by Amelia Wilde
I recite the address to him, then bring my hand down hard on the back of the seat. “Let’s go. Let’s go.”
41
Summer
I feel every beat of my heart.
I’m so afraid right now, that I feel as if the fear has split off from my body and is hovering in the corner of the room, watching me, watching this situation unfold.
There I am, seated at my desk at Heroes on the Homefront, sweating slightly in my sleeveless maternity tank top, staring across at a man who might kill me.
I recognize the outline of his face from the car that drove up onto the sidewalk. I know his voice. He’s raised it once to shout out the door to the others in the office that if anyone comes in here, he’ll kill me. “I have a gun,” he said, though I haven’t seen it. It could be hiding it anywhere under that black hoodie of his.
I’ve already done the logistics. There is a desk between me and the door. There are two chairs. And there is one very dangerous man sitting in one of the chairs.
There is no way out.
When he focuses his attention back on me, I feel like I’m watching from above, talking to him, trying to remain calm and rationalizing.
“Alexei. That’s your name, isn’t it?”
He leans back in the chair. “Summer Sullivan.” His eyes flick down to my belly. “You’re fucking huge now.”
As if in response to the comment, my entire belly tightens, every muscle pulling downward. There’s an ache bearing down at the center of my pelvis like a cramp. It tenses, then releases. There’s no way he’s doing this to me. I let out a breath that I wasn’t even aware I was holding in.
“I’m pretty pregnant, yeah.”
A slow shake of his head makes the summer light reflect off his reddish-colored hair. “Why would a girl like you fuck a guy like him?”
“Like who?” Instinct. It’s pure instinct. If I can keep him talking, then he might not shoot me. If I can keep him talking, there’s time for someone to open the door and end all this.
Alexei’s mouth twists into an ugly scowl. “You know who I’m talking about. Don’t act like a dumb bitch.”
I smile at him, hoping the expression looks indulgent rather than terrified. “For all you know, I’ve been sleeping around.”
His eyes widen in surprise, and then he laughs. “I don’t think so. Why would Dayton let someone as pretty as you out of his sight?” He puts on an exaggerated frown. “Oops. He shouldn’t have done that.”
My belly flexes again, a crushing tension, and I sit up as straight as I can. It does nothing to relieve the pressure. After a few moments, it goes away. “He doesn’t come to work with me,” I say lightly. It’s all I can think to do. I’m going to steer this into a normal meeting. Maybe it’ll throw him off. Maybe. “What’s your priority this year, Alexei?”
He narrows his eyes and sits up, mirroring my posture. “My priority?”
“Yes.” I cock my head to the side. “What is the one thing you want to accomplish by the end of the year? It’s September, so you’ve got a solid four months until you’ll need to come up with some new goals for next year.”
He stares, his gaze astute and calculating. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No.” I fold my hands over my belly. “I’m asking. What’s your main goal?”
Confusion clouds his features. “I told you to stop acting like a dumb bitch.”
I let the slightest hint of irritation show. “If you’re not going to answer my questions, then stop wasting my time. I’ve got another appointment coming up in just a few minutes.”
Alexei’s face clears, as if he’s realizing for the first time exactly what he’s gotten himself into. Right now, he’s left himself two choices: shoot me or leave. If he gets up and walks out now, who knows what’ll happen? The police could be waiting to shoot him.
He leans forward and brings his clenched fists down on the surface of my desk. Hard. It takes everything I have not to flinch. My belly compresses again, the pressure even more painful this time. What the fuck—
“I haven’t slept.”
I blink at him. “Do you mean you didn’t sleep last night?”
“I haven’t slept in eighteen months.” The way his mouth wraps around the words eighteen months makes me look harder at him. It’s true. He looks like shit. He looks thin and pale and grief-stricken. The tension is thick in the air, making my heart beat hard. The baby kicks, her feet high up into my ribs, right under my hands. My belly squeezes again. Oh, my God. I’m having contractions.
I try my best not to let it show on my face. “It’s hard to make decisions when you’re not sleeping.”
“When I try to sleep, all I see is that truck through the window. The headlights. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
I nod. “I do know. Dayton told me about it.”
He barks out a laugh. “He admitted to you that he’s a fucking murderer, and you’re still with him?”
My palms go cold.
What the hell do I say to that?
I can deny that Day is a murderer. I can try to convince Alexei that it was an accident, a horrible accident. I can plead with him to see reason.
But I’m looking into the eyes of a man hollowed out with grief and rage, broken by loss and heartbreak, and I know there is nothing that I can say that will make any difference.
I shrug my shoulders, turning both palms up. “I love him,” I say simply. “I can’t walk away.”
Alexei threads his hands through his hair and bends his forehead to the surface of the desk.
Then he looks up at me, his cold eyes red and empty. “He doesn’t deserve that.”
Another contraction comes down, squeezing the breath out of me. I don’t want him to know that I’m in labor. I can’t let him know. I know that as surely as I know that Dayton is coming for me.
Hold on.
Alexei stands up from the chair and stares down at me. “He doesn’t deserve to walk around with you for the rest of his life.” He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t let him have that. Not after what he took from me.”
