“Go check the perimeter, Johnson,” he hollered through the door.
Josh had never once envied him. Until right now.
He hated the thought of leaving Bree tonight. Of leaving her at all. He clung to her and this moment he didn’t want to lose, but her expression told him it was too late. It’d already passed.
“He’s right.” She strode for her violin case. “I should get some practicing in tonight anyway.”
The audition. He rubbed his neck, wrestling the apprehension he couldn’t shake.
She looked back at him.
“Leaving, right.” His legs finally budged and prodded him across the room. He stopped in front of her, dug for a smile, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He didn’t lean back until his desire to see her happy trumped everything else. “You’re going to do great tomorrow.”
Her lashes swept downward in a nod.
“Josh?”
At the door, he looked over his shoulder.
“Thank you. For tonight.”
He dipped his chin in return.
Head down, hand on the knob, he hesitated. “Bree, just so you know, it’s okay to get things wrong sometimes. Maybe the reason you feel like all the right doors are opening is ’cause God’s never given up on you finding your way home.” And neither would he.
Before he ruined things by saying anything more, he kissed her cheek again and closed the door behind him.
Johnson must’ve actually listened to him and gone downstairs. Wise man.
Too bad Josh couldn’t say the same about himself. Five steps down the empty hallway, he stopped, whirled around, and strode back to Bree’s apartment. His knuckles froze midair in front of the door, logic pulling in the opposite direction of his heart.
He gripped the trim on both sides instead, pressed his forehead against the cool metal, and released a breath of surrender.
Intricate bars of music from inside sent goose bumps down his arms, the way her passion and talent always did. It wasn’t fair for something so beautiful to be even more heartbreaking.
Letting go, Josh turned and backed against the door keeping Bree and her violin on the other side of a choice she had to make herself. He faced the ceiling. Help me find the courage to do the same. More than one life was riding on it.
Chapter Fifteen
Tug-Of-War
Everything around Bree brimmed with evidence she was in the theater—stage lights warming her skin, the familiar grains of wood under her feet, vibrations from the violin’s final note resounding through her body. Yet the moment she’d started her audition, she’d drifted back to Nikki’s living room and into the love of art she’d lost without even knowing it.
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she lowered her bow. But for the first time in forever, they were tears of joy. Somewhere along the way, she’d given up on the kind of difference music could make in people’s lives. Especially her own.
More than that, she’d cashed in hope for a life now being shaken by the very one she’d run away from. Was it too late to find her way back?
“Thank you, Miss Ramirez.”
The judge’s voice coming through the speakers jolted Bree back to the moment. She blinked under the spotlights to focus on the panel several rows away. “Thank you for the opportunity,” she said while standing.
The squeak of one of the chairs folding trailed behind her. Once past the curtains on stage left, she released a sigh. The exhaustion she’d fended away for her performance crashed in with a burst of A/C coming through the side door.
Honestly, it didn’t matter how she’d done. The audition was over. Regardless of what happened next, she’d just gained what she needed most.
“Brianna.” Natalie’s nasally voice sailed around the corner before her condescending smile did. “Good job up there.”
“Thanks.” Bree returned her stiff expression. “Good luck to you too.”
“I doubt I’ll be needing that.”
Bree stopped at the door without turning. “It’s a fair audition, Natalie.”
The heckle Bree fully expected drew her back around to Natalie’s sardonic grin.
“You know, your naïveté used to get on my nerves. But now? I couldn’t be more grateful for it. Without it, you wouldn’t have turned down any of Franc’s offers.”
Pity circumvented the reaction Natalie was obviously looking for. Bree tilted her head at her. “Actually, we were both naive to think Franc wasn’t planning on bringing in a third candidate.”
“What?” Her smile lines tightened as Franc strode around the corner.
“Natalie, you’re up.”
A stunned stare whipped his way, and Bree could almost feel the heat waves rolling off her betrayed cheeks.
