Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
SHEA
I wish so badly I could go back in time.
It’s not the first time I’ve had that thought. Like most people, there are things I wish I could go back and change.
I can’t count how many times I wished I could go back and tell my parents not to take that trip to visit my aunt out in Syracuse. Convince them to go another weekend. Then my parents would still be alive. They’d be around to meet their grandchild. They’d get to meet Oliver.
After my massive screw-up with Oliver, I beat myself up dozens—maybe hundreds—of times, wishing I’d been honest with him, that I’d told him how bad things were instead of just breaking up with him.
Now? I wish I could go back to three days ago and do something so Oliver never answered Cole’s call. Sex in the shower. Sex in the kitchen. Maybe I could have convinced him to take a spontaneous trip out to Texas to visit Niall. If I’d said I was desperate to see my brother, Oliver would have made it happen. And he never would have let me go alone. So we’d both be out in Texas, and this terrible plan wouldn’t be happening.
If we were in Texas, Blade and Arrow could come up with something different. A plan that doesn’t involve Oliver using himself as bait.
Oliver keeps telling me it’ll be okay. That he’s more than capable of dealing with this Sergey guy, and any of the other men working with him.
“I’ve dealt with people like this,” he reassured me the other day, after I pleaded with him to change his mind. “So have the guys at B and A. We know what we’re doing.”
Was it the most mature thing to do, begging him to back out of this risky plan? No.
But I’m scared. It’s not that I don’t think Oliver is skilled, but there’s so much we still don’t know. Like who’s actually behind all of this. Could Sergey be the mastermind? Or is he just hired help, like Oliver thinks he is? How many people are involved? The three people we know of so far? Or are there more? Is this the work of one powerful individual or a shadowy organization?
When I let myself think about it, I’m closer to being triggered than I’ve been in years.
It would be so easy to slip back into it, to regain control another way.
But that’s dangerous, too. And I’m not letting myself regress after the years of progress I made. Not when I’ve done so much to be brave. Not when Oliver is risking everything for me. Not when I have so much to live for.
So this time, I talked to Oliver about it. It sucked, because I know it made him feel guilty. But despite the pained look on his face after I confessed I was struggling, he hugged me and said, “Thank you for telling me. I know it was hard. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Then he offered me what I thought I wanted. He offered to back out. “If it’s hurting you like this, Shea, I won’t do it. It’s your decision.”
And of course, once he put it like that, there really wasn’t a choice. If Oliver truly thinks this is the best option, I have to trust him. Just like I want him to trust me that I won’t freak out and leave him again.
So I told him to stick with the plan, even though it killed me to say it. And then we hugged and made love and after, I called my counselor to ask for an emergency session. Then I called Jade later and talked to her, too.
By the end of it, I didn’t exactly feel awesome about everything, but I felt stronger again, and more than a little proud of myself for doing what I couldn’t four years ago.
“Shea, are you ready to go?” Oliver appears in the bedroom doorway just as I’m pulling my cardigan on. He has two travel mugs of coffee in one hand, and his car keys in the other. “Not that I’m trying to rush you,” he adds, “but if we’re going to get to White Plains in time for your meeting…”
“Yes. I’m ready.” I give myself a final inspection in the standing mirror beside the dresser. Despite how unsettled I feel on the inside, fortunately, my outside appearance looks unruffled and professional.
Oliver pockets his keys and walks over to me, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “You look beautiful. You’re going to knock their socks off.”
“Thanks.” I go up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His short beard tickles my lips, a sensation I never imagined liking before Oliver, but now can’t get enough of. He uses this special oil to make the hair soft so it won’t irritate my skin when we kiss, and it smells faintly of oak and citrus, a scent I love.
As we leave the bedroom, I catch his hand, threading my fingers between his. “I know it’s not ideal, having to drive to White Plains with everything going on, but this prospective client could bring in a lot of money for the company. And it’s a big deal that my boss is letting me take the lead on the project.”
“I know.” He casts an admiring smile at me. “It’s a big deal. And it’s not a problem. We’ll be in White Plains by eight-thirty, with plenty of time before your meeting at nine. Once it’s over, we’ll head back here so I can drop you off before heading to work myself.”