“Let me tell you about some of the things we can offer you.” I’m grasping at straws. There’s nothing else left. At any moment now, Alexei could lift up his hoodie, take out the gun, and shoot me. “If you need a place to live, we have a place available. If you need to go to rehab, I have two standing by, ready to admit you. Have you ever thought about going to college, Alex? There are options for that, too.”
His face goes blank, his gaze settling somewhere far away. “Kate was going to college.”
“She was? Somewhere in the city?”
“Yeah.” Alexei sticks his hands in his pockets. “Brooklyn College. I was taking extra jobs to pay for the tuition. She was going to go, then I was going to go, and then…”
I wait through another contraction. They’re getting stronger. If my water breaks while I’m sitting here, I’m going to lose it.
“What happened?”
Alexei smiles, his face lighting up as if he’s in the memory, pulled right back into the past. “Then she got pregnant. That baby—” He runs a hand through his hair again. “That baby was going to ruin all her plans, but we were so excited.”
His eyes snap back to this reality.
“Oh, Alexei.” I inject every bit of empathy I can into my voice. “I’m so sorry you lost your baby, and your wife. There just aren’t any words.”
With a strangled shout, he drops heavily back into the chair across from me. My pulse pounds in my ears. This is my final opening—I can sense it.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say softly. “There are other choices. If you want—” A contraction grips me, nearly stifling the words, but I force them out. “I’ll help you.”
“Oh, God.” Alexei shudders and gets to his feet, horror lacing his eyes. “Fuck.’
He turns to face the office door and his shoulders drop.
“Alexei?”
“I don’t have any choice now
.” His voice is empty, hollow. “I thought it was what I wanted, not to have any choice.” He turns back and his eyes are resigned, committed. Panic swells into my gut at the same time as another contraction grips me. “And you don’t have any choice, either.”
42
Dayton
The cab screeches to a stop outside Heroes on the Homefront, and I shove myself out of the car so fast I barrel into a guy waiting on the curb. He starts to protest, takes one look at me, and asks Wes if we’re done with the cab.
He waves him off. “—540 West Fiftieth,” he says into his phone. “Potentially armed.” He listens for a moment. “No.” Then he hangs up.
“What the hell was that?”
“The police,” he says simply. “That woman at the front desk hasn’t called yet. Guy probably told her he’d kill everybody in there if she did.”
“How long do we have?”
“Five minutes?”
Wes moves for the front door, turning when he realizes I’m still on the sidewalk. “Day? Get the fuck over here.”
I open my mouth, then shut it again.
Wes rushes back, and I’m filled with shame for the precious seconds he has to waste doing whatever he’s doing.
He looks me straight in the eye. “You belong here, asshole. You didn’t bring this on her.” He stabs a finger in the direction of the building. “That guy in there? Alex? He’s the fucking sicko who decided to do this. You be there for her. Just like you’ve always been there for her, even if everybody said you were wrong.”
“Fuck those people,” I spit, even as the memories rise, even as I feel the Humvee lifting with the explosion, even as I feel the wheel of the drug-running car under my hands at the moment of impact.
Then we move toward the door together, like we’re back in the unit, ready to face anything, together.
It’s a scene.
Everyone who works in the office is crowded into the waiting room. Carla is sobbing at her desk, tears running silently down her face. I don’t bother asking her anything. I head for Hazel, the one who’s always bringing Summer doughnuts. She looks grim.
“They’re still in there.”
Hazel looks up at me, and I see the fear behind the stoic expression. “I can hear them talking when everybody shuts up.”
Talking. Summer has him talking. That’s my girl.
“Police are right behind us. You know what’s going to happen if we can’t get him out of there, right?”
She nods, once, then the meaning of the words hits her. “Day, you can’t—” Wes is already at the entrance to the hallway. “Who’s that?”
“Summer’s brother.”
Her hands fly to her hair. “Shit. You’re going in there?”
“Right now. Get everybody out of the way.”
I join Wes at the hall entrance and point down to the second door on the right. It’s the only one that’s closed.
Light on our feet, we take up positions on either side of the door. My breathing slows as my focus sharpens. I can hear Alexei’s voice.
“—not to have any choice. And you don’t have any choice, either.”
“I’d say my options at this point are fairly limited,” Summer answers. Her voice is steady, solemn. “All I can do is sit here. Look at me.” There’s a creak—she must be moving in her chair. “You, on the other hand—you still have choices.”
“I don’t.”
“You do,” she insists. “Let’s start with the first one. You don’t have to commit a crime here today.”
“We’re past that.”
“We’re having a meeting,” she says lightly. “You think I haven’t had meetings with a hundred men grieving for people they’ll never get back?”
My heart twists in my chest. I never thought I’d get Summer back again. Never.
Wes moves in front of the door, his feet making no sound in the carpeted hallway. He locks eyes with me, pointing to both sets of hinges on the door. Then he points to his chest and mine. Me or you first?
I take a heartbeat to think about it. He’s better trained. He’s still in. He has to be the first one in that door, because he has the best chance at taking Alexei down.
