Reading His Mind (15 page)

The last thing I wanted was to get caught in the crossfire between this maniac and the heavily armed law enforcement officers. He needed a distraction.

I began a desperate struggle against his strength, yanking my arm as hard as I could. “You’re hurting me.”

His grip tightened. I feared my arm might fall off, but I kept jerking up and down, trying to break free. “You started it. ‘He hurt Jace Laugherty.’” He mimicked me in a very unflattering tone. “How do you think that made me feel?”

I took a deep breath. “You have a gun to my head. You wanna talk feelings, I think we’re even.” I softened my voice. “Maybe we could forget about all of this and move on.”

He laughed. “You’re insane.”

The gun glittered in the overhead lighting. Small. Size mattered, and I assumed the itty-bitty extent of the weapon inspired my fearlessness. “Okay. You be the pot. I’ll be the kettle.”

“Miss,” the officer said quietly, wondering who—me or Wyatt—was the one he needed to worry about. “Maybe you should let us handle this.”

Stilling, I stared at the cop who’d told me to knock it off. “Then handle it,” I commanded. “Shoot his freaking kneecap or something.”

Wyatt moved to the side, allowing him to point his glare at my face. His gun, however, remained against my temple. “You want them to shoot me?”

“Well, kind of. Yeah. I mean, what’s your plan here? You can’t be stupid enough to think we’re getting out of here.”
I swear to God I didn’t drink anything before I left for work this morning, no matter how it sounds
. I pushed the random mumblings of my own mind away. “If you shoot me, they shoot you. If they shoot you and your gun goes off, even if you haven’t done it on purpose, I’m still dead. So. What. Is. Your. Plan?”

I had no weapons in my purse. His gun pressed against my head, and he still squeezed my flesh. I did, however, have on five-inch heels, so maybe I had a weapon, after all. I just had to get past the fear enough to use them.

“Wyatt, tell me one thing. Did you ruin my shoes?”

“Sorry about that.” He smiled his creepy little psycho smile. “I wanted you to need me. I gotta tell you, it’s kind of crazy for someone to love shoes quite that much.” He tilted his head and clicked his tongue.

Seriously? He’s calling me crazy?

My fear morphed into blind rage. I lifted my right foot and stomped down on his instep as hard as I could. He screamed in pain, dropping his gun to clutch his leg. As he fell, I kicked him in the crotch with all the strength I had left.

“You do not screw with a woman’s Blahniks. Dumbass.”

The officer pulled me away, slapping handcuffs on Wyatt before I could even blink. Someone had sent for an ambulance, and I found myself surrounded by cops with their little notebooks, wanting to take my statement. “We sent a unit to the hotel to check on your friend.”

I nodded.

It took three hours, but at long last, a detective released me. I drove to the hospital to find the entire Laugherty clan, my sister included, in the waiting room.

Melody, who’d delayed her flight when Max won big at the roulette table, rushed toward me. “He has a broken arm and a concussion, but he’s okay.”

I breathed fully for the first time since the whole mess began.

“The news is calling you a hero.” Dylan stood in front of me, his features blank.

“But you think I was reckless?” It dripped from his voice.

“I think you take a lot of chances you shouldn’t, but I am glad you’re safe.” He pulled me into a hug.

“Can I see Jace?”

“He’s getting dressed. He should be out in a minute.”

“They’re letting him leave?” He’d been beaten with a baseball bat. Surely, that merited an overnight observational stay.

“It’s just a broken arm, a concussion, and some bruises, Lyr. He’s okay.”

The panic rocked me. “What if it’s worse?”

Mel shook her head. “It’s not.”

“But what if—”

Jace walked out of the emergency room door. His family rushed to him, surrounding him in love and happiness. I stayed rooted to my spot, drinking in the sight, looking past all of them to see him. He had stitches above his black right eye, and his left arm remained stationary in a removable cast, but he walked on his own. As I imagined what he had gone through because of me, tears filled my eyes.

