Out of Love

by RC Boldt

  Pressing my hand over Noelle’s lips, silently commanding her to stay out of sight, I mouth, “Call nine-one-one, now.”

  Cautiously, moving down the hallway, I find the asshole I recognize from a photo Noelle had shown me early on—Brad—with a gun he doesn’t look comfortable holding. That alone makes me uneasy because if he’s not familiar with handling a gun it increases the chances of him misusing or carelessly firing it.

  “You planning on turning around and walking out of here, man?” My weapon—still holstered—is beneath my hand as I watch him carefully, eyeing that damn finger he already has on the trigger. “Or are you planning on this going a different way?”

  Brad sneers. “Look at you, thinking you’re going to shoot me before I get a shot off—”

  “There’s no thinking about it. I know I’ll shoot you first. Big difference.”

  “You’re fucking crazy.”

  “Maybe.” My tone is deadly calm. “But the fact remains, you don’t put down your weapon, there’s a chance you’ll leave here either in an ambulance or in a body bag. Dropping the gun is your only safe option.”

  “Not gonna hap—” he doesn’t finish, his finger moving on the trigger, firing into the wall to the side of me, shards of dry wall spraying from the bullet’s force. But not before I quickly draw my weapon, hitting him where I intended—in the arm, causing him to drop his own gun. A red bloom begins to spread, dampening the sleeve of his shirt, his hand instantly going to his wound. Rushing him, I nudge his gun aside with my foot, out of his reach.

  “You done being stupid?” My gun is still trained on him.

  “You fucking shot me!”

  “On your stomach and you might not get shot again.” He must realize I’m not joking. I see the moment it dawns on him what’s happened, what he’s done, the resignation hitting him.

  Once he moves onto his stomach on the hardwood floor, grumbling and moaning about his damn arm that’s a fucking papercut compared to what it could’ve been, I slide the safety back on my weapon and holster it before reaching into my other pocket for what I often keep handy.

  As I zip tie his wrists together—none too gently, I might add, because he sure as shit doesn’t deserve any mercy from me. I don’t want—can’t bear to—imagine whatever the hell he’d planned on doing to Noelle with that gun.

  “You’re a fucking dick!” Brad complains loudly as I plant a heavy foot in the middle of his back.

  “Since you’re the asshole who’s calling me that, I’m cool with it.”

  “Fos?” Noelle’s voice is tentative. “Are you okay?”

  “Yep. Just tying up the trash.” Huh. That was actually pretty witty if I do say so myself.

  “They said the deputies should be here soon so—”

  The sound of heavy footfalls makes my head jerk up and I see two of Ty’s coworkers with their guns drawn standing just outside the now battered rear sliding glass door of the house where Brad broke in, making his entry.

  “Gentlemen,” I speak calmly, slowly raising my hands, keeping my fingers spread to show that I don’t have weapons in my hands. “I have a concealed carry permit and my identification is in my wallet. My gun has the safety on in the holster at my side.”

  “Foster Kavanaugh.” One of the deputies steps forward, closer, and I recognize him. Dave and I used to run cross country in high school. I recall him being a good guy—a little on the quiet side—who moved away for college and then a job. I hadn’t realized he was back in town. “You still up to no good these days, man?”

  With a smirk, I toss back, “Always. Can’t let you guys spend all your time eating donuts and drinking coffee. Just wouldn’t be right.”

  “Hilarious as ever.” He shakes his head with a tight smile, surveying the damage Brad’s stray bullet did to the wall and blood seeping from the man’s arm. His eyes turn serious, scanning me for injuries and finding none, thanks to Brad being a crap shot. Reaching for me, he watches me. “I’m going to have to take this for now.” He takes my gun with care.

  “Ms. Davis?” I hear a man greet from the front door. “Deputy Michaels. Are you safe?” I’m grateful they sent a few guys over here as, hopefully that will mean we can expedite everything pertaining to the necessary reports they have to complete.

  “Want to tell us what went down tonight?” Dave glances around. “And where’s the young woman who made the call?”

