Chapter 2
RYAN
Why did I say that?
It’s going to be okay. I promise.
How can I promise such a thing?
We’re being held hostage in a store by an armed and unstable man.
It’s been six hours and the police still haven’t convinced him to let us go.
We still don’t know what Daniel wants, so there’s no way to even offer it to him.
I don’t have a weapon to fight back. I don’t think anyone in the store does. Or if they do, they’re too scared to use it, which I can hardly blame them for.
So, yeah, things aren’t looking great.
I should have just bought my brother-in-law a six-pack of beer from the Hop-less Horseman, like I did last year.
Then I would have been in and out in minutes and free to move on to the rest of my day.
I’d be home by now, wrapping presents and listening to classic Christmas music and snacking on the cookies my pharmacy tech, Kelly, gave me as a gift yesterday.
I wouldn’t be a hostage, that’s for sure. And my life wouldn’t be flashing before my eyes, filled with what-ifs and if-onlys and thoughts of the things I wish I’d done differently.
Like manning up and asking Willow out, for one.
The possibility of death makes you reconsider your choices, I’ve heard.
I have friends who’ve been in life or death situations, and they’ve said it threw everything into perspective.
Like my buddy, Ben, who volunteers at the Ambulance Corps with me and Willow.
When his now-wife, Thea, was in danger, it made him realize that their just-friends relationship wasn’t enough.
“I didn’t think I wanted a relationship,” he admitted. “After everything with my ex, I thought it was a complication I didn’t need. But when I saw Thea hurt, when I realized I could have lost her… I knew I had to give things with her a shot.”
Not that I haven’t thought about asking Willow out before.
I have. Plenty of times. But there’s always been a reason not to.
I was busy with work and didn’t have time to date.
My dad broke his hip and I needed to spend my weekends driving to Rhinebeck to help around the house.
I overheard Willow talking about going on a date.
What if I asked her out and she wasn’t interested, and it made things between us weird?
The excuses made sense at the time.
But now? Shit. I wish I’d taken the chance.
After all, what’s the worst that would have happened? Things didn’t work out and we realized we were better off as friends? We’d suffer through some awkward shifts at the Corps together? I’d feel weird and itchy when I inevitably saw Willow out on a date with someone else?
Those are all things I could survive.
But if Daniel hurts Willow…
Just because he hasn’t shot anyone yet doesn’t mean he won’t.
And just because I’m a paramedic and pharmacist doesn’t mean I can save her life.
Shit.
I turn my attention away from Daniel to glance at Willow again.
She looks scared, of course—pale, her freckles standing out in stark contrast, and her green-gold eyes wide with fear.
Her caramel hair is falling free from her ponytail, and I’m struck with the oddest urge to pull it away from her face and gather it back for her.
She looks small and vulnerable, all hunched up with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
Every so often, a slight shudder shakes her body.
The tiny hairs around her forehead are damp with perspiration, which I first chalked up to nerves, but now I’m worried it’s an indication of something more serious.
Protectiveness surges, swift and intense.
And with it, a certainty that I made the right choice by coming here.
If I’d stuck with the beer, Willow would be facing this alone.
Okay, I admit to myself as I cast my gaze around the store, not alone.
But she doesn’t know the other people in here like she knows me.
She knows them, but they’re not friends.
They haven’t spent dozens of shifts together over the years, teasing each other over TV preferences—she likes competitive reality, I like soccer—and playing Scrabble and Scattergories whenever it’s slow.
And she wouldn’t have someone here who’s really paying attention to her.
“It should have been MINE!” Daniel shouts abruptly.
Everyone in the store jolts, myself included.
“What?” Greta asks quietly. “What should have?”
Daniel turns towards her, so his back is partially to me.
We’re all seated in a semicircle in front of the checkout counter, with Greta at one end and Willow and me at the other.
Though I feel bad for Greta, I’m relieved Daniel’s attention has shifted to her.
It gives me more leeway to talk to Willow, for one.
And it gives me another opening to inspect the shelves behind me, hoping to find some sort of weapon that I missed earlier.
Except it’s a gift shop filled with innocuous things like the frilly scarves my mom likes to wear and stuffed snowmen with button eyes and knit caps. And though I’m in pretty good shape—I hit the gym at least four times a week—I’m not sure a stuffed snowman or a scarf is going to help.
“The store!” Daniel yells. “It should have gone to me! And the house! And the car! And the—” He stops. “The vintage records! Those, too!”
“But I had those before we got married,” Greta starts. But she quickly amends her very reasonable explanation by adding, “You can have them. All of them. Just let us go.”
“NO! It’s too late!”
From midway across the semicircle, Mrs. Everts moans, “He’s going to kill us.”
Willow shudders again. Then she sways.
Though I know I should avoid sudden moves, my hand darts out to steady her.
“Willow,” I whisper urgently, “What’s going on?”
