CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

RYAN

I’m staring at my phone, wanting it to ring. It doesn’t. I resist the urge to call her.

I didn’t follow her when she left Carson’s house. The way the girls looked at me, made me feel guilty, but I didn’t know why.

The radio goes off—reports of a domestic disturbance.

I lower my feet off the desk, rise out of my chair, grab my jacket, and walk out of the office.

“What’s the address?” I ask Peg.

“1415 19th St.”

She shakes her head.

I hesitate. I know that address. It’s the Pauls’ home. I’ve been out there too many times already.

“Great,” I say, and I’m out the door.

I get in the cruiser and give James a call. “Meet me at the Paul residence. There’s been another disturbance.”

“Again?”

“Just meet me there.”

It doesn’t take long before I pull up in front of their house. They live in a nice, quiet neighborhood. I get out of my car and hear the yelling from the street. This time, I’ll bring both of them in.

Neighbors are standing outside listening. I ignore them and make my way up the sidewalk. I scan the street for James, but he hasn’t appeared yet. I shouldn’t go in without backup.

Yelling escalates, followed by a breaking sound. I need to go in before someone gets hurt.

I knock. “This is Sheriff Ryan,” I say, turning the knob and slowly opening the door. I don’t see anybody right away. I hear a vehicle pull up and glance back. James. Opening the door further, I notice Greg standing against the wall, appearing frightened by something across the room. It must be Tessa, but I’m unsure why he’s scared. The woman can’t weigh a hundred pounds and is timid. That’s why she hasn’t left his sorry ass. I open the door wider so I can get my eyes on her.

James is behind me saying something, but I can’t make it out over the loud bang—a searing pain tears through my chest. I forgot to put on my vest before leaving. I slump to the ground. James shouts. Blood covers my hands. People are talking, but I don’t know what they’re saying. I’m being lifted and moved. They put an oxygen mask on my face after loading me into the ambulance. I’m going to the hospital.

I close my eyes, assessing the damage to myself, but my body feels numb. It can’t be good. During one of my tours, I was shot in the leg. It hurt like a motherfucker, but I lived. This, I know, is much worse.

I must have blacked out because when I regained consciousness, I found myself in a hospital being wheeled down the hall. My eyes are so heavy I can barely keep them open, and my throat is dry. I want to say Parker, but I can’t get my mouth to work. I want her to know how much she means to me. She needs to know how much she means to me.