In the living room, I pause to glance around for my purse. Now that we’re staying at Blade and Arrow, all the spots I’ve gotten used to putting things in Oliver’s house have changed. We don’t have a console table by the front door to leave my purse, or a handy rack beneath it to store our shoes. It’s not that the client apartment is bad—far from it—but it’s different. And in the two days we’ve been here, I still haven’t gotten used to it.
“Here.” Oliver snags my purse from the back of the dining room chair and hands it to me. “I’m guessing that’s what you were looking for?”
“You read my mind.” I smile at him, meeting his gaze. And for a second, everything else just dissolves. The worry about this plan, the itchy feeling of being someplace unfamiliar, anxiety about making a good impression at work… none of it feels as important as just being here with the man I love.
“I love you,” I blurt out.
His face softens. “I love you, too.”
Then he sets the travel mugs on the dining room table and hugs me, his strong arms wrapping me in his embrace. His lips press to the top of my head, his breath whispering across my hair as he says, “I’m so proud of you, Shea. I always knew you were strong, but watching you over the last few weeks… you’re so incredibly brave.”
I snort in disagreement. “I’d hardly call myself brave. You’re brave. The guys on the B and A team are. Niall is. But me? I’m average.”
“No.” Oliver gently takes my arms and sets me away from him. “You are brave. Not just for the obvious things, like fighting back at the Hop-less Horseman and at your house, which were pretty badass, I have to say. But for facing all the other stuff, too. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, before all this, and especially now. But all through it, you’ve been so incredibly strong. Sticking with all the things that help you, like counseling and yoga and pilates. Talking to Niall and Jade about what’s worrying you. Talking to me. And even though I said I’d bail on this whole plan, you told me to do it, even though it scares you. Shea? That’s what bravery is.”
Oh.
My eyes burn.
“Oll.” I pull a hand away to wave at my face. “You’re going to make me cry!”
Panic washes across Oliver’s face. “Don’t cry.”
Sniffing against the prickling in my nose, I retort, “Then don’t say such sweet things.”
“Um?” His forehead wrinkles. “I thought that was a good thing?”
“It is.” Framing his face, I give him a hard kiss on the lips. “What you said? It was wonderful. Which makes me all teary.” I grab the travel mugs and hand one to him. With a wobbly smile, I add, “And I can’t show up at this meeting with pink eyes. That’s not quite the capable look I’m going for.”
“I suppose not.” Oliver grasps my hand. “So I guess I’ll save all the sweet stuff for when you’re not about to go to a very important meeting. How does that sound?”
As we head towards the front door, I tug him to a stop and turn to face him. “I love it when you say sweet things anytime. I’ll never not want to hear them.”
But once we’re on the road, Oliver does a wonderful job shifting the conversation to simpler, less tear-inducing subjects. Like the barbeque Blade and Arrow is hosting next weekend out on their amazing patio, which I’m definitely looking forward to. Even though it’s not the Fourth yet, Finn’s going to break out some fireworks, Leo and Georgia are arranging for a bunch of games, and a bunch of Oliver’s friends—well, my friends now—are coming, too.
As Oliver navigates along the winding back road that takes us from Blade and Arrow to the main thoroughfare into White Plains, I reach over to touch his leg, loving the flex of his thigh muscle under my hand. For a moment, I’m tempted to move my hand higher, but then I think, maybe it’s not a great idea to do that while he’s driving. Especially if I surprise him and he has to explain how a police officer ran off the road for no reason.
So instead, I ask, “Who’s supposed to be coming to the barbeque again?”
What I don’t ask is, will everything be over by then? Can you promise me for the hundredth time that you’ll be there and not in the hospital, terribly injured after this whole bait slash trap thing goes south?
Not that I think it will. But my stupid brain can’t stop wandering into places I’d rather it didn’t.
“Well, as far as I know, Cash and Ari will be there,” Oliver replies, thankfully unaware of the dangerous path my mind was taking. “So will Ben and Thea. I think Ian and his wife, Rose, are taking a trip out to New Mexico to visit family. Grant and Scarlett should be coming, too.”
“Nora said something about her friend, Jess, coming,” I add. “She said she can’t wait to introduce us.”
