Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
CHASE
At first, I didn’t recognize him.
Peter stepped into the nursery like he belonged there—like this wasn’t our home. He looked bloated, unshaven, twitchy. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown, like he’d vacuumed up half a pharmacy before breaking through our back door.
If anyone knew that look, it was me.
The gun in his hand wasn’t steady. That scared me more than anything.
My body moved before my brain caught up—I spread my arms wide, blocking him from Elena and Luci behind me. “Don’t—Peter. Don’t take another step.”
He laughed. Sharp. Unhinged. “You.” His lip curled like the word tasted bad. “Fucking babysitter in a hoodie. You’re who she chose?”
“Get out. Right now. You don’t want to do this.”
“Where is she?” His voice was raw, slurred. “Where’s my baby?”
My heart dropped straight through the floor.
“Peter, she’s not—”
“She’s mine,” he roared, lifting the gun higher, the barrel twitching with every breath.
“She’s not yours, Peter,” Elena said from behind me, her voice steady. “She never was.”
“Lying bitch,” he spat.
I heard Elena suck in a breath behind me—and Luci let out a sharp, terrified wail.
Peter’s eyes snapped to the sound. “She’s mine,” he hissed. “You think you can take my daughter, my life, and hand it to him?”
He sneered and staggered a step forward, raising the gun higher and pointing it straight me.
I stared into the eyes of a man I might’ve become.
If I’d kept drinking.
If I’d let the bitterness rot me out.
If I’d let my shame curdle into rage.
If I hadn’t found Elena.
I saw it. I saw what rock bottom could’ve looked like if I’d kept digging.
Never again.
Never fucking again would I put myself in a state where I lost control, where I forgot who I was. Where I hurt the people I loved because I couldn’t face my own goddamn darkness.
I took a breath. “You’re not thinking straight. You’re going to regret this.”
Then I saw it—the point of no return. The line he’d already crossed. Drunk. High. Cornered. And gone.
I opened my mouth to speak again, to stall, to do something.
Then he fired.
The impact slammed through me like a freight train—hot, sharp, world-tilting.
“Chase!” Elena screamed.
Pain exploded through my shoulder like a pipe bursting under my skin. My knees buckled, and I crumpled to the ground, pain ripping through my arm, my side, my everything. My ears rang. My body screamed. But all I could think was—
Elena. Luci.
I tried to reach for them—my hand slick with blood, body refusing to cooperate.
Peter surged forward.
I watched, helpless, as Elena lunged to protect Luci. She fought—scratched, kicked, screamed—but Peter was bigger. Crazier.
He shoved her. Hard.
Her head cracked against the corner of the changing table as she went down. Dead weight. Not moving.
“No—” I gasped, crawling, dragging myself toward them.
Peter grabbed Luci—still screaming, face down and flailing in her sleep sack where she’d rolled out of Elena’s arms—and bolted.
By the time I reached Elena’s side, the nursery door banged against the wall, left swinging open.
I heard sirens in the distance.
But he was gone.
Gone with my baby.
And all I could do was press my bloody hand to Elena’s skull, beg her to wake up, and pray I didn’t black out before I could get her help.