Chapter Fifty
Emily
I huddle in that darkened bathroom, with every passing moment cursing the fact that I left my phone out on my desk next to my laptop. I was so eager to get my gun and shoot Jay that I forget about it. And now, it’s out there, and I’m trapped in here.
After some time, and a few kicks against the bathroom door, it goes quiet. But still, I stay in the bathroom, holding the gun and a crying baby and my breath. I don’t dare get up and check outside, yet, because it’s only been a little while and it could be a trap. I wouldn’t put it past Jay to sit out there, quiet, to make me think that he’s left, and then snatch me as soon as I open the door. He knows I have a baby with me; he knows that means I have to be extra careful, and he’ll definitely try to take advantage.
So I sit in the bathtub, gun pointed at the door, and I wait.
Then I hear movement out in my living room. Muffled, angry voices. At least two of them. It’s hard to make out what they’re saying over the pounding in my ears.
More movement, more shouting.
Then I hear a voice at the door. I don’t recognize it.
“She’s in here,” it says. Then the door handle moves as he tests it, finds it locked. It’s followed then by a shoulder hitting the door, again, and then a pause, before a kick knocks it open.
On the other side, I see the shape of a man holding a gun.
That’s all I need to know what I have to do.
I pull the trigger.
The bullet hits him in the shoulder and he drops, a scream of pain erupting from his open mouth. Beside me, Charlie howls in shock and terror. Gun in my hand, still ready, I stand from the tub and stride forward, ready to finish the job; I’ll shot this man as many times as it takes and then I’ll shoot Jay, too. He won’t bother me or anyone I love ever again.
The moment the strange man hits the ground, screaming, I hear something else. A shout from elsewhere in my apartment, a familiar voice. Hunter.
“Diesel, what is it? Did you fucking shoot someone?”
I slump to the ground in shock, and the gun falls from my hand. Hunter comes around the corner and sees me leaning over the other man, a look of pain and horror on his face. That look hits me in the heart and a mournful wail breaks my lips apart.
“Emily? Emily! What the hell did you do?”
I can’t speak at first. Can’t even think. Can only feel — shock, horror, disgust, anger, terror; I shot the friend of the man I love. I may have murdered his friend and done so right in front of his son.
Hunter runs to my side and places his hand over the bullet wound. Blood is gushing, welling out between his fingertips, pooling on the floor.
“Emily, what the fuck? What the fuck?”
“I—” I don’t know what to say. Don’t know what I even can say that can explain what I’ve just done. It’s inexcusable. Awful. Detestable.
“What happened here? Why did you shoot Diesel? Why do you have a gun?” Hunter shouts. Charlie is crying, mortified, from the bathtub. I’m crying, too, an absolute wreck of a human being. “Nevermind. We need to stem the bleeding and then we need to get him to a doctor. Hang on, Diesel.”
“I’m doing just fine, Hunter. The floor’s pretty damn comfortable,” Diesel says. “And this thing in my shoulder’s just a flesh wound. Granted, a big one, and it went through a lot of my flesh, but give me an aspirin and I’ll…” His words end in a breathy gasp and he stops, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re losing a lot of blood,” Hunter says. “I’m not going to let you die after everything you’ve done for me. Emily, I need you to focus. Find me some bandages. We have to get them on and keep pressure on the wound.”
I nod, still in shock, but pull myself to my feet. My hands are shaking as I fumble through the bathroom cabinet, knocking over bottles and jars in my haste. Finally, I find a roll of gauze and some medical tape. It's not much, but it'll have to do.
"Here," I say, handing them to Hunter. My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from someone else.
Hunter takes the supplies and immediately starts wrapping Diesel's shoulder. The white gauze quickly turns red, but Hunter keeps wrapping, applying pressure.
"Emily, I need you to call 911," Hunter says, his voice firm but urgent. "Now."
I stumble out of the bathroom, my legs weak beneath me. Charlie's cries echo behind me as I make my way to the living room. My phone is exactly where I left it, on the desk next to my laptop. With trembling fingers, I dial 911.
"911, what's your emergency?" a calm voice answers.
"I... Someone’s been shot. It was an accident," I stammer. "He needs help. Please, send an ambulance."
I give them my address, barely able to get the words out. The operator assures me help is on the way and asks me to stay on the line. But I can't. I drop the phone and rush back to the bathroom.
Hunter is still there, pressing down on Diesel's wound. Diesel's face is pale, his eyes unfocused.
"They're coming," I say.
Hunter doesn’t answer, simply clenches his jaw and keeps his focus on Diesel, on the wound, on fixing my mistake; confusion and rage radiates off him in waves. I want to shrivel in on myself and disappear. I want him to say something, to tell me what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling, to tell me he understands, and that everything will be OK.
For a minute or two, I simply stand there, answering his infrequent, muttered requests for more bandages, more gauze, more tape, for disinfectant, while he manages Diesel’s wound and offers encouragement to his friend. Other than the times he asks me for something, I might as well not exist to him.
From the bathtub, Charlie cries, and I’m too paralyzed to even go to him. So I stand, rooted, helpless, terrified, until, minutes later, there are sirens and paramedics coming through my front door.
“I’ll be by soon to check on you,” Hunter says, patting Diesel on his non-wounded shoulder. “Don’t go dying on me. I’m going to need you at that party.”