  “Right here with me.” Noelle tentatively steps out from the hallway with Deputy Michaels by her side, carefully making her way to us.

  “Wait.” My tone stops her. “There’s shards of dry wall all over the place and you’re barefoot.”

  She appears distressed, her lips parting to speak and then clamping together, her eyes darting to the two men nearby me before landing on Deputy Michaels. “May I … go to him? Please?” The last word sounds strangled, like she’s barely holding it together.

  Deputy Michaels exchanges a look with the others and apparently they conclude that it’s safe and not a threat to have us together. As soon as he gives the okay, she rushes to me on her tiptoes, trying to sidestep pieces of dry wall before practically throwing herself into my arms.

  It’s only then I realize I haven’t breathed easy since this entire altercation began. There’s only one reason I feel relief right now.

  And that reason is right here in my arms.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Noelle

  The trembling doesn’t stop, and I’m pretty sure there’s a chance I’ve punctured one—or both—of Foster’s lungs with how tight I’m holding on to him. Or grasping at him—that might be more accurate at this point. Then he wraps his arms around me more securely and presses his lips to my hair.

  “You’re safe now.”

  His reassurance makes my trembling ease a fraction. Dropping a quick kiss to my temple, he runs a soothing hand up and down my back.

  “I’m so sorry, Foster,” I murmur into his shirt, my face pressed against his chest.

  “Baby, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Running his palm over my hair, he leans away slightly, waiting for me to meet his gaze. “I’m glad I was here for you.”

  “Me, too,” I whisper. The moment he dips his head and tenderly kisses my forehead, my eyes fall closed.

  Hearing noise from near the front door, we turn and see the paramedics have arrived.

  “We’re going to need information and …” I zone out the moment the deputies begin talking about everything. I’m pretty sure I’m going into shock of some sort, feeling dazed. Suddenly, my vision begins to get hazy, and I feel off-balance.

  “Noelle?” Foster’s calling my name, but it sounds so far away, like he’s in a tunnel.

  Then everything goes black.

  * * *

  The smell is the first thing assaulting me. Bleach and staleness. My eyelids feel heavy when I try to open them. I instantly regret it once I manage to open my eyes because the light is glaringly bright. When my eyes finally adjust, I take in my surroundings only to realize I’m not in my bed—nor Foster’s. I’m in a hospital.

  Slowly turning my head, I find the reason for the warmth engulfing my left hand. Foster’s holding it, his fingers linked with mine, his head lying on the edge of the bed beside our joined hands, his warm breath washing against my fingertips. Asleep he looks so peaceful, so handsome.

  Straightening my index finger, I lightly trace over the bridge of his nose, feeling the tiny notch where it must’ve been broken in the past. His eyes instantly open, fixing his whiskey brown gaze on me.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he says softly, his thumb caressing my hand.

  “What happened?”

  Raising, he tips his head from side to side as if working out kinks from his sleeping position. “You passed out. Likely from shock.” Reaching out a hand, smoothing some hair back from my forehead, he adds, “They’re keeping you overnight for observation, just to be safe.”

  I can’t resist a frown, and he smirks.
“I know how you feel, but it’s protocol.”

  Flashing him a dubious look, I challenge, “And you’d let them keep you for observation if it were you?”

  He makes a face. “Not a chance.” Just when I’m about to protest, he stops me. “Unless I really knew it was necessary.” He raises our hands and presses a kiss to my hand. “In this case, it’s necessary because we all want to be sure you’re okay.”

  “What happened with Brad and everything?”

  “He’s been booked on a handful of charges. My main concern was making sure you were going to be all right.” He lowers his voice. “You won’t have to worry about him any longer, Noelle. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “But—”

  “What did I say?” Foster cuts off my protest, flashing me a smirk.

  “You have enough to worry about.” I lower my gaze, shaking my head. “I don’t want to be another burden.”

  “Hey.” His firm tone makes me look up. His eyes are serious, conveying sincerity. “You’re not—nor have you ever been—a burden to me.” He holds my gaze as if he’s willing me to believe him. Just when my lips part to respond, we hear voices from the hallway.