I dropped all of my defenses to concentrate on keeping them at bay. I refused to cry in front of all of these people, but as soon as I got home, the dam would most certainly break. The thoughts of everyone in the room bombarded me, and I swayed on my feet. Since I remained standing, no one noticed, except Jace who broke out of the circle of his family to come stand in front of me.

“I heard you had an exciting day.”

I nodded, unable to speak for fear the tears I bit back would escape.

“You saved my life.”

I scanned his bruised face. “It’s just a broken arm and a concussion, right?”

“But you didn’t know that.” He pulled me forward, hugged me with his good arm, and kissed my forehead. “I wanna go home, Lyric.”

I nodded. Stepping aside, I let Lily help him outside. He limped a bit, held his ribs with his good arm. Since I only had about one minute before my nervous breakdown, I walked out to my car and headed home.

Feeling as though life had beaten me up a bit, I trudged slowly to my apartment. Before I even had the chance to retrieve my key from my purse, George opened the door and threw his arms around me. “Oh, my God. I saw it all on the news. Are you okay? You didn’t answer my texts. Or my calls. Or my smoke signals.”

“Sorry. I had some stuff going on.” I nodded. “Jace is pretty messed up.”

“He was at the courthouse?”

“No. Wyatt went to his hotel last night.”

“Oh.” His arms squeezed around me. “You have to be more careful.” He huffed, grabbing me by my bruised arm.

He had something to say, but he wanted my attention. Unfortunately for him, I’d had enough of being manhandled. I jerked away, wincing, but stood tall, ready to square off.

“That’s how you get yourself into trouble, Lyric.” He was as exasperated as I had ever seen. “You wink and flirt and throw your sexy little curves around like a weapon. You gotta be more careful, girl. Not every guy is gonna take the high road like I do.”

Every single man in my life had lost his flippin’ lid. “What the hell are you babbling about?” I had a feeling this fight might be in the epic arena.

“You. I love you, babe, but you put it all out there and expect to walk away unscathed. It doesn’t happen like that. You break a heart, sometimes, you get broken in return.”

“I don’t put it all out there.” I blinked and forced my mouth closed.

“I don’t think you do it on purpose. I don’t.” He rubbed a hand down my arm. “I think you are oblivious to how sexy you are. How men look at you.” What he meant was how
he
looked at me.

“I know what
they
think, George. I’m kind of special like that.”

“Yet, you walk around like a supermodel on the runway.”

“So, it’s my fault Wyatt jumped off the ledge?” How dare he? Our friendship hovered on the line.

“Would I ever say that?” When I didn’t answer, he continued. “No. I don’t think it’s your fault he went one-flew-over-the-cuckoo’s-nest.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That maybe you should be more careful with people’s feelings.”

“Have I hurt you, George?”

He shot me a glare from the corner of his eyes. “I deal with what I deal with, lover. Don’t worry about me. I have loved you from afar and plan to continue to stand beside you and love you for the rest of my life.” George had always been honest—no matter what it cost him, no matter who witnessed the truths. “But I don’t want to see you hurt because some guy took your behavior the wrong way. I don’t want to lose this—what we have—over some guy who doesn’t understand you.” He pulled me into a tight hug.

“So, you want me to change?” I whispered, tears a reality.

“Oh, baby. Never. I just want you to be careful. Know that I love you, no matter what, but there are people out there who will use you or hurt you.” He gave me one more squeeze before pointing his gaze down to mine. “Settle down, girl. Find a man who makes you happy and take yourself off of the market because the shopping center is getting dangerous.”

I nodded. “I am sorry if I did anything—”

He cut me off with yet another hug. This one threatened my air supply. “I love everything about you, sweetheart, but even I know I am not the right guy for you. Because I love you, I would never expect you to settle for less than your happily ever after.” He kissed the top of my head. “Just find it soon, love, because all this crazy man business is about to kill old Georgie.”

Nodding, I pulled away, seeing my best friend in a whole new light. I had been walking around without a clue. How the hell was I supposed to fix this?

The next morning, I got a text.

Jace:
I had to go to Atlanta to be examined by the team doctor. I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye, but I didn’t have much choice. Stay in touch.