Franc looked between them. “Is there a problem here?”
“A problem?” Natalie’s passive-aggressive tone fueled the ammunition about to let loose.
That was definitely Bree’s cue to leave.
She was just as caught off guard to find out Franc had brought in Thomas Flemming from the Houston Symphony for the audition without telling them. But before she ever crossed the stage today, she’d realized it didn’t matter. The quest for Franc’s validation didn’t have a hold on her anymore.
Outside, Bree drank in the freedom welcoming her with the sunshine. She squinted to search the curb for Daniels’s Civic but came up short. Weird. She dug her cell from her purse.
Daniels answered on the fourth ring. “Hang on a sec.” Voices in the background grew muffled, like she’d covered the receiver. “I’ll handle the paperwork. Take ’em to the box,” she said away from the phone. “Bree, you there? Listen, we finally caught a break in the case. We just busted two of the Sanchez Crew for possession with intent to distribute. If they know anything, we’ll get them to talk.”
Not likely.
“I was the closest unit to the call, but I radioed in for a replacement detail, so hang tight for me, okay?”
Bree could handle making it back to her apartment in broad daylight, but she didn’t argue. “Okay.”
After hanging up, she settled on the stone fountain in the middle of the plaza and waited.
Shadows stretched across the decorative rings in the pavement with each dip of the sun. Whoever Daniels had asked to pick Bree up must’ve gotten held up as well. Bree tried studying her sheet music to kill time, but thoughts kept zinging as fast as the never-fading traffic until two colliding thoughts finally pinned her against the cool stone.
Today unlocked an ache to be with her family and share this part of her life with them again. But what if that decision meant letting Gabe down?
Questions dominoed. Did he even want to leave Astoria? If they stayed, how could he avoid the gangs vying for his allegiance? Where was the balance between being there for your community and protecting your family?
The familiar war suffocated the freedom she’d just unearthed. She shot to her feet, tired of Josh being right about letting fear rule her. One thing she knew for sure. This battle had to end—for Gabe, for her and Josh, their neighbors. If the Sanchez Crew wouldn’t come find her, she’d find them.
Bree shot off a quick text to Daniels and pocketed her phone. Holding on to her violin case and an unyielding grasp on the courage she’d gone too long without, she marched to the nearest subway entrance.
Two stops heading toward Queens was about all it took for her boldness to join the train’s brakes screeching to a stop. This wasn’t brave. This was crazy. If Josh had any idea she’d planned to walk straight into gang territory, he’d flip.
A few seats down from her, a guy with a hooded jacket and earbuds darted his gaze to the grungy floor when she caught him staring. Bree inched her purse strap higher up her shoulder and cradled her case to her lap. It wasn’t that late, but the subway had an eerie way of feeling like a dark alley any time of day.
She fixed her gaze on the faded train route map posted on the opposite wall.
As the next station funneled
into view, she jolted at a clank from the other end of the car, where a guy in work boots gripped the nearest pole to stand. He cast a signaling glance from her to the guy with earbuds.
Bree grabbed her cell to text Josh. Was he almost off duty?
Heavy footsteps approached. She scrambled for the pocket aerosol alarm buried in her purse. The second guy lumbered to his feet. Heart sprinting, Bree clasped the self-defense tool in a sweaty grip.
They all swayed forward as the train stalled in front of the platform. Another clank from the taller one’s ring hitting the pole right in front of her echoed through the car and up her spine. The doors opened, and both guys brushed past her on their way out.
An audible exhale pressed her against the cool orange seat. She glanced down at her frantic text to Josh, riddled with typos. Nice. Nothing like giving him a reason to freak out. He must be away from his phone, or he’d be blowing up her cell right now. Same as Daniels. Bree tucked it back in her purse. She’d smooth things over later.
The line ramped aboveground once they reached Queensboro Plaza. The sunlight Bree craved stayed hidden behind an overcast sky that kept the car as dark as those thugs had left it.
