Chapter 24
Plot Twist: Kiss interruptions are the worst.
Tate whipped around, situating himself so that I was behind him, one hand out to keep me back and the other holding a gun.
In a matter of seconds, we’d both assessed the situation.
A large rock, the size of a football, had crashed through the window by the table, narrowly missing us. The glass had shattered.
Tate made his way to the window, peering out into the dark where we heard the faint sound of footsteps crunching on gravel.
Tate swore, grabbed my arm, and maneuvered us toward the stairs leading to the basement.
“LUKE!” he bellowed down the stairs, looking like a caged bear. “LUKE! Get up here NOW!”
My heart was pounding, terror coming over me as I was slowly realizing what was happening. Luke, looking haggard, ran up the stairs a moment later. Tate handed him his gun and finally released his hold on me to storm toward the kitchen.
“It’s loaded. Watch her. Use it if you need to.”
Luke, for his part, looked startled but not uncomfortable holding a gun. “Where are you going?” he called after his brother.
“He’s out there. I’m going to look for him.” Tate ran to the cupboard in the kitchen where, apparently, the top shelf held bullets and another gun. In seconds, Tate had it loaded and in his hands and was storming out the door.
“Don’t let her out of your sight,” he ordered as he disappeared from view. I watched him go, my heart a lump in my throat.
For a long moment, Luke and I stood there, staring at the broken window, the glass shattered all over the floor.
“What happened?”
I vaguely heard the question but didn’t answer as I slipped on a pair of Ann’s garden shoes sitting by the door before making my way toward the window, stepping carefully over the glass.
I peered out into the dark void, trying to hear something, anything, that might indicate Tate was coming back to the house.
“Hey, get away from the window,” Luke said gently, motioning me toward him.
“We should probably turn off some of these lights,” he mumbled, looking around. “So we aren’t sitting ducks in here.”
I winced at the visual as he shut off most of the lights in the kitchen, leaving only a string of yellow pendants over the island. He put the gun in the front waistband of his jeans before noticing I hadn’t followed him, and he pulled me with him into the kitchen.
I turned toward Luke, something cutting into my neck as I did so. I reached behind me and felt some small pieces of glass that had fallen into the hood and neck of my sweatshirt.
Unable to sit still, but forbidden by Luke to pace the floors, I worked on getting the glass out of my sweatshirt.
I came away bleeding in a few spots. Luke locked the doors, found some Band-Aids in the pantry, and did enough pacing for the two of us.
This was a lot to place on a twenty-two-year-old kid.
I had the glass swept up, and every one of my nails chewed off by the time Luke led me to sit at the table. My leg bounced uncontrollably while Luke kept a vigilant eye on all the exits. Neither of us spoke a word.
When the kitchen door finally opened, Luke drew his gun.
“It’s me,” Tate said as he peered around the doorway, catching my gaze first thing. The knot in my chest loosened at the sight.
We both stood up, watching Tate for any sign that he might be injured.
“What happened?” Luke demanded, engaging the gun’s safety before setting it down.
Tate had the exhausted air of a defeated man as he crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him. He took note again of the rock-sized hole in the window before taking in the pair of us. His eyes went to the Band-aids on my neck.
“What happened to you?” he demanded as he made his way to the table and pulled out a chair.
“The glass from the window.”
He nodded slowly.
“Did you see him?” I asked.
“I saw the back of him getting into a car he parked off the road in our hayfield.”
“You chased him to the road?” Luke asked.
“Yeah.” He spoke to Luke, but he was still looking at me. “You alright?” he asked, his body tense. He still seemed like a caged bear.
I fought to keep the tremor from my voice as I muttered, “Yeah.”
“Did you get the make of his car? Or license plate?” Luke asked. His cheeks and nose were red, and I wondered if that was from his cold or the stress of the last twenty minutes.
Tate shook his head. “It was too dark for most of that, but it looked like a gray Toyota Camry.”
Luke seethed. “Of course he picked a car that fifty percent of the population owns.”
“That’s exactly why he picked it,” Tate said.
“I think we’re giving him too much credit,” I said. “He’s not the type of guy who can just outsmart a bunch of cameras and outrun a cop. He’s just been lucky.”
Tate’s jaw twitched. “He didn’t outsmart anybody. The cameras worked just fine. There was an alert on my phone ten seconds before he threw the rock. The cameras capture; they don’t prevent.”
“Did you see him throw it, then?” Luke asked, looking at his brother.
Tate’s eyes flicked to mine. Our time playing cards and the moments after my win seemed like a lifetime ago.
We sat in silence. Underneath my worn-out, shocked exterior, a new emotion was beginning to settle into my chest. Anger. But not just any anger.
Blind rage.
The audacity of this outside force interjecting his way into my life and using tactics meant to frighten and control.
But now, watching Luke trying to act older than he was, dealing with a crazed stalker and a gun thrust upon him…
And Tate’s slumped shoulders, his faraway expression, and distress rolling off him in waves…
Watching all of this, I felt a rage that overpowered the fear. How dare he?
How dare he?