“Yeah, I’ve met Jess. She’s quiet but nice.” He pauses. “I don’t know the details, but I think she’s been through some rough times in the past. Maya said something about it. That Nora has kind of taken Jess under her wing.”
A smile touches my lips. “Kind of like me.”
As he slows coming up to a curve, Oliver glances over at me. “I suppose so. You really like Nora, don’t you?”
“I do. You know, it’s partly because of her that I texted you. After the Hop-less Horseman.”
“Really? How so?”
“Well, she was taking me to work. And she could tell I was down. She asked me a little about you, and then she told me about her and Jackson. How she’d broken up with him and thought it was too late to fix it. But it wasn’t.”
“Shea.”
“It got me thinking. Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix things with you, too.”
His eyes on the road again, his jaw tightens in profile. His throat bobs. “I guess I need to thank Nora, then, don’t I?”
I give his leg a squeeze. “I think we both?—”
But I stop as the muscles under my hand go rigid. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and his gaze flickers to the rearview mirror, then the side, and back again.
Just like that, tension fills the car.
My pulse jumps to double speed. “Oll? Is everything okay?”
“I’m sure it is.” But his voice is carefully calm, not relaxed like it was just a minute ago. “There’s a car following a little too close behind us. It’s probably just an impatient driver in a hurry to get to work.”
“Okay.” I turn to look over my shoulder, spotting the dark gray sedan less than a car’s-length behind us. “I’m sure you’re right. They’re just running late or something.”
I’m sure that’s the case. Just someone in a rush, maybe they snoozed one too many times this morning, and now they’re racing to get to work on time. We’ve all been there, desperately wishing the person in front of us would go faster, maybe even tailgating a little even though we know darn well we shouldn’t.
Still. I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not that simple.
And a rational explanation doesn’t seem to alleviate the pit in my stomach. It’s like that feeling I had at the Hop-less Horseman when the van pulled up, when I just knew something was wrong.
“There’s a side road about a half mile up,” Oliver says. “If they’re still acting like this, I’ll just pull off and let them go past us.”
A second later, he curses under his breath.
I look behind us again. The car is even closer now, the front of the hood no longer visible. There’s a man in the driver’s seat wearing a hoodie pulled up over his head.
Which is definitely not normal in May.
“Oll…” It’s barely a whisper. I don’t want to panic, this still could be nothing. But that feeling is getting stronger and stronger.
“It’s okay.” Oliver shoots a quick glance at me, his mouth pulled into a taut smile that I think is supposed to be reassuring. “Worst case, I’ll turn around.”
“Turn around?” I don’t mean to sound disbelieving, but we’re on a narrow two-lane road. On either side of us is a metal guardrail, and beyond it, a thick swathe of trees. I’m not sure where exactly he plans to turn.
“I can do a one-eighty,” he explains. “Learned it in a tactical driving course. But I’m sure I won’t have—” He stops. “Fuck.”
Two cars are racing towards us, both in the opposite lane, one directly behind the other. They’re moving much faster than the thirty-five mile an hour speed limit suggests, perhaps even double it.
As I’m watching, one of them pulls into the other lane. The one facing us.
My heart flies into my throat.
This is very bad.
I’m no expert in tactical driving, like Oliver, but even to me, it’s obvious the cars are together. I can’t think of another explanation for two similar-looking sedans to be barreling towards us in tandem, lined up perfectly with each other, driving at what looks to be the same speed.
Oliver’s knuckles are white on the wheel. His jaw could cut glass.
Our car is slowing, but with the car behind us right on our tail, Oliver can only let off the gas so much.
We’re stuck. Two cars in front, one in the rear, and nowhere to go on either side.
“Okay,” Oliver says in an eerily calm tone. “I’m going to try to swerve around the one in our lane. We might glance off the guardrail, but we should be alright.”
“Okay,” I whisper. It’s a struggle to even get that out. My lungs feel like a giant band is wrapped around them, wrapping tighter by the second.
“Soon,” he says. “Just hang on.”
But.
The cars coming at us come to a screeching stop, angling themself so they block the road completely.
Oh. Crap.
