Holy shit.
My gun.
I inch the nightstand drawer open as one of the intruders shushes the other. It squeaks, and I wince, but the only sound is a footstep getting farther up the stairs. My fingers grapple with thin air when my hand reaches inside the drawer. It seems like I draw fucked-up scratches across the wood before I finally touch my fingertips to the handle of the gun and grasp it tight.
“Get under the sheets. Now,” I order Bek.
The footsteps are getting louder.
Fuck.
Bek tugs the covers up, and I hold it over my head, leaving just enough so that I can see. Another creak—one that sounds suspiciously close to the top of the stairs.
Fuck. Fuck, holy shit. Oh my God. My hand is shaking.
It’s now or never.
Aiming my gun, I cover the trigger with my finger and pull it.
I know that my bullet hits its target with the sound of smashing glass. My bedroom window has just exploded, likely sending shards of glass across the room, but hey. A girl has to do what a girl has to do.
Loud, hurried footsteps thunder downstairs, and for my own sick pleasure, I pull the trigger again. Yells of, “Fuck!” and “Hurry! Faster!” fill the air of my house, and I know I know the voice. Except I don’t at the same time.
“Yes, hello?” Bek’s voice trembles, and when I look at her, I see the phone pressed to her ear. “We need you. At Noelle’s. Like five minutes ago.”
I sit up, put my gun on my legs, and turn my light on. The window didn’t smash as far as I thought. If we both get out on her side, then we’ll avoid the shattered glass.
Bek’s teeth chatter, so I uncover her and take her phone. I glance at the phone before I speak.
Brody.
“Bek? Hello?” he asks frantically.
“Brodes,” I say. “I just got broken into. Two guys. Bek stayed with me tonight.”
“Fuck!” There’s a huge thud at his end. “Are y’all all right?”
“We’re fine. I shot out my bedroom window to scare them and they ran.”
“Don’t move.”
“Bek’s in shock. We might need a paramedic.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Stay where you are, yeah? We’ll be with you in minutes.”
I nod.
“Noelle. You hear me?”
“Yes. I’m okay. Just get here, will you?” I take a deep breath. “Brody?”
“What?” A door slams.
“Call Drake, okay?”
“He was my first. Going now. Don’t move.”
The line goes dead.
Bek is breathing heavily next to me.
I turn to her. “Bek, lie down,” I tell her, moving to bend her knees up.
She does as I said and breathes in deeply. I climb over her and carefully tiptoe across my bedroom floor toward the light switch. I miss a shard of glass at the last minute and flick the switch.
The light dances off hundreds of glass slices across my carpet. Fuck, that’s gonna take a serious vacuuming session to clean all of that up.
“Holy shit,” Bek breathes, rolling to her side. “Why aren’t you panicking?” Her teeth are still chattering.
“Adrenaline,” I answer softly, padding back to her. I tuck the covers around her. “The police are on their way. Stay here, okay?” I grab my gun from my side of the bed and head for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To see the damage.” I turn the landing light on, my gun held in front of me although I know that the intruders have already left.
Should have shot through the fucking door. Better yet—should have waited until they came into the room. Chances are, I’d have hit one of them.
Slowly, I take the steps down the stairs. The third-to-top one creaks, the one straight across from my bedroom door, and it hits me right now just how close they came to us.
Shit.
Right here.
If Bek hadn’t woken up…
I shudder. I refuse to think about it. I don’t want to think about what could be happening to us right now. It doesn’t bear thinking about. It’s too horrifying.
I take a deep breath and steel myself for the rest of the steps. I slowly take them one by one and lament my choice to shoot at my window. I don’t think my homeowners insurance covers shooting your own window out.
Fuck. I really need to pay more attention to the terms and conditions on that thing.
My back door is wide open, and a chill runs down my spine. Holy shit. There really was someone in my house. Again. Why is there always someone breaking into my house? Jesus. Fuck. Christ.
I think the panic is setting in. No. I know it is. I can feel the reality of it winding around me like a boa constrictor.
I set my gun on my kitchen table and grasp the edge of the table. I breathe in several times, each breath long and deep and supposedly centering. It doesn’t feel like it’s working. It feels like the panic is creeping over my skin inch by inch and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s like a parasite eating away at me as I realize we could have died.
My front door flies open. One figure charges toward me while another shadow heads for the alarm. I scream, backing up, my heart thundering against my ribcage.
“Noelle!” Drake says roughly, slamming the kitchen light on. Light fills the air, and he stops, his hands out in front of me. “It’s me.”
“Don’t ever fucking do that again,” I wheeze, holding my chest. My whole body feels like jelly.
“Are you—fuck. Fuck this.” He storms toward me once more, this time not stopping until I’m enveloped in his strong arms and my face is pressed against his chest. He lets a breath out with a shudder, squeezing me tighter.
My alarm silences, and my knees buckle.
He keeps me upright. I shake in his embrace, his touch the thing I never wanted because it grounds me, yet it’s everything I craved because it has the power to keep me safe. And safety is all I want right now.
“Where’s Bek?” he says into my hair.
“My room,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. “God, Bek—” I pull away, but Drake stops me.
“I’ve got her,” Brody assures me. “So does the paramedic.” Footsteps going up are far more reassuring than his words.
Drake’s arms tighten even further around me, and I breathe him in. Right now, it’s so easy to forget that I’m mad at him.
Until now.
I push away from him and cover my face with my hands.
“Noelle,” he says softly.
“No,” I reply shakily. “I’m mad at you, Drake. I’m so fucking mad at you.”
“I know. But, right now, you need me, too.”
I meet his eyes. Icy blue. Concerned. Gorgeous. Warm. Spitting fear and anger and hopelessness and frustration.
He’s right.
I hate that.
God, I fucking hate it.
Still, I allow him to take me in his arms once again and hold me until the police are swarming my house for the second time this year and my heart is no longer doing the two-step on speed.
I give my statement. Bek does, too, in a separate part of the house. When they’re done collecting them, the front door opens once more and Sheriff Bates comes bundling into my hallway.
“All right, boys. What’s going on here? I have one hysterical ex–Detective Bond on the phone and one hysterical current Officer Bond real put out that he wasn’t called to the party. Is Agent Jason Walters here?” He looks around, and I realize his shirt is on inside out.
I touch my fingertips to my lips as his eyes focus on us.
“Put her down, Nash. She isn’t a damn teddy bear.”
I’m sure Drake’s eyes could spit fire, but he loosens his grip on me all the same.
“Jason isn’t here,” he says. “I wasn’t sure whether or not to call him.”
Sheriff Bates looks at me. “Two of them?”
I nod.
“Male?”
I nod.
“Coming to your bedroom?”
I nod for a third time.
“What are y’all waiting for? The apocalypse? Call Jason Walters!” he bellows. “Are we looking for DNA or are we cuddling, Detective Nash? If we’re cuddling, can someone make me a coffee and get me a blanket? It’s four thirty in the dang morning. Let’s act more like police and less like sissies.”