  “With all due respect, young lady, I knew you when you were in diapers. I know your mother would be horrified to learn you didn’t let another mother visit her daughter in the hospital.”

  “Mrs. Kavanaugh,” an exasperated female voice says, “you and I both know that patient isn’t your daughter.”

  “Why, of course she’s my daughter. Maybe not legally, right this minute, but mark my words, she’s going to marry my son soon.”

  My eyes fly to Foster’s, and I see his eyes fall closed with a tired groan. “Christ.” He releases my hand, and I miss him—his touch—already.

  “I heard that, Foster Bryant.” Momma K. is in the doorway, entering with what appears to be a large, insulated tote bag on her arm. As soon as she catches sight of me, she sets the bag down onto an empty chair and rushes to my other side with a worried expression. Pressing a kiss to my cheek, she lightly grasps my other hand, mindful of the IV affixed to my arm.

  “Sweetie, we’ve all been so worried. How are you feeling? I’ve brought some prosciutto wrapped mozzarella and some lasagna rolls for you because the hospital food is absolute garbage.”

  “Geez, Ma. Take a breath,” Foster remarks with dry amusement.

  Momma K.’s hands fly to her hips, and she gives her son a squinty-eyed look. “You’d better watch yourself, young man. I’m not too old to put you over my knee.”

  He flashes a mischievous grin. “Why you dirty talker, you.”

  His mother’s cheeks flush, and she rolls her eyes, muttering, “You and that mouth, Foster Bryant. I’d better light some extra candles for you at church.”

  As the two of them bicker affectionately, I allow myself to recall her words right before she entered my hospital room. Mark my words, she’s going to marry my son soon. And I can’t help but wonder which one of us is more delusional.

  Her for actually believing it will ever happen or … the small part of me that wishes it would actually happen someday.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Foster

  “So. Can we talk about the fact that you actually carry around zip ties in your pocket?”

  I shrug. “What about it?”

  Tossing up her hands, Noelle’s tone has an edge of exasperation. “Who does that?” Before I can respond, she answers for me. “I’ll tell you who. No one normal.”

  “You mean no one prepared.”

  “I mean no one normal.”

  “Let’s agree to disagree.” Then I raise my fist to my mouth and cough-mumble, “You’re wrong.”

  “I heard that, Kavanaugh. Loud and clear.” She sounds amused, and it takes effort to school my features and keep my eyes on the road ahead of us. I can’t ignore the fact that it makes me damn happy—and relieved—to have Noelle back to normal, back to feeling herself. Especially since she had been released from the hospital earlier. As I make the drive back to my house, I wonder how well she’s going to handle sleeping at night—without the help of a sleep aid like the one she’d been given at the hospital.

  As if she senses the train of my thoughts, I hear her let out a long, drawn-out breath. “I could really do without the last few months—maybe even year—of my life.”

  There’s a pinched feeling in my chest at her words, even though I realize what she’s getting at. The thing is, as selfish as it might be, I wouldn’t undo the last few months—even taking all the shit with her ex into account—because it’s been pretty damn incredible. Being with Noelle, having her around and not in a work-only capacity. For whatever reason, her presence is soothing.

  “I’m sure you’re looking forward to getting me out of your hair, especially after all this.” There’s a tinge of self-deprecating teasing to her tone.

  I pull the truck into the driveway, park, and turn off the ignition before unfastening my seatbelt, letting my eyes rest on her. She’s watching me, appearing apologetic and almost shy.

  “I really am sorry you got roped into all my … crap.”

  “Hey.” My tone is soft, but commanding. I reach out and cradle the side of her face with my palm. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

  We stay that way for a beat, probably far longer than I realize because I swear, this woman has some strange pull on me. I could easily sit here and watch her, not just for her outer beauty, but also for the vibrant personality that shines through.

  Fuck. Now, she’s got me on the verge of spouting off sonnets and shit.

