She giggled, rolling off me.
I rose from the bed and went to my bag in the corner. My entire life was in that bag. I’d given Seth strict instructions about what to pack. All the clothes from my dressers—and my laundry hamper—sneakers, boots, and flip-flops from the closet, the gun from my nightstand, and a single picture of Elisabeth and Tripp taken minutes before he had taken his last breath. They were the only things I wanted from that shitty garage apartment. Sure, I had a closet full of suits and expensive shoes. There were also two computers, a big-screen TV, a ratty-ass couch, and about a million stacks of papers that had somehow migrated from the office over the years.
But I didn’t care about any of that. I could lose everything else tomorrow, and as long as that bag sat in the corner of Elisabeth’s bedroom, I’d have everything I’d ever need.
And, as I pulled a pair of boxer briefs on, looking at her as she sat naked and pink-cheeked on the bed while staring back at me, I decided I didn’t even need the bag.
I walked back over to her and planted a fist on the bed. After a brief kiss, I said, “Clean up, baby. Two minutes. Want you right back here.”
“Okay,” she replied.
I kissed her again then headed for the door.
“Roman,” she called.
I looked over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
My throat tightened. “Nothing—”
“For not seeing how deeply you were affected by the infertility stuff. For not understanding your reaction to losing Tripp. And, most of all, for not fighting harder for us.”
“Lis…” I shook my head. “That is not on you.”
“But it is. And I’m sorry.”
I raked a hand through my hair and looked at her.
All innocent angel staring back at me.
My chest ached for the past even as my heart sped with possibilities of the future.
I opened my mouth to say…something. What, I didn’t know.
It probably would have been, I love you, but I feared it would be, Marry me.
I would have meant both, but it was too soon for either.
She finally broke the moment with a soft, “Go get Loretta, baby. Two minutes.”
I nodded but didn’t move. I needed to say something. I wanted her to understand I didn’t need an apology from her but I appreciated the fact that she had still given it to me.
“Two minutes,” she repeated with a gentle and understanding smile.
I loved her so damn much that it physically pained me. I didn’t want to wait to start our lives all over again. Elisabeth Keller had been born to be a Leblanc.
To be mine.
But, if she wanted to take this slow, I’d figure out a fucking way to make that happen—for her.
I tossed her a weak smile and finally got my feet moving.
After a brief standoff with the man in the hall mirror, I jogged down the stairs, let Loretta in, locked up, and then headed back up to spend the night with Elisabeth wrapped in my arms.
My wife.
The sound of the gunshot woke me from a deep content sleep. Elisabeth jerked on my chest, sucking in a deep breath in what I knew would become a scream. I slapped a hand over her mouth and rolled us both to the floor just as the second shot sounded outside the bedroom door. Loretta went nuts barking, and I heard feet scrambling down on the steps.
“Get in the fucking closet. Call nine-one-one. Do not come out until I come back to get you,” I ordered.
Behind my hand, she wildly shook her head as her eyes bulged.
“Go. Now,” I growled, releasing her and heading straight for my bag to retrieve my gun from the side pocket. “Phone, Lis,” I said, sliding it across the floor.
She caught it and then scooped the dog up and rushed to the closet.
I didn’t move to the door until I heard her shut herself in and her panicked voice say, “Yes, I need to report a break-in. There were gunshots inside my house.”
With my back to the wall, my gun held high and ready, I swung the bedroom door open. I listened for a moment, but the house was silent. Still cloaked in darkness, I reached a hand around the corner to flip the hall light on, readying for an attack as my eyes adjusted to the light. As the hall came into focus, the man in the mirror didn’t greet me. A million tiny cracks formed shards still held together but shattered completely, webbing out from two holes.
It seemed the man in the mirror put up one hell of a fight against whoever had made his way up the stairs, probably with his gun held high and darkness masking his true identity.
Slowly, I made my way down the stairs and found the place empty, the back door standing wide open. It was completely intact, nothing broken, nothing splintered. Just. Open.
It had been less than a minute since I’d left Elisabeth upstairs, and the sounds of sirens were already screaming in the distance. In a city the size of Atlanta, that was a miracle the likes of Moses splitting the Red Sea.