“Leave. Now.” Dean’s muscles bunch with anger as he closes in on Hamilton, forcing him to the sidewalk.
Hamilton stops near Maggie, who is standing with her arms closed around her body. Her expression is set as she scans the crowd, her gaze landing on me. A wave of anger passes between us. Hamilton gets in front of Dean again, and then they’re close enough that the air pulls tight with hatred.
“You did it with her, didn’t you?” Hamilton gives Dean a shove, then points his finger at me. “Poor girl had a nervous breakdown after some college scandal, and you knew you could fuck her into—”
No!
Dean’s rage explodes like a supernova. His body is a blur as he attacks Hamilton, tackling him and crashing them both to the ground. Maggie screams. Hamilton hits the sidewalk, a curse erupting from him.
Dean straddles him and lashes out, rage firing every muscle as he grabs Hamilton’s neck with one hand and slams his face with the other. Blood spurts. I yank my arm from Kelsey and run forward, my heart pounding. Brent pushes past me and races toward the two enraged men.
“Dean, stop!” I scream.
A flood of horrified gasps rise from the crowd. People rush away. Children twist toward their parents, some of them starting to cry. Other customers come out onto the porch, faces wide-eyed with curiosity and shock.
Brent and a couple of other men try to grab Dean and yank him off Hamilton. Before they can, Hamilton rises and lands a few punches. Dean pulls himself away from Brent and lunges at Hamilton. They go down shouting, fists flying. Dean gets the upper hand and hits Hamilton again and again.
The wail of a police siren pierces the air. The crowd scatters as the car slows and comes to an abrupt halt. Two officers leap out, hands on their guns.
“Break it up!” one of them yells.
It takes three men to haul Dean off Edward Hamilton. Blazing with rage, Dean fights them off and breaks free, going for Hamilton again. One of the officers tackles him, forcing him to the ground. A second police car comes to a stop at the curb.
I watch in horror as Dean struggles to free himself, his eyes black with fury. The officer yanks his arms back and slaps handcuffs on him.
“Well, shit,” Kelsey mutters beside me.
My face is hot, damp with tears, my chest aching. Panic encroaches again, the black cloud spreading over my whole body. I grope for Kelsey’s arm to have something to hold on to and count to five as I breathe.
When my vision clears, I see Dean standing beside the police car, sweaty and angry, his face set hard as he nods abruptly in response to the officer’s questions. Edward Hamilton is talking to two other officers, gesticulating wildly and pointing accusing fingers at Dean.
I can’t look at Kelsey. I can’t turn around to see Allie and Brent or Ben Stafford or my mother. I don’t want to see the few people still lingering, watching my husband get handcuffed and arrested.
I wipe my face on my sleeve and walk toward Dean. I feel Maggie Hamilton watching me, feel the triumph radiating from her.
Dean lifts his head. At first, he just looks at me, as if he’d forgotten I was there. Then his gaze scans the café, the abandoned grounds, the people still staring.
I stop in front of him and put my hand on his chest. His heartbeat races against my palm, his anger still burning.
“You’re Mrs. West?” the officer asks.
I nod, my eyes still locked with Dean’s. “Olivia West. I’m Dean’s wife.”
“We need to take him to the station, Mrs. West. Officer Randall will need your statement as well, and those of other witnesses.”
A shout comes from near the other police car. I turn to see Edward Hamilton bolting toward Dean again. The only thought that registers in my brain is that Dean is handcuffed and Hamilton is barreling toward him like a battering ram.
I step forward into the space between them, shouts of warning ringing in my ears, Dean a blur in the corner of my vision. Hamilton slams into me. I hit the ground, my skull cracking against the sidewalk, pain shooting through me.
My mother’s face appears in front of me. Noise fills my head.
A bright red balloon, broken from its anchor, floats above the street.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Olivia
m I what?” I feel like the nurse is speaking a foreign language.
“Pregnant,” she replies, a touch impatiently. “Or is there a possibility that you are pregnant?”
“Uh… well, I guess… I mean, yes. There is a possibility. That I am. Pregnant.”
The realization is a shock to my system.
“We’ll do a blood test to find out,” the nurse says.
She asks me more questions before telling me they’ll have a bed for me shortly. After I register, a phlebotomist draws blood from my arm, I change into a hospital gown, and am directed to a bed.