by Megan Green
“Yeah, baby, it’s me.”
I lower my mouth to hers again, needing to be close to her, needing to know she’s okay. I close my eyes as I kiss her, reveling in the fact that she’s alive. That I got here in time.
She stiffens under me. Then, a scream pours out of her mouth and into mine as she tries to push me off her.
I roll to the side, my head snapping up at the shape looming over us.
James.
With a fucking sledgehammer.
For a moment, I go fucking delirious, breaking into a laugh as I stare up at him.
It was Mr. Reynolds, in the boathouse, with the sledgehammer!
I know what I’m laughing at isn’t funny. I’m sitting here, looking at death in the face, and all I can think about is the fucking game Clue.
Nichole used to love that game. She always wanted to be Miss Scarlet.
A quick flash of sanity returns to me, and I desperately reach for the gun at my waist.
Only it isn’t there.
It must’ve fallen out in the scuffle with James.
Nichole reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it tightly in hers.
I know, if I rush at him, it will only make him act faster. And that hammer is hovering right over Nichole’s head.
Looking around the room, I try to think of anything I can to stall him. “Did you ever play Clue, James?”
His head whips to me, his brows lowering as he tries to make sense of what I just said. Hell, I’m trying to make sense of it myself. But I’ve got his attention now, so I scramble in an attempt to keep it.
“I was just thinking about the game Clue. You know, where you try to guess who killed Mr. Boddy, with what, and in what room. That sure was a fun game, wasn’t it?”
His nostrils flare in agitation as he moves the sledgehammer over to me. “Shut the fuck up,” he seethes, “or I’ll bash your fucking skull in. I’m not ready to do that just yet. I want you to watch. I want you to watch as I take everything from you. Just like you took it all from me.”
He moves his attention back to Nichole, pressing the metal head of the hammer against her throat as he lowers himself on top of her again. “You move an inch, and I’ll fucking kill her.”
Nichole stares at me, wide-eyed, her expression both seeming to plead with me to do something and to get the fuck out of here. I look around the room, trying to locate anything I can use as a weapon.
A flash of movement catches my eye. James is so preoccupied with situating himself between Nichole’s legs that he doesn’t see it.
Cade is standing in the doorway, my gun in hand.
I bolt upright, my hands opening so that Cade can throw me the gun. I easily catch it and press the cold metal to the side of James’s head before he even realizes what’s going on.
“I think you’d better stop now, James. Or we’ll be playing a little game of Clue of our own. Spoiler alert: It will be Mr. Roberts, in the office, with the revolver.”
I’m still not sure what the fuck my deal is with all this Clue shit. But I’m not about to sit and try to figure it out now.
I cock the pistol, letting him know I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger if he makes one wrong move. “Get. The fuck. Off her.”
Slowly, he moves away, me and my gun following him every inch of the way.
Once he’s off Nichole, I speak to her, not lifting my gaze from this fucker’s face, “Get dressed, baby. Cade has your phone. Call the police and tell them where we are. Then, go fucking wait in the car until they get here. You and Cade both. I’ll wait here. James and I are going to have a little chat.”
Nichole is up and out of the room in an instant, scrambling for her clothes as she exits.
Once I hear her and Cade exit the building, I turn back to James. “I should fucking kill you,” I say, my hatred for this man pouring out with every syllable.
“So, do it. Go ahead. You’d be doing me a fucking favor at this point,” he says dejectedly.
And, until that moment, I thought I was going to pull that trigger. I sent Nichole and Cade outside, so I could finish the job and end this once and for all. I wanted to make sure he’d never hurt us again.
But, looking down at him now, his eyes downcast and his hands trembling as he waits for me to do it, I realize I can’t. I won’t.
Not because I’ve had some revelation that everyone deserves a second chance.
Not because I think this man deserves to live.
But because I don’t think he deserves the ease of death.
Keeping the gun trained on him, I sink back onto my haunches. “You are a fucking coward, do you know that?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. He doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken.
When the faint sound of a siren wails in the distance, he swallows hard. “Are you going to do it or what?” he asks gruffly, as if in challenge. “You say I’m a coward? You can’t even pull the fucking trigger.”
