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  This particular case that I was working on involved a now-dead senator and a few local lawyers who were preying on teenagers and taking photos of their disgusting selves while doing it—literally.

  Raoul was a low life who just so happened to need cash from time-to-time when those lawyers needed a little extra hand, and I was trying to get him to offer up his services where he could.

  Which led to now, and me driving down in the seediest, shittiest, most cop unfriendly area in the damn city.

  I should’ve changed out of my uniform, and I definitely should’ve switched to my bike.

  But people would’ve known who I was just as easily on my bike, in my regular clothes, as they would have if I was in my uniform and driving my cruiser.

  Sighing at the looks I was getting from the men and women that were gathered out on their porches, I kept driving until I got to the secluded spot that even I hadn’t realized was there until Raoul told me about it and pulled over.

  There I waited.

  Chapter 3

  I think I’ve seized the wrong fucking day.

  -Landry’s secret thoughts

  Landry

  I felt sick to my stomach, as I always did when I saw Wade.

  Though today’s stomachache was tenfold seeing as when I saw Wade, I had also seen my sister—who had known I was there when she’d gone out of her way to call out to Wade.

  I hated her.

  God, how I hated her.

  I’d like nothing more than to wish her disappearance from this planet.

  Was it not good enough that she’d taken my childhood? Did she also have to take what little happiness I had found in adulthood, too?

  Hell, she already had stolen my husband—even if she hadn’t done it in the normal way by sleeping with him.

  Honestly, I thought that might’ve been easier, had that happened.

  At least then I wouldn’t have to feel like an awful person for leaving him.

  Though my reasons were justified—at least to me—they weren’t to him.

  Over the three weeks before my procedure, I’d spoken until I was blue in the face about not wanting to do it, about how I’d done it so many times before. All the while, he held strong.

  He urged me to do it anyway. Just one more time.

  Except, I knew it wouldn’t be one more time. It was never one more time.

  I remembered Wade’s face as he looked at me for the first time after our divorce as if I’d betrayed him.

  But he didn’t understand—and honestly, I don’t think he wanted to understand.

  He always saw the good in people, and probably always would.

  I slammed the door to my house—the one Wade ordered me to keep—and wished I’d never agreed to it.

  He hadn’t wanted anything. Not a single thing.

  Not the house we’d bought together, not the new car. Not the business we’d started or the money we’d managed to save over the time we were married.

  Not a single thing but his clothes and his bike—which I couldn’t drive anyway, otherwise I was sure that he’d try to get me to take that, too.

  Hell, he’d almost made me keep the dog, too.

  And that one I had put my foot down on.

  I would not take his dog.

  I refused.

  As much as I loved Butters, I would not take him away from the man who had been his human for five years before I’d come along.

  Nope. No. Nuh-uh.

  And when Butters had died just a short six weeks after we’d finalized our divorce, things had been pretty bad for a short time.

  I’d gone to check on Wade multiple times, only to stop myself well before making it to his street.

  He didn’t need me making things worse.

  Hell, neither did I.

  Each time I saw him, it only made me feel worse for leaving.

  But, when I’d left home at the age of eighteen, I’d made a promise with myself.

  I knew that if I didn’t start putting me first, I wouldn’t be on this Earth much longer.

  I knew that I was going to fall apart just like I had at the age of seventeen.

  I’d break hard, too, just like I had then.

  Shortly after my seventeenth birthday, when I didn’t get a car like my sister had gotten on her seventeenth birthday, I realized that I never was meant to be anything but a means to an end for my family.

  Hell, I would’ve been happy with a damn cupcake with a candle in it at that point.

  And, I’d been so depressed that I had actually thought about committing suicide.

  I hadn’t succeeded, obviously.

  But that was only because of Kourt.

  He’d found out about my attempt because I’d told him I was going to do it. He had stolen a wad of cash from his parents, as well as one of his parents’ cars, and had hauled ass my way.

  Luckily, at the time, Kourt had been in his second year of medical school and had been able to get to me in time to talk me out of doing anything so permanent. From there, he’d stayed with me to make sure that I was okay, and a bond had formed.

  One that, if I hadn’t had it, I only would have thought about doing it again.

  My phone chimed with a text message, and I pulled it out of my purse, finding my first smile for the day.

  Kourt: So, I almost got a ticket today.

  I grinned and called him, knowing he only texted because he thought I was still at work. I wasn’t and hadn’t been for over half an hour.

  “Oh, yeah? Almost? What were you doing?” I asked the moment he answered his phone.

  “I was speeding.” He sounded tired. “And you’ll never guess what happened.”

  I found myself grinning, though only partially. “You got a ticket?”

  “No,” he answered. “I got a warning. From your ex-husband.”

  My insides felt like they’d exploded as everything tightened at the mention of my ex.