  The start of a smile plays at her lips. “Something the matter, Kavanaugh? You look a little green.” Her smile grows. “Maybe too much of a sappy, sincere moment for the big, bad Grinch?”

  I let my hand drop slowly from her face, dusting over her shoulder and breast, catching her nipple and giving it a quick swipe with my thumb before I rest it between us on the console.

  She gasps. “Kavanaugh!”

  My eyes widen in mock surprise. “Davis? What’s wrong?”

  I only receive one of those looks, before I shift to get out of the truck, hiding my smirk. Coming around to her door, I assist her as she gets out, muttering under her breath about how I’m trouble and need to work on keeping my hands to myself. There’s no heat to her words, though.

  Walking up the steps, I mention, “Laney dropped off some stuff for you again. Feel free to take a shower; do whatever you like. I’ll make us some dinner.” Unlocking the door, I enter and disarm the security system. I set my wallet and keys on the counter in the kitchen while she heads off to what I now think of as her bedroom.

  Her bedroom.

  “Holy shit,” I mutter to myself, washing my hands in the sink, watching as the water runs off my hands and disappears down the drain. Dazed, I turn off the water, but don’t make a move toward the refrigerator to start dinner. Standing there at my kitchen sink, I’m hit with the fact that Noelle Davis is the first woman to be here longer than any of the others. Ever. Shaking off my thoughts, I don’t want to investigate why or how she’s managed that.

  Moving to the refrigerator, I dig out some Muenster cheese and toss it on the counter beside the sourdough bread already sitting there. Deciding to make some grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup—comfort food I hope will ensure she feels a sense of calmness after all the events the past twenty-four hours.

  I get to work while I hear the shower running in the spare bathroom. Where Noelle is naked and washing her body with soap. If I were in the shower with her, I’d be washing her—no, wait. That’s not true. I’d be pressing her against the wall, my mouth on hers while I slid my fingers inside of that sweet pussy of hers, right before I’d slide down onto my knees and put my mouth over—

  “Fuck!” The smell of burning toast jars me from my daydream, and I hurry up and flip the sandwich over. “Guess I’ll be eating that one,” I mutter. Working hard to regain
my focus, by the time I finish making the sandwiches and heating up the soup, I hear the sound of bare feet padding across the hardwood floor.

  “Something smells good.”

  With the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches in my hand, I turn around to face her and swear the plate wobbles in my grip. What is it about this woman that affects me so deeply? That makes me feel off balance just seeing her fresh out of the shower, sans makeup?

  Carefully setting the plate of sandwiches on the counter where she’s taken a seat on one of the high top barstools, I set a small bowl of soup next to the plate before her. Something catches my eye, and I notice she’s placed a paperback off to the side of the counter. Picking up the book, it’s a title I recognize. With a nod, I set it back down, walking around the counter to take my spot beside her.

  “A Beneath book, huh? How far along are you? Has she slept with Simon yet?”

  When my question is greeted with nothing but silence, I glance over to see that she appears stunned. It takes me a moment to realize why. Because, yeah.

  My man-card just got downgraded with that shit.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Noelle

  Foster Kavanaugh knows—has read—a romance novel? Am I in an alternate universe? I know I’ve made him slightly uncomfortable because I haven’t been able to do anything but gawk at his response. Finally, he grumbles, “Eat your soup before it gets cold.”

  Yeah. Because that’s totally what I want to do right now. Not.

  He’s avoiding my gaze, focused on eating his sandwich, forearms resting on the counter. “Foster Kavanaugh,” the smile spreads across my face as I tease, “you got some ’splainin’ to do.”

  His lips twist and he gives a little shrug. “Back when Raine was going through cancer treatment and had her surgery, she was laid up for a while, recuperating, and we all know she devours books like there’s no tomorrow.”

  Turning to finally meet my eyes, his gaze appears almost clouded with memories and he swallows hard. “She’s always been like another sister to me, not to mention she has a heart of gold. So when the time came when she felt so bad she couldn’t read the book herself, I read it to her.” He gives another shrug, as if his actions weren’t anything spectacular.