I smile at him as he glares up at me. “Nope,” I say simply as I listen to the sirens grow closer. “Unlike you, I don’t take the easy way out. You see, if I shoot you, you’re dead. You’ll be out of our lives forever. Nichole and Cade will never, ever have to worry about you again.”
He nods. “So, what are you fucking waiting for?”
I chuckle softly. “If I don’t shoot you and if I make absolutely sure that the police and judge know every single thing you did to that woman over the course of the last ten years—not to mention, the attempted homicide of a cop; you know, they frown upon that kind of thing in these parts—then you will get to suffer every ounce and every inch of pain you’ve inflicted on those two people out there. You don’t get to take the easy way out this time, James. You’re going down. And you’re going to pay. For the rest of your miserable days.”
The sirens are close now, coming down the gravel driveway. Any second, they’ll be pulling up out front and storming the place. And I see it the instant this realization hits James’s eyes.
He lunges at me, his hands reaching for my throat as he attempts to force my hand.
And I give in. Just before his fingers are able to lock around my neck, I fire.
Right into his gut.
He falls backward with the force of the impact, his hands instinctively going to the wound. I give him a quick once-over as he lies, gasping, on the floor.
A serious injury but not a death sentence. He’ll live.
And he’ll fucking pay.
As predicted, cops flood the place within a minute. I drop the gun and go to my knees, my hands raised in the air.
Chief walks over to me as three of my colleagues surround James.
Chief grabs my arms, cuffing them behind my back. “Please, for the love of God, tell me this was self-defense,” he says with a flick of the head toward James.
“It was self-defense,” I say simply.
He leads me out of the building and blows out a frustrated breath, mumbling something under his breath, as we step out into the night.
But I don’t hear any of it.
Nichole and Cade are standing next to a police car. Cade has his arms around Nichole’s waist as she strokes his hair. She’s speaking to an officer, her expression serious as she answers his questions. But, as soon as I step outside, her eyes drift to mine. And she smiles.
Nine Months Later
Yesterday, in court, Nichole testified to everything James had confessed—the beatings, the drugs, and the murder of her parents. It was the final day of deliberations. It’d been a long, drawn out affair, James parading every person he’d ever known and blackmailed across the stand to act as character witnesses. But even after all that, after enduring the countless hours of speculations and accusations, the jury had found James guilty on three counts of attempted murder, two counts of homicide, and ten counts of manslaughter, as well as numerous drug charges and domestic violence convictions. The evidence against him was just too great.
The judge sentenced him to life plus forty years.
>
He also granted Nichole divorce.
I’d never seen Nichole smile so big.
We spent the evening celebrating her and Cade’s new freedom. And, after one too many margaritas and a few too many prods from Cade, we made a promise.
That is why, on this early Thursday morning, Nichole, Cade, and I are standing on the steps of City Hall.
“You sure you want to do this? We can wait. Have the big, traditional wedding with all our friends and family,” I say, taking her hand in mine.
Nichole turns to face me. “Been there, done that. Got the scars to prove it. I’m ready to be married to you, Joey Roberts. I was born ready,” she says with a wink.
I take Nichole’s and Cade’s hands in each of mine, and the three of us head up the steps and into our future.
Twenty minutes later, I hear those magic words I’ve been waiting for my entire life.
“Nichole Hadley and Joey Roberts, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
And I kiss the fucking shit out of my wife.
One Year Later
“Cade, can you get those for me, please?” I say as I turn and point to the stack of paper plates resting on the countertop. I move to place my hand on my rounded belly, only to remember that it’s no longer there.
Too bad it still feels like I’m nine months pregnant. I’m so tired all the time.
Joey steps into the kitchen. Claire is tucked into his arm as he gently bounces her.
Even though she’s two weeks old, it still takes my breath away every time I see the two of them together. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sight of Joey Roberts with a baby in his arms. It’s complete bliss.
Cade hands me the plates I asked for, and I turn and slowly make my way through the back door. As I said, it’s been two weeks since Claire was born, and my body is nowhere near recovered.
Every second of every day of that pregnancy was hard. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, that little girl seemed compelled to fight me on everything. Everything I put in my mouth would come back up. Every time I tried to sleep, she would be wide-awake. I swear, at some points, she was physically trying to burst her way out of my belly, impatiently awaiting her grand entrance to the world.