Signs for Thirtieth Avenue passed by the windows as the train slowed to her stop. Instead of a bustling platform, the station felt more like an abandoned playground after a drive-by. Unease crept up her neck while she hustled down the stairs. She just needed to make it to Nikki’s, where she could wait for Josh.
Internal berating whirled her around the green railing and propelled her across the street. Seriously, what had she thought she was going to do? Walk up to the Sanchez Crew’s ring leader and ask for a truce? Stupid.
A series of raindrops splattered onto her forehead. Just great. Even the clouds were mocking her so-called boldness, laughing until they cried.
Once she turned onto Thirty-First Street, all humor drained into the gutters in front of Bella’s Pizza. Memories from another rainy day on this same corner broadsided her—the blast of gunfire, the unshakeable sound of her uncle’s body hitting the blacktop five feet away.
Beside her, an Italian flag whipped back and forth as rain pelted her with another round of images. This time, from the night at Frankie’s. Dad, dropping to his knees with a hand compressed to a wound he couldn’t stop bleeding. Another scream. Another wave of helplessness.
Was this all her future amounted to? Watching this city take away people she loved? The job asked too much, took more than was fair. She wouldn’t sacrifice Gabe and Josh too. Conviction burned under the cold raindrops hitting her skin and thrust her out of fear’s grip toward her home street.
A block away, an unexpected sense of security and belonging blindsided her. She’d left, thinking everyone else was stuck here, too naive or scared to chase a different life. But what if it took more courage to stay than to escape? Could she really—?
Someone clamped a hand around her mouth from behind and dragged her into the closed-in parking lot beside Bella’s. Backed against the wall, Bree fought to break free.
The guy lowered his hood. Gabe.
Relief rushed over her. She yanked him into a hug and then punched him in the arm. “You almost gave me a heart attack. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Me? What are you doing? Trying to get yourself capped?” He grabbed his cell and texted someone, fingers flying. “Where’s Josh?”
Josh? “At the precinct, I think. Why?”
“Go find him.” He pocketed his phone and leveled his eyes with hers. “You find him, and you stay with him. You hear me?” He swung a glance behind them.
“What’s going on?”
“I gotta go. And so do you. Now.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, Bree.” An earnest gaze grazed hers for the slightest moment before he disappeared around the wall.
“Gabe? Sorry for what?”
But he was already gone. She banged a palm to the bricks, hating this was the way things were.
She set her case down, tugged out her cell, and swiped the screen over Josh’s number. A hard push to her shoulders slammed her backward. Her phone clattered to the asphalt. With a forearm pressed to her throat, she strained to gasp for breath.
The face-masked guy pinning her to the wall seethed at her resistance. “What did you see?”
She shifted a glance to another guy behind them, standing guard at the corner of the building. Her gaze ran down his profile to his boots—the same ones the guy was wearing on the subway earlier.
The musty one in front of her grabbed her chin. “That night at Frankie’s Bodega, who’d you see?”
Coarse bricks dug grooves into her back. “I don’t know,” she sputtered, vision blurring.
“If you don’t wanna end up like your pops, you best start talkin’.”
“I didn’t see anyone’s face, I swear.” A centimeter of fabric peeked out from under his T-shirt sleeve. A red bandana—the Sanchez Crew’s trademark. “Please, just leave my family alone.”
A dark laugh slithered over her skin with the rain.
Tires screeched in the background.
“G.” The guy in boots popped his friend in the arm. “Time to bounce.”
Another slimy stare crawled down her body. “Better keep your mouth shut, Five-O.” He backed up. “This ain’t over.”
The second they crept out of sight, erratic breaths racked her lungs in a tug-of-war between exhales and sobs. She composed herself, needing to get out of there.
She grabbed her things from the ground and sprang for the main street—right into someone’s solid body.
Arms closed around her. “Bree.”
Josh. The safety of hearing his voice clashed with the panic still controlling her muscles.
