A grin flickers on my mouth before it tapers off to a flat line. The woman in the gray hat stalks closer, winding toward us. Her eyes stand out—pale gold, almost tigerlike, surrounded by bruised-looking circles that make her look equally tired and feral. She shoulders her way through the crowds of people, those eyes aimed at us.
“Did you want to go to the bookstore now or after—”
“You think you can take him from me?” The woman’s voice explodes with fury, a slew of scratchy, unhinged words. “You bitch. You fucking slut. You were a nobody, and now you think you can take him from me? He’s mine. Who do you think you are? Worthless pig. I’ll take him back. I’ll kill you.”
My vision blurs.
White spots streak across my sight line.
There are moments in your life when you need to make a choice—react quickly, move swiftly, think strategically. But no one ever tells you that those moments are never simple, never clear-cut. You’re not the mastermind youenvisioned. You’re just a regular person caught in the cross fire. Sometimes, you make the right call. Other times, you don’t.
And sometimes, even when you do…you still lose.
I feel her hand slip out of mine, like sand spilling through my fingers.
Her scream pierces the air.
“How dare you touch him. How dare you even look at him. He’s mine, he’s mine, he’smine.” The woman in the beanie lunges.
Soot-soiled hands curl around the throat I’ve kissed endlessly since the day I made her mine. Furious spit sprays the face I’ve spent hours memorizing, counting freckles and green flecks in her eyes. A fist connects with the chest that holds the heart I’ve sworn to protect.
I don’t remember moving.
One moment, I’m standing paralyzed on the sidewalk, and the next, I’m caught between thrashing limbs and hard knuckles. Clothing tears and shreds. Shopping bags land on the cement. A twinge of pain ignites in my abdomen. Bystanders shriek from street corners while cars pull off to the side of the road and voices shout for 911.
I have her. I’ve got her.
It’s a fast-motion blur as I manage to rip the assailant away, watching as the woman stumbles backward, her eyes widening as they trail me from head to toe. Her complexion turns pasty the moment before she books it in the opposite direction.
Fuck.
I can’t even process what just happened.
But it’s okay.
It’s over.
I saved her.
My breaths stutter out as I whip around, extending my palms to her face, checking for injury. “Jesus Christ.” I twist her jaw from side to side, wincing at the bruises. “Fuck, baby, are you okay?”
She stares at me, lips trembling. “I think I’m…” Her eyes dip. Flare. The color drains from her face as her body begins to tremble. “Oh my God.”
I frown, shake my head a fraction. It’s not sinking in. I’m too wrapped upin her battle wounds, her trauma, her fear. Bending down, I sprinkle kisses on her cheeks, tasting warm tears as my hands cup her porcelain face. “Hey. Look at me. Talk to me.”
“You…” A croak. Then a horrible wail erupts from her throat, morphing into a cry for help. “Somebody call an ambulance!”
That’s when it registers.
The pain.
Swallowing, I dip my chin, peering down at the pool of crimson blooming on the front of my shirt. There’s a knife tear sliced into my oxford button-down, the one she saw in a store window two weeks ago and said I had to have. The pinstripes were pastel blue, just like my eyes.
My fingers lift in slow motion, lightly grazing over the knife wound carved into my stomach. Blood puddles beside our feet, dribbling onto my sneakers. There’s a lot of it. I don’t know how I missed getting stabbed.
Two sluggish blinks, and I glance back up, taking in the look on her face.
Horror. Shock. Crippling devastation.