  “He only gave you a warning?” I asked in surprise.

  “Yeah,” Kourt explained. “Can you believe it?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Are you sure he didn’t give you a ticket and you just don’t realize it?”

  He snorted. “I can clearly see what it says. WARNING is written at the top in big bold letters.” He paused. “My guess is that he gave me a warning because he didn’t want me to contest it and have to see me again in court.”

  I snorted. “That sounds like Wade. He’s always put a lot of thought in everything he does.”

  I missed him.

  God, how I missed him.

  “He looked like he’d rather kill me than hand me that warning.” Kourt laughed then. “I felt like throwing up. I seriously almost did when I saw it was him. I swear to God, Landry. He could totally kick my ass. Then he’d break my surgeon hands, and I wouldn’t be able to save lives!”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Kourt was, indeed, a surgeon. He was also a really good one who could’ve gone anywhere, but he came here to do his residency and I followed him. He had moved in with me when my house was more convenient than the apartment he was renting.

  Why were we such good friends?

  Because we were one and the same.

  Kourt and I had both grown up in almost identical situations to each other. The only differences between our upbringing had been that he grew up in India while I grew up in Mexico. Kourt had gotten free a hell of a lot faster than I had, also.

  Although that was due to his brother being born, who also happened to be a match for their eldest brother, who had leukemia. His parents were able to split the time in between both brothers.

  Though, where Kourt and I had survived—barely—Kourt’s brother, Beaux, had not.

  Kourt and Beaux had both been put through the same thing that I had been put through—multiple rounds of bone marrow donations attempting to save a sibling. However, where Kourt and I had been able to mentally handle the strain
of the endless rounds of attempts to cure, Beaux had taken his own life rather than live the way he was forced to. I had Kourt to thank for being able to handle the stress.

  Sadly, Kourt still felt a lot of guilt over it and would continue to for the rest of his life.

  Where Lina had been a right bitch who had ultimately survived, Kourt’s brother, Monty, that he’d been donating to, had died a few weeks after his last bone marrow transplant. His body had rejected it, and that had been what ultimately killed him.

  “I gotta go,” he said quickly. “Love ya.”

  “Love you, too,” I said to dead air.

  I rolled my eyes at that.

  I should be used to the fact that Kourt hung up on me every freakin’ time he was on the phone with me, but I wasn’t.

  Honestly, it ticked me off.

  It didn’t matter what he was doing, or whether it was an emergency or not.

  He’d hang up without so much as a goodbye, and sometimes before I even realized that goodbye was on the horizon.

  But, since it was usual for him, I didn’t worry about it.

  Instead, I got to work—to my second job.

  My first job was my boring job. The one that made me money and provided me with endless blood pressure problems.

  I owned a daycare—another thing that Wade and I had started, but he’d let me keep in the divorce—and worked there four out of five days a week—mostly because my workers called in sick at least once a week, forcing me to work even if I didn’t want to.

  Owning your own business was exhausting. You may wish that you are just the boss, but there are so many things that you have to take care of personally that sometimes you don’t get to do just the fun things like you wanted to.

  Though it was a very satisfying job, it also made me lonely.

  I got to see everyone else’s kids, got to love on them and squeeze them, but never got to take them home.

  I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I’d forever be alone.

  Just as I was about to begin answering emails and starting to gather donations for my second job—the actual love of my life—my dog rescue, my phone rang.

  I frowned at it and considered not answering it, but since it was the hospital and likely Kourt, I did.

  Only, it wasn’t Kourt.

  It was the emergency room.

  “Mrs. Johnson, I’m calling about your husband coming in with a gunshot wound…”

  ***

  Shot in the thigh. Lacerations to his liver and broken ribs from being beaten. A concussion that was considered quite severe. A fractured foot.

  The list went on and on, and by the time the doctor was finished explaining the full list of his injuries, I nearly broke down and cried.

  “He’s in surgery right now to remove the bullet from his leg. Once we’re finished, we’ll call down here and let you know how surgery went.”

  That was two hours ago.

  I’d been sitting in the surgical waiting room for what felt like forever, surrounded by men that I knew despised me.

  The moment that Wade and I had broken up, I’d become numero uno on their dislike list.

  At one time, I’d been the wife. At one time, I’d been loved.

  At one time…

  Needless to say, if I saw one of them, they went out of their way to avoid being in my presence.

  It hurt.

  It hurt even more due to the fact that they’d called me first, and when I’d shown up, all of them had looked at me not only as if I did not belong there, but that I was also unwelcome.

  Honestly, if they could wish me gone from a room, I’d have disappeared hours ago.

  To make matters worse, everyone was talking about me like I wasn’t even in the room.

  I could hear the woman that was with Rome speaking about me—complete untruths—as she tried to get more information on me. Rome was talking too softly to her for me to hear his replies, but I was sure those were just as untruthful as the things coming out of the woman’s mouth.