Before I can answer, he points at his own chest again. Me.
"Why are you crying?” Alexei’s question ends the planning phase. We’re out of time.
We line ourselves up in front of the door, and in that moment, I’m back in Afghanistan, raiding a stronghold in the middle of the night, Wes at my side. Time slows. The hinges don’t look very strong—they’re brass, decorative. The carpet is tacky under my feet, new enough to have some grip to it.
Wes counts down on his fingers. Three, two, one—
The echo of his voice in the desert rings in my ears—go, go, go—and the door bursts open under the weight of our fury.
Alexei startles and turns toward the door. He never gets the chance to face it completely. Wes rushes him, hooks an arm around his neck, and forces him down to his knees. “Where’s the gun?” He shouts, forceful and demanding. “Where’s the gun?” Wes isn’t waiting for an answer. His arm tightens around Alexei’s neck and his other hand searches him.
Alexei babbles something.
“Is there anything else, you fucker?”
Summer rises from her chair, tears and relief mixing on her face. Wes has Alexei under control—Alexei is sagging, his hands useless against Wes’s arm.
“Day—” Summer puts her arms out and I kick away the chair behind her. I touch her face, her chin.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“No.” My hand still at her face, she turns her head sharply. “Wes. Wes.”
He’s still moving around Alexei. He doesn’t release his grip on him when he reaches to set something on the surface of Summer’s desk, pointed away from all of us. A gun.
“You’re going to kill him. He can’t breathe.” Summer’s voice is steady, but she leans forward and braces herself with one palm on the edge of her desk. “Wes.”
He releases his grip on Alexei’s neck and hauls him upright, pinning both arms behind his back. “What do you want me to do with him?” Wes addresses the question to the room as if there’s a committee waiting to decide. Alexei hangs his head.
“Alex.” I put one hand on Summer’s back. Alexei looks up at me. He’s a ruined man. “I’m sorry about Kate. I should never have agreed to drive you anywhere that night.”
His expression is pure anguish. “She was pregnant.”
It’s not an explanation. In this moment, there’s no need for an explanation. It was only a trick of fate that took Kate from him and gave Summer back to me. My rage bleeds out of me.
“The police are about to get here. Wes—”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” His eyes are hard with skepticism. “They can have him.”
“They can’t,” Summer says. “He didn’t shoot anyone. I never saw the gun. He needs help, Wes. Get him help.”
Everybody in the room looks at her. I stroke her hair. “Sunny—”
“He needs help,” she repeats. “So if you’re not going to let him get that, then—”
“Just kill me now.” Alexei says the words through gritted teeth. “Just fucking kill me now.”
Summer shakes her head. “See? This isn’t—” She blows a stiff breath out through rounded lips and bows her head, knuckles going white on the edge of the desk.
“Sunny?” My heart punches like a fist against my ribcage. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you? Here, sit down, sit—”
On the next breath, she straightens up. “I’m fine,” she says, putting both hands to the small of her back. “Except—the baby’s coming. Right now.”
43
Summer
I’m not entirely right.
Dayton and Wes realize what’s happening at the same time, and both talk over one another as Dayton rushes me toward the door, as fast and delicately as he can.
The police are at the end of the hall.
“We have a man in crisis,” I say to the first one. “He is in crisis. He needs mental health services now.” I look the officer in the eye. “Do you hear me?”
His partner is already racing into my office. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to—”
“Alexei Sokolov is the one in crisis in the office,” Day says. “But this woman is in labor. She can’t give a statement right now.”
The cop’s eyes go wide, and he steps out of the way as another contraction hits.
“Shit, Day,” I whisper under my breath. He puts an arm around what’s left of my waist and gives me something to lean on. This is not how I imagined the labor process would go. It wasn’t exactly on my bucket list to have a contraction in front of everyone in the entire office, much less during a hostage situation, so this is all excellent. Just excellent.
When the contraction subsides, we get through the waiting area and outside. Day steps off the curb and waves down a yellow cab. It pulls up to the curb, and I’m gripped with the need to stay outside of it. The heat cracks like an egg on top of my head and sweat drips down over every inch of my skin. No, no, no. If it’s this hot outside, it’s going to be worse in the cab. I need to be free.
“Come on, Sunny. It’s time to go to the hospital.”
“I don’t want to get in the cab.”
Day waves his hand inside the door. “It’s got air conditioning. It’s nice in there.”
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“You’ve got to. Just for a few minutes. Okay?” He comes back and takes my face in his hands. “Sunny, you can’t have the baby on the sidewalk.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wes run out of Heroes on the Homefront. “Were you guys leaving without me?” There’s a shake in his voice that everyone ignores.
“I don’t want to get in the cab.”
They exchange a look over my head.
“I hate when you do that,” I snarl. “I’ve always hated when you do that. Look at each other like I’m some little kid, and you’re going to do whatever you want. It’s the fucking—” My voice is choked off by a contraction that hits me with the force of a tsunami. It shuts everything down in my brain, drilling my focus down to the pressure.