that at all. Maggie had about five different binders, and she’d ambush me every chance she got about tuxedos and cake flavors, and whether I preferred peach and gray or peach and navy blue.” He swallows a shudder with a swig of beer. “My advice is to let Paige take the reins and stay as far away from that shit it as possible.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t help with our wedding, Eric Christopher.” Maggie, whose shirt says, “DH is my third child,” sets a large glass dish on the shelf beside the grill and props her fist on her hip. “Do I need to remind everyone who assembled our centerpieces? Because it wasn’t me.”
“You’re the one who couldn’t operate a drill to fix up all your fancy tree slices,” he counters, pointing the tongs at her.
She lifts a brow, playfully challenging him. “You’re the one who suggested those fancy tree slices in the first place.” Eric opens his mouth to reply, but thinks again and drinks more beer instead. Laughing, Maggie pats him on the cheek and heads back inside.
“You showed her,” I tease, cracking a wry smile. He lifts a middle finger in my direction, then opens the grill and starts pulling the chicken off.
“Just you wait. Paige will have you by the balls before you know it. Women are sneaky like that. You think you’re in charge, and then one day, bam! Your man card has been traded in for fancy tree slices and peach and gray linen.”
“Do you ever regret getting married so young?”
“Not for a second. No offense, but watching you do the single thing never looked fun.”
I take a long pull from my bottle and think about what he said. My choice to stay single was for fun in the beginning. Who wants to be tied down in a sea of tits and ass? But after the explosion, it was all about punishing myself. Every girl was a reminder of how much I screwed up and why I didn’t deserve what Patch and Kelsey had. I’ll never understand why Paige wanted to crawl into my darkness and fumble around for the light switch, but I’m really fucking glad she did.
Stacking the last of the chicken, Eric shuts the lid to the grill and leans toward me. “You having second thoughts about getting married?” he asks quietly.
Not a chance. If Paige told me she wanted to go to the courthouse tomorrow, I’d beat her ass out to the truck. “No. Kind of the opposite, actually.” Something about my statement makes Eric smile, but I ignore it and lead the way to the kitchen because I’m starving. Once we’re inside, he sets the dish on the counter and smacks Maggie’s ass.
“You owe me twenty bucks!”
“For what?”
“You said DH would get cold feet.” He pats her cheek the same way she did him. “You were wrong.”
Paige and I are both exhausted by the time we trudge through the front door. I set my presents and a bag with extra “DH is” shirts on the counter and head for the bedroom, but she grabs my arm and pulls me toward the dinette instead. “Here.” She hands me the gift bag on the table. “I wanted to wait until we got home to give you this in case you didn’t like it.” She tucks her lips in her t
eeth, and her eyes dart between my face and the bag.
“No pressure,” I tease, trying to ease her nerves. There’s nothing she could give me that I wouldn’t love. Except maybe Longhorns shit. A guy has to draw the line somewhere.
I remove the tissue paper and pull out another “DH is” shirt. “The proud owner of a massive cock? I can see why you wouldn’t want me to open that in front of everyone.” Chuckling, I unfold the shirt and read the real message.
DH is going to be a dad.
I sit in stunned silence as I read the shirt again. And again. And again.
“I’m going to be a dad,” I whisper. The words don’t sound bad coming out of my mouth. In fact, they sound really fucking good. “Are you sure?” Paige points to the gift bag, so I reach in and pull out three home pregnancy tests. One has two pink lines, one has a blue plus sign and one reads, “Pregnant.”
“We’re having a baby?” I leap out of my chair and grab Paige, spinning us around in the kitchen until we’re a dizzy mess of smiles and tears. “When did you find out?”
“Yesterday. I was a couple of days late, so I tested.”
“How is that possible? I thought you were on the pill.”
She wrinkles her face and plucks her lip gloss off the counter. “I accidentally skipped one the day you got shot. I took it the next day, but I guess it was too late by then.” She blows out a breath and meets my gaze. “I know this is sudden and the timing—”
“Is perfect,” I cut in, cupping her face in my hands. “The timing is perfect.”
“So you’re not upset?”
“What’s there to be upset about? We’ve talked about wanting kids. I wasn’t kidding when I said I hope we have four or five.”
She smiles and wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest. “The next time I find out I’m pregnant, I’m telling you immediately. I don’t think I can handle that kind of secret again.”