  Each word that came out of their mouths caused me to hunch further and further into myself.

  There I sat, in the corner, praying that Wade didn’t die.

  Praying that one day, being a cop in this world wouldn’t automatically make you hated.

  I’d just finished asking God to take me instead—because what was I good for, anyway?—when a commotion had me lifting my head.

  That’s when I saw a gun aimed at me and thought, this must be it.

  It hadn’t been the way that I expected to go.

  Honestly, I always expected that I’d die on an operating table.

  The man fired the gun.

  I raised my hand as if that would protect me, and I felt fire race through me moments later.

  The entire room went electric.

  Another shot was fired.

  And then another.

  And another.

  And another.

  All the while, I felt like laughing.

  Up until this point, I’d always thought that God wasn’t listening to me. Thought that he didn’t care.

  I guess I was wrong.

  Chapter 4

  I’m not on drugs. I’m just weird.

  -Coffee Cup

  Wade

  I opened my eyes to darkness—at least semi-darkness anyway.

  Everything hurt.

  My face. My teeth. My toes and elbows.

  Honestly, there wasn’t a single thing on my body that didn’t ache.

  I rolled my head and yep, even my neck hurt.

  Super.

  When I turned my neck to the other side, my eyes caught on something—a lumpy form—and I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus.

  My hand twitched, and that was when I felt the remote in my hand.

  Closing my fingers around it, I lifted it up and sat up slightly, finding that it was the intercom thingy that allowed you to connect to the nurses’ station, as well as turn on the lights and adjust the bed.

  I hit the lights, and the harsh bright glow of the ones right above my face had me blinking rapidly to dislodge the stars now flashing in my eyes.

  I blinked once more and then tried to focus on the lumpy form that was actually a woman—my woman—or my former woman.

  Landry was passed out in a chair, her upper body and head plastered against the soft weave of the blanket that was covering three-quarters of my body.

  And, unlike when we used to be married, the stark overhead light didn’t affect her in the least.

  Guess her hating me wasn’t the only thing that had changed since she’d last been in my bed.

  I found myself getting irrationally angry over the light.

  When I had been married and sharing a room with Landry, I would have to set my shit out the night before and get dressed out in the living room after being very sure to not only close the door—but do it as quietly as possible.

  Landry was a very light sleeper.

  So light, in fact, that any number of things could wake her up in the morning.

  The water running in our bathroom. A cabinet closing. The zipper of my pants. Hell, even making coffee had woken her up.

  I’d tiptoed around that place when I’d gotten ready for work, all because I hated waking her.

  And here she was, bright light shining in her face, and she was sleeping like a baby.

  It shouldn’t have made me so angry, but it did.

  I shifted my foot next to her face, bumping her lightly.

  She came up with a cry of pain, tears already streaming down her face, and her bandaged hand clutched to her chest.

  And that was when I realized that she’d been hurt, and I’d just kicked her.

  “Fuck, Landry. I’m sorry,” I apologized, reaching out to her.

  She blinked a few tears from her eyes and then focused on me for a few long seconds.

  Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me
in awe. “You’re awake!”

  And then she was throwing herself forward.

  Before I could so much as get my mouth open to demand her to tell me what was wrong, she was on me.

  The minute she hit my chest, her face burying itself in the crook of my neck, her tears started coming faster. So fast that I could feel them running down my neck and curling around my shoulder blade to disappear into the sheet beneath my battered and bruised body.

  A battered and bruised body that felt like it’d been run over by a log truck and every single log it had been hauling had broken free and rolled over me as well.

  “I’m so glad that you’re all right,” Landry whispered. “They called me to tell me you were shot. Apparently, I’m still listed as your medical emergency contact. I raced up here, and they’d already taken you to surgery. You scared the crap out of me.”

  I had hundreds of questions looming through my brain that I wanted answers to.

  The first question was, why was she here, not only beside me but half on my bed? Secondly, did she still love me like I loved her? Three, was that what it took? Me getting hurt for her to talk to me other than a few civil words here and there as I helped her with the daycare?

  She hadn’t held an actual conversation with me in the time that we’d been separated.

  My thoughts then progressed into what should have been my first question, what had happened to me? And the last thoughts, why the hell did it feel so good to have her in my arms? Did she feel the same way when I touched her?

  My mind had been thrown into turmoil with the thought that Landry was here beside me. So, finally, I settled with asking the question that was bothering me the most.

  “What happened to your hand?” I rasped.

  My voice didn’t sound like it usually did, and I had it answered moments later as to why.

  “Don’t talk too much,” she ordered. “They just took the tube out of your throat that was helping you breathe. Are you feeling okay?”

  She hadn’t answered my question, which made me nervous.

  I wouldn’t be answering any of her questions until she answered mine first.