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Elliot freezes. “What?”
Wren’s arms tighten around me as she lets out a startled noise.
“It was empty,” I say. “The dumb fuck probably didn’t even know how to load it.”
Elliot grips the counter. “Never again, Rhett. Next time, do the proper fucking recon.”
I don’t look at him. Can’t. The terror in his voice is too much, and I know it’s written all over his face, too.
“Please,” he says, and I’m pretty sure his voice almost breaks.
I swallow. “Never again.”
Wren shoves away from me. I feel empty without her against my chest, but I let her go. She glares up at me, and not in a playful way. My heart fucking stops when I see the tears in her eyes.
No. No, please, not you.
“If you would’ve asked, I could’ve told you he has a gun. And that he only got it to brag about it.” She shoves her finger at my chest. “He doesn’t know how to use it—although he thinks he does.”
I just watch her, relief flooding my chest. She doesn’t hate me. It’s the opposite. She cares too fucking much, just like I do.
“Hey.” Oliver steps forward, pulling her into his arms. “We’re okay. He’s safe.”
“Barely,” she murmurs, sniffling.
I reach for her hand, and she lets me hold it. God, she’s shaking. But she pulls me closer, and I wrap my arms around both of them. In an instant, Elliot is on the other side of them, mirroring my movements. He leans his forehead against Oliver’s with a relieved sigh.
But then Wren tenses, and her breaths turn shallow and panicked. We pull away, giving her some space.
“What if you go to prison?” she wails, looking between me and Oliver. Her tears finally spill over. “You can’t go to prison!”
We all bust out laughing. Oh, she’s cute.
“Not happening, princess. Don’t worry about it.”
She frowns, looking between the three of us. “What did you guys say you do for work again?”
“We didn’t,” I say firmly. “And it’s staying that way. For now.”
She huffs, but when Oliver kisses her, she pulls away with a tired smile.
“Yeah, you need sleep.” Elliot scoops her up into his arms, and she laughs. “For real this time.”
He kisses Oliver, and then me. Wren watches us with a soft expression on her face. Happiness? Contentment? Compersion? I can’t quite place it.
She looks at me, stretching upward, and I press my lips to hers. Then, with a whispered, “Goodnight,” from her, Elliot carries her upstairs.
I lean against the counter, closing my eyes. The entire drive home, I was able to listen to Oliver’s voice as he made a series of phone calls. But now it’s silent, and there’s nothing to distract me from my thoughts.
What would’ve happened if Adam had known how to work that gun? If Oliver hadn’t reacted so quickly? I’m not conceited, but I know what would happen to Oliver and Elliot if I got killed. And it wouldn’t be pretty.
And now, Wren. She looks at me with the same amount of passion I feel toward her, but for some reason, she’s holding back. It makes my chest feel weird.
I hear the sink turn on.
“C’mere. I’m getting that blood off your face.” Oliver runs a paper towel under the water.
I move toward him, letting him scrub at my face until he’s satisfied.