But, now that she’s here, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
This little girl is a fighter. Just like her daddy.
And her mommy.
I go about setting the table for seven, my fingers trembling slightly as I reach over to slide a plate across the table.
Joey’s friends from North Carolina are in town to meet Claire. And me and Cade as well, I guess. I’ve spoken with Emma several times on the phone over the past year. She is crazy nice and incredibly peppy, acting like we were old friends the second I picked up the phone.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous to meet her. And Isaiah. And Haylee and Ryan.
These people are such a large part of who Joey is now. Ryan was in the same explosion that took Joey’s leg and killed Emma’s fiancé, Chris. And Emma…well, she helped Joey get past his demons and back to the light again. Just like she did for her husband, Isaiah. Though to hear her tell it, the two of them are the ones who saved her.
Regardless of who saved whom, I’m just glad it happened.
And, now, I get to meet them.
I gaze down at the table before me, the table Cade and I sat at and ate pizza at all those many nights ago. I had no intention of ever ending up where I am today. I didn’t even allow myself to hope or dream.
But here I am.
Everything following that night in the boathouse has been a trial—from testifying against James to watching those closest to him try to tear down my character and try their damnedest to get him out of jail to the months and months of therapy I endured after learning that James had killed my parents. I am still learning how to deal with that part. But, with the help of Dr. Alexander, I am slowly making progress and learning not to blame myself.
With this thought, I smile softly as I turn the flowers in the center yet again, trying to get them just right.
Joey appears in the doorway, Claire still in his arms and Cade at his side. He shifts Claire into one arm and places the other hand on Cade’s shoulder. Onyx dashes over from across the yard, perching himself at their feet.
My entire world is in the space of a doorframe.
A knock sounds at the door, causing Joey to look back over his shoulder as Cade takes off to answer it, Onyx hot on his heels.
“C’mon, Dad. They’re here!” he calls back as he runs.
“Right behind you, little dude. I’m right behind you.”
THE END
Why is it this is always the hardest part to write? There are so many people who deserve a huge thank you from me for all their love and support, but I always feel like I’m forgetting someone. So if you’re reading this and don’t see your name, just know that I love and appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’m just scatterbrained!
First off, as usual, I have to thank my husband for his endless support. I’d never have been able to publish even one novel, let alone three, without him standing by me every step of the way. He’s the stuff book boyfriends are made of.
Next, thank you to my family for understanding when I have to lock myself away for hours on end in order to write, missing phone calls and other family outings in order to meet a deadline. I appreciate your patience with me.
To the Minxes, a huge, supersized thank you for always listening to me whine and complain during a particularly bad bout of writer’s block. Thank you for always talking me through it. I don’t know how I got so lucky to find such an amazing group of women who love writing as much as I do, but I appreciate you more than I could ever put into words.
To my wonderful cover designer, Murphy Rae, thank you for all three of the gorgeous covers for the Wounded Love series. You’re beyond amazing.
To Jovana Shirley, the world’s best editor. You helped me make this book perfect and taught me so much. I can’t wait to work with you again.
To Julie Deaton, thank you for putting the final polish on this book. You are an amazing proofreader and such a wonderful person. I’ve loved working with you on these last two books!
Amber, thank you for listening and talking me through the rough bits. You are a rock star and I love you.
Nichole. Nichole, Nichole. This book probably wouldn’t exist without you. Thank you for everything. Thank you for loving Joey and keeping me going when I wanted to give up—not just with this book, but with all three. You have no idea how much I value our friendship.
And finally, to all my readers. It’s so hard to say goodbye to these characters that have consumed my life for the past two years. It’s been a long, hard road, trying to get these stories just right. But with every email, message, review, etc….you’ve made every second of it worth it. It absolutely blows my mind that people are reading my stories, let alone enjoying them. You’ve made my dreams come true and I appreciate you sticking with me through it all. I love, love, love you all!
Megan lives in Northern Utah with her handsome hubby, Adam. When not writing, chances are you’ll find her curled up with her Kindle. Besides reading and writing, she loves movies, animals, chocolate, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
She loves hearing from her readers, so drop her a line! You can find her here:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authormegangreen
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Email: [email protected]
Website: authormegangreen.com
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