Page 56 of Everlasting Vows

I hold out my business card between two fingers, and she takes it from me. “My business card.” She looks at me with confusion. “Just in case you need anything. I have small suites at the back of the business I own that you could use as a place to stay short-term.”

Her shoulders relax, and her smile grows. “Thank you so much. For this and for what you did today.”

I shrug. “No problem. Please take care.”

“I will.”

We say our goodbyes while the paramedics and police finish up and Mr. and Mrs. B lock the store. I spend a while helping them clean up. The three of us working silently.

“Nix. You should go home. Abbi’s probably worried where you are,” Mrs. B suggests.

“Are you guys going to be okay?”

Mrs. B hasn’t stopped shaking, and Mr. B is still two shades paler than I’ve ever seen him.

Mr. B waves off my concern as if he’s swatting a fly. “This isn’t the first time this sort of thing has happened, and I’m certain it won’t be the last. We’re fine. We’ll take a few days off to recover and be back again in no time.”

I head home with a promise to bring Abbi by.

19

ABBI

I repeatedly tap my phone against my thigh. What the hell happened? Maybe the news will have information. Rushing into the living room, I turn on the TV and shuffle through the stations impatiently, stopping on A2Z News.

Slowly, I lower myself onto the couch and wait to see if they show anything that may explain Nix’s cryptic phone call.

The news anchor looks down at something on her desk, then back at the screen. “We have an update on the situation that unfolded earlier on the corner of Howard Street and 9th Avenue.” I know that address; that’s where Mr. and Mrs. B’s corner store is. My heart thumps heavily as images of stopping there in our teens to buy one of Mrs. B’s famous pies ghost over my memory. “We have shaky footage from outside the store. Warning, some images may be distressing for some viewers.”

The screen fills with shaky video, obviously shot on someone’s phone. Mr. and Mrs. B’s store fills the screen. The paint’s a little duller, but it looks exactly the same. The dull bang of a gunshot rings out; police and bystanders duck behind their haphazardly parked vehicles. The camera shakes as the person filming obviously changes position; their panting breaths can clearly be heard on the recording.

It’s quiet for a long time. And my mind races as to what could possibly be happening inside. Are Mr. and Mrs. B okay? Do they still own the store? It still looks the same from the outside, but that doesn’t mean it’s still their store. They’d have to be in their seventies by now.

Angry shouts break the tense silence, and then another gunshot pierces the air, and I jump. I swear my heart leaps out of my chest. I raise my hand to my chest as I watch the scene unfold and listen to screams from either the people inside or outside—it’s difficult to tell. The police have their weapons trained on the entrance to the store, but not a single one of them dares to make a move. Why aren’t they doing anything? The people inside could be hurt, and they’re doing nothing.

A young man rushes out of the store, waving his arms and shouting something, then the police storm inside. The footage ends, and the news anchor fills the screen once again.

“Thank you to Stef Granger for providing us with that footage. We’ll keep you up-to-date as more news comes to hand. A2Z News will return after this short break.”

Oh my gosh! I hope Mr. and Mrs. B are okay.

Frustration builds that I still don’t know why Nix has been held up. Nervous energy thrums through my body as I wait for him to arrive. I warm up our dinner and take the time to make a sticky toffee pudding for dessert for something to do. Something that will keep my mind busy.

The sound of the garage door vibrates through the mudroom, and I suck in a sharp breath. My stomach flips and relief courses through my body that my husband is home safe and sound. With hurried steps, I make my way to the door separating the house from the garage and fling it open. My knees almost buckle, and my breath whooshes out when my eyes land on my husband.

I rush forward and open his door before he can move, flinging my arms around his neck. The longer he took to come home, the more my mind spun with what-ifs. “You’re okay,” I whisper brokenly.

“I’m sorry about tonight, Abs. I had plans to surprise you, but they got derailed.” He brushes my hair—which I’m sure is a frazzled mess—away from my face.

I kiss his cheek and study him closely, noting the stiffness in his posture as if he’s waiting for me to be angry with him. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re home safe. But I’ll need you to tell me what happened. Okay?” Will he tell me or will he shut me out again?

He smiles softly. “Okay. But I need a shower first.”

“Sure. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be quick.” He kisses me, then I move out of the way so he can climb out of his truck and head inside.

I busy myself with mindless tasks, my heart still thumping like a drum in my chest as if it hasn’t gotten the memo that Nix is safe. He’s fine. No injuries. Maybe I’ll put on a load of laundry. I shove the clothes into the machine. He’s fine. He’s here. He’s safe. I press the button to start the cycle. He’s fine. He’s alive and safe.