“Wouldn’t dream of missing it,” Diesel says. For a second, he looks at me, and I can tell he wants to say something more. There’s a softening in his eyes, a flash of understanding, like he knows I made an honest mistake, but then his eyes go to Hunter and he simply nods. “And don’t worry, buddy, I’ve had worse. I’ll see you in a few.”
They wheel Diesel away, and the moment my battered door shuts behind them, Hunter turns to me, eyes blazing.
“What in the fuck just happened?” He says. His voice burns, his eyes scorch into my heart like red-hot pokers. “You have so much to answer for, Emily. Why do you have a gun? Why were you hiding in your bathtub — armed — with my son?”
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. The weight of what I've done crashes down on me, and I sink to the floor, my back against the wall. Hunter's anger is palpable, filling the room, suffocating me.
"I thought..." I stammer, trying to find the right words. "I thought it was Jay. I thought he had come for me."
Hunter's expression shifts, confusion mixing with the anger. "Jay? Your ex? What does he have to do with this?"
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "He's been threatening me. Sending messages, showing up at my work, and he was the one who broke into my apartment. I was scared, Hunter. I was so scared. He doesn’t just want to torment me anymore, he wants to destroy my life and hurt everyone I love."
"So you got a gun? Without telling me? Without even mentioning that you were in danger?"
Shame washes over me. "I didn't want to worry you. I thought I could handle it on my own."
Hunter runs a hand through his hair, frustration clear in every movement. "Emily, we're supposed to be partners. We're supposed to trust each other. This isn't trust. And that you brought that gun around Charlie, that you put him in danger, and you shot my friend… what the fuck? I don’t even know who you are anymore."
His words cut deep, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."
Charlie's cries from the bathtub grow louder, and Hunter moves past me to pick him up. He cradles his son close, whispering soothing words. The sight breaks my heart all over.
“I thought you were better than this,” he says, his voice a potent cocktail of disappointment and rage. “I don’t even understand how you could be so reckless, so fucking irresponsible.”
It’s as he’s holding Charlie that I finally notice his appearance. Finally see the blood on his hands, his shirt, and even the few droplets on his cheek. That’s not Diesel’s blood. With a deep breath, I calm myself enough to search my memory and realize he was that bloody before he even tried to tend to his friend’s wound.
“Why are you so bloody, Hunter?” Even disoriented, remorseful, with my heart pounding in my chest, I put a knife’s edge of sharpness into my words. “Tell me about that.”
“What?”
“That blood all over you. It was there when you got here. It’s not from your friend Diesel, so you must have been doing something dangerous. Why don’t you explain what you were up to?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“None of my business? You scream at me like a maniac for putting others in danger, but while you’re doing it, it certainly looks like you aren’t some model of safety either. What happened? Did you kill someone?”
“Tread lightly, Emily,” Hunter says.
“Tread lightly? Tread lightly?” My voice rises to a strident pitch. Charlie wails, and Hunter glowers at me like a menacing statue. “The fucking nerve to lecture me about all of this when you were out shooting people and freaking bathing in their blood from the looks of it. How the hell do you expect me to trust you?”
"I expect you to trust me because I've never given you a reason not to!" Hunter shouts back, his face reddening. "Everything I do, I do to protect my family. To protect you!"
"Protect me? By keeping secrets? By coming home covered in blood?" I'm on my feet now, my fists clenched at my sides. "That's not protection, that's danger!"
"You don't understand what I'm dealing with!" Hunter's voice booms through the apartment, causing Charlie to cry harder. "There are things you can't even imagine — "
"Then explain them to me!" I scream, my throat raw. "Stop treating me like I'm too fragile to handle the truth!"
"The truth?" Hunter laughs bitterly. "The truth is that sometimes, to keep the people you love safe, you have to do things you're not proud of. Things that haunt you. But I do them anyway, because that's what it means to truly protect someone."
"Don't you dare act like you're some noble martyr!" I spit the words at him. "You're just as secretive, just as dangerous as you accuse me of being. Maybe even more so!"
We're face to face now, both of us breathing hard, the air between us crackling with tension. Charlie's cries have turned to whimpers, but neither of us moves to comfort him.
"I can't do this right now," I say, suddenly feeling drained. "I'm going to take a walk. Then I have to finish my paper. When I get back, I want you gone. Got it?”
“Oh, trust me, I can’t wait to get out of here.”
Without even sparing a look over my shoulder, I storm out the door, down the hallway, down the stairs, and out of my building and onto the sidewalk. My heart is running rampant in my chest, my nerves are frayed, torn, every part of me feeling absolutely fried with anger and with heartbreak. What just happened between Hunter and me is the end. I know it; there’s no way we can patch things up after I shot his friend in front of Charlie. And how can I trust him again after knowing what he’s done?
I walk. Aimless. The occasional car rolls by, sometimes slowing down, probably to look at the crying woman covered in blood. Pedestrians cross the street to get away from me, also probably because I’m crying and bloody.
My wandering takes me out of my regular neighborhood, and it’s not until some time that I look up through tear-streaked eyes and see that I have no idea where I am. There’s nothing around that I recognize, most of the buildings look dark and empty, and there’s only a single car on the street rolling slowly along nearby. A sick feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I should get home.
Then I hear a voice behind me. A familiar voice. Jay’s.
“Hey, Emily. Did you miss me?”
I have only a moment to open my mouth and let out a half-scream before a hand clamps over my face and I’m dragged toward the waiting car.