The move is like something I’ve seen on TV, when two cop cars are trying to stop a fugitive on the run. Except it’s not a movie, it’s real. And I have a pretty good suspicion the men in the cars aren’t the police.
A glance at the speedometer tells me we’re moving at a steady thirty miles an hour, which isn’t very fast, but if we crash into these cars head on…
“Shea. I’m going to have to try to run through the barricade. We can’t let these guys stop us.” Oliver’s gaze flickers to me for a second. There’s less than two-hundred feet between us and the makeshift blockage across the road. “I need you to brace your head against the headrest. Tense up your muscles. It’ll help reduce the force of any impact.”
I try to answer him, but all that comes out is a dry croak. My throat is too dry to speak.
“Hang on.”
One-hundred feet.
Oh, please.
And then.
We’re rammed from behind.
It’s violent. Jarring. Loud.
Metal screeches.
My head jerks forward.
Oliver’s hand reaches over and clamps across my stomach, pressing me back against the seat.
The car starts spinning.
Everything happens so fast.
Three cars are converging on us, still not slowing.
My heart feels like it’s about to explode.
A quick glance at Oliver shows his expression more intense than I’ve ever seen it.
Not just intense. Dangerous. Deadly.
He lets go of me to wrestle with the wheel, trying to steer us out of the skid.
“We can still turn around,” he says. “But I want you to get your head down in case they start shooting.”
Shooting? What? Here?
Yes. Of course, here. On this apparently empty road except for us and a bunch of people intent on trapping us, at least.
And why else would they be here if not for me and Oliver?
Just as our spin is slowing, there’s a sharp crack outside.
Having spent time around both Niall and Oliver as they practice, I know what it is.
A gunshot.
Then the right side of our car sags.
“Fuck,” Oliver grits out. “They shot out the tire.”
Our car is now drunkenly limping along, the flat tire pulling us off to the side.
He reaches under the seat and pulls out his gun.
Outside, there’s another crack. The left side of the car drops, matching the right.
And now we’re stuck. Really stuck. With two flat tires and three cars surrounding us.
Time does this crazy thing, slowing and speeding up at the same time. My body feels like it’s moving in slow motion, but around me, everything is in fast forward.
Like the three cars. And the men jumping out of them, racing towards us with guns drawn.
It’s like my worst nightmare come to life.
Not just me in danger, but Oliver. And I know he’ll defend me at the expense of his own life.
I can’t lose him. I can’t.
“Stay in the car,” he says brusquely. “You’re wearing your earrings, right? You need to trigger them. Now.”
It takes a second for my terrified brain to register what he’s saying. The earrings. The ones Blade and Arrow gave me. I need to press one of them, just like Cole showed me. It’ll trigger a call for help, and the team will come right away.
But what if it’s too late? What if they show up to find us…
“There’s a gun in the glovebox,” Oliver continues. “I’m going to get out. Confront them. Only use it if you?—”
There’s another loud crack, and this time, glass shatters.
Someone screams.
No. Not someone. Me.
I look frantically around, half-convinced I’ll find Oliver with blood all over him. But he’s unhurt, just like me. Then I feel a breeze coming through the back, and I realize there’s a jagged hole in the rear window.
The earring. The earring. Press it. Now.
It’s like moving through quicksand, but I manage to press the center of the earring, just like I was shown.
Then Oliver grabs my hand and squeezes it hard. “Stay here. I’m getting out.”
But.
Just as he pushes the door open, there’s a rapping on the window beside me. Not a fist knocking at it, but a gun. Pointed at me.
My lungs seize.
Then another man approaches, his gun aimed at the windshield. Also in my direction.
Oliver freezes half out of the car. His gaze shoots to mine, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him look truly scared.
A third man comes up to the car, this time on Oliver’s side. He’s dressed like the others, in jeans and a hoodie, but his face is fully exposed.
He doesn’t care if we see him.
The man bares his teeth at Oliver in a malevolent grin. His voice is all menace and slimy satisfaction. “Put your gun down, Kingston. And get out of the car. Or I’ll have my friends shoot your lovely girlfriend. And you wouldn’t want that , would you?”
Oliver stares at him. “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, no.” That evil smile gets wider. “She’s coming with us. And if you try anything, I will kill her.”