She sets her shoulders and lifts her chin. “I’m fine,” she murmurs.
“No, you’re not.” I hold on to her arm an extra second before letting her go. “And don’t tell me it’s because you’re scared.”
Her lips thin. Several long seconds drag by. Then she admits quietly, “It’s my insulin patch. It ran out.”
My stomach clenches.
Shit.
Willow’s a diabetic. Type 1. It’s well-controlled, and most times, unless she says something about it, I forget she has diabetes at all.
But I know the dangers of going without insulin for too long. And depending on how long ago her patch ran out, Willow could be in serious trouble.
“How long ago?” I whisper.
She glances at Daniel before replying, “Four hours ago.”
Shit.
Being a pharmacist, I know about insulin patches. And I know that for someone like Willow, with her type of diabetes, being without insulin for that long can be dangerous.
“How are you feeling?” As I wait for her response, I curse myself for not thinking of it sooner. I should have considered her diabetes as soon as I noticed Willow shaking. But I assumed it was fear and not a symptom of high blood sugar.
“Shaky,” she admits. “Chilled. Thirsty. Tired.”
With each symptom she reels off, my worry grows deeper.
Willow takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Then she flashes me a wan smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
Will she, though?
I’m not so sure. Especially given that we don’t know how much longer this will go on for.
And Willow, who hasn’t just been dealing with her diabetes for over a decade, but is a trained paramedic and nurse turned doula, knows it.
“I always carry an extra patch,” she adds quietly. “In my purse. Plus fast acting insulin, just in case. But—” Her gaze slides to the pile of purses and phones and smartwatches all piled on the counter.
I get why she hasn’t asked yet. With Daniel’s behavior as erratic as it’s been, the last thing anyone wants is to draw attention to themselves.
And she’s probably been hoping things would have been resolved already.
But four hours going with no insulin and her blood sugar levels getting more and more out of whack…
We could keep waiting. Hoping.
I could reassure myself with facts I learned about in pharmacy school, and later, in training to be a paramedic.
I could tell myself Willow has time. That diabetic ketoacidosis shouldn’t kick in until much later than this.
But do I want to bank Willow’s health on it?
No. I don’t.
I touch her leg again, this time not just with my fingers, but my entire hand. “I’ll take care of it,” I murmur.
“No,” she whispers back. “I’ll be fine. It’s—”
“Daniel.” I raise my voice to be heard above his current rant, this time about how Greta kept emasculating him and should have understood that he needed to hit on other women to feel good about himself.
Which, what?
If I were married, I’d never even look at another woman. Willow would be more than enough.
Not that I’m marrying Willow. But I did, she’d be the only woman I looked at.
Although. If we get through this, and I ask her out, and things go well…
“What?” Daniel barks. His gun drifts in my direction.
Willow makes a small, scared sound.
“I’m not trying to cause trouble,” I tell him, using my most placating tone—the one I use when a patient is acting particularly belligerent. “But my friend here, she’s diabetic. And she’s out of insulin.”
“So?” he fires back.
“Can you just get her purse? So she can get her insulin? It’s the—” I glance at Willow with my eyebrows raised.
“The green one,” she answers timidly. “With the red bow on the strap.”
I can see it, sitting right there on the counter. Not twenty feet away, but no better than twenty miles, at the moment. “Can you just give her the purse?” I ask. “Just so she can get the insulin. Then she’ll give it right back to you.”
Daniel looks between me and Willow for a few seconds. His expression is unreadable.
Then he shakes his head. “No. She might have a weapon in there. Or a phone.”
“I don’t,” Willow protests. “No weapons. And my phone is on the counter.”
“I don’t care,” Daniel retorts. “How do I know you’re even telling the truth? It could all be a ruse to distract me.”
Willow shakes her head this time. “No. I’m not lying. I can show you the patch I’m wearing now.” She starts to tug up her sleeve.
“NO!” he roars. The barrel of the gun trains on Willow. “Don’t move. Or I will shoot you.”
Willow freezes. She makes another of those scared sounds that flays my heart open. Then she slowly moves her hand away from her sleeve. “Okay,” she whispers. “Okay.”
Except it’s not.
And now I’m pissed.
Not just angry, like I was before, but furious.
How dare he?
Come in here, on Christmas Eve, no less, and threaten all these innocent people?
How dare he call Willow a liar? How dare he refuse to help her?
I’ve never been a violent man. I’ve always wanted to heal, not hurt.
But right now?
I want to hurt him. I want to punish him for what he’s done.
Except I know that’s not the most important thing.
Protecting Willow is.
Now I understand why Ben ran into a burning building to rescue Thea, even at the risk of his own life.
Sometimes, life makes you realize just how important someone is.
And with that realization comes another.
I’m not waiting for the police to talk him down anymore.
I’ll figure out a way to stop him myself.