“It’s okay.” He cradled her close. “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t care how he’d found her or how he’d gotten here so fast. It didn’t matter who else was around or what other danger might lurk nearby. Right there on the street, she lost herself in the only arms she trusted.
He steered her back toward the parking lot. “Bree, look at me. I’m going to take care of you, but I need to know what happened, okay?”
She found the strength to let go and nodded. “Gabe pulled me aside. He—”
“Gabe? He was here?” Josh’s eyes tightened with concern. “What’d he say?”
“That I needed to find you. And that he was sorry.”
“For what?”
“I didn’t have time to ask. He just . . . vanished.” Her pulse gradually slowed, complements of her brother’s innate ability to drive her crazy. “I swear, all those stupid skateboarding tricks have turned him into a wannabe American Ninja or something.”
Josh stared at her like she’d offered the missing piece to a grand puzzle. He backed up and scoured the area.
She pushed her wet hair out of her face. “What are you looking for?”
“A way to end this.”
“I don’t underst—”
Tires splashed over muddied puddles in what felt like slow motion. One blink. One breath. All sound cowered to the deafening blow of gunfire.
“Down.” Josh plowed into her body.
A guttural yelp escaped his throat right before they both hit the ground. The unforgiving pavement scraped new scars into old ones. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Building tops swayed out of focus as sirens slowly pushed through the ringing in her ears.
Warm liquid pooled onto her hand, and the fog cleared. “Josh!”
She rolled him over, her heart spilling onto the blacktop with the blood washing away in the rain. She’d heard gunfire all her life, had been within close range more than once. But while holding the only future she wanted in her arms, the cost of a single gunshot had never struck louder.
Chapter Sixteen
Lost
Behind Bree, Josh stifled a wince while reaching for the door to her apartment. Despite how gentle the ER doc had been stitching up his arm, the wound wou
ld be more than a little tender for a while. Still, a bandage on his shoulder wasn’t going to keep him from wrapping his arms around Bree if she needed them.
He flicked his chin at Johnson. Knowing he’d be posted outside her door all night instead of Josh almost ached more than his arm.
He tossed his backpack in the corner, not ready to deal with his notes about the case inside. It hadn’t just been a long night. It’d been a draining week. Now wasn’t the time to make it worse.
Bree ran her hands up and down her face while pivoting in a circle as though unsure which direction to go. “Coffee. You want coffee?” The shift in purpose sent her feet moving to the kitchen.
Josh cut her off beside the island. “Coffee’s the last thing you need right now. Let me make you something to help you relax. When was the last time you slept? I mean, really slept.”
An elongated harrumph bordered a near-delirious laugh. She tugged open a cabinet, withdrew two mugs, and then slid over to the fridge’s water dispenser to fill up the teakettle.
She jumped back as ice clattered against the tiles. Moving like a plow truck without brakes, she stretched for the dish towel hanging on the oven handle and swept up the mess.
“Bree.” He turned her around and steadied her with his eyes. “It’s okay.”
“Okay?” She finally blinked. “You just got shot. What’s okay about that?”
“Grazed, not shot. Anyone can strut a piece around. That doesn’t mean they know how to use it.” Nearly point blank, and the punk couldn’t even make a target.
Apparently, the guy’s shooting average didn’t matter to Bree. Pent-up distress broke through the adrenaline that’d carried her through the ambulance ride and hospital visit. With her lashes clamped shut, she rubbed her temples.
Of all moments to get clipped, it had to happen in front of her. Figured. Like she needed one more nail in the coffin confirming she couldn’t handle the risks of marrying a cop. How was he supposed to undo this damage now?
A gradual squeak tumbled out in an unexpected laugh. Airy at first, it grew louder, deeper. Okay, maybe she was already past delirious. Yet seeing laugh lines replace stress lines was too spellbinding to interrupt.
Still Falling (Home In You #0) Page 10