That was it—not a single personal note to it. It could have been a mass text, the signature Jace Laugherty charm absent— just a plain old see-ya-around. It wounded me.

I considered calling him, but every time I picked up my phone, I put it back down. He loved Mel, plain and simple. My survival depended on my ability to let it go and be happy to do it. I repeated the notion as a personal mantra whenever my heart ached or my eyes leaked or I thought of him.

Every day for a month, my cell beeped through a new text—more random and impersonal goings on about his day or what the doctor had said. There were no tender words, no flirtations, just,
Hey, hope you’re doing all right
kinds of texts.

I stayed busy wallowing in self-pity, sinking into depression over losing him. I hadn’t realized I’d fallen hard for him until he left town and—even I rolled my eyes about it—he’d left without looking back.

On Tuesday, I went in to work. Because Wyatt had been arrested, the judge was prepared to toss the case back for a retrial. Not wanting to risk a new lawyer gaining traction by playing the sympathy card, the prosecutor made a decision and Greta accepted a plea deal. It turned out she couldn’t take it anymore. Her sentence of five years in prison came without fanfare or TV cameras or even a family member at her side. Within two and a half, she would be out. Baby Caroline was adopted by her foster family and would never remember the terror her parents had inflicted on her. If any saving grace existed in the whole thing, it was the only one I could think of.

Nothing held me in Las Vegas. Nothing pacified my hurt there, either. Having finished my work, I wanted to get out of the apartment to a place that had no trace of Jace. I was lying on the couch one day when George got home. It had been a month already, and still, I’d found no ambition to move or do more than mope around.

“How’s my best girl, today?”

I rolled my eyes at him.

“Babe, you have got to get over this guy.”

“I know.”

“Let’s go out tonight.” He nodded with wide eyes and a big grin.

“I don’t feel like it.”

His lips straightened into a concerned line. “What do you feel like doing, then?”

“Lying here, maybe wallowing. Later, I plan to work in a few sobs.” I half smiled. “You go out. Have a good time.”

“I cannot have a good time knowing you are here all brokenhearted and sad.”

I sighed. “I’m going home, George.”

He took a seat on the coffee table in front of me. “Home? To Texas?”

“No. To Savannah. ” Texas? The place was tarred and feathered with memories of Jace at a time when life had been both more and less complicated than it felt right then.

“I know. I went with you to buy it, remember?”

“I gotta get out of here, you know?”

“Aw, love. I wish I could make this easier for you.”

Struck with inspiration, I sat up. “Then come with me.”

“To Georgia?”

“Yes. Picture it, Georgie. Lots of southern belles, looking for love.”

He wobbled his head. “I guess I could ring a few bells.”

We booked flights and left that night.

When I bought the house in Savannah, I’d been so excited. The three-story townhouse right in the heart of the downtown came with a carriage house and a flower garden. The house itself had been renovated to the point of perfection before I ever laid eyes on it. Each room boasted a fireplace—marble for the living room, brick in the bedrooms. Windows from floor to ceiling on the main floor looked out onto a busy street in the front and the lush blooms of the garden in back. A balcony porch wrapped all the way around. However, once I got to Savannah this time, I hated every square foot of it.

George discussed it with me at length. We mulled over each room, what I would change, what would make me love the house again. Then he handed me a sledgehammer, and I started knocking the crap out of any wall obstructing my view of the garden. I had some asinine idea about a book I’d read when I was young about a secret garden and how much happiness had been found there. I wanted my garden to replicate that feeling. Unfortunately, I’d missed the point of the story about happiness being found in the beauty of one’s self. Instead, I searched it out with a sledgehammer. It worked for a while. Until I glanced around to see that my showplace could be classified a natural disaster.

I sat down in the middle of the floor, among brick, plaster, and drywall, and cried as though certain tomorrow had been canceled. What had I done?

George found me hugging my sledge, sobbing to the stud walls when he returned and stood in the doorway watching me. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Well, since he mentioned it, my arms ached, sore as hell from all the swinging of the giant tool of mass destruction. “No. But I destroyed my house.”