What seemed like a lifetime later, a doctor came out to tell her family and me that she was going to be okay. The bullet just missed arteries and bone, which was a miracle. If an artery had been hit, she would have died almost instantly, without question. I already knew I was lucky before the doctor told me how things could have ended. But hearing how close she came to losing her life, and seeing firsthand how close to death she was, I knew I was lucky.

“Saved my girl.” Nico’s voice cuts into my thoughts, and I turn my head to look at him, watching him swallow hard. “Fuck, two seconds, and she would not be alive right now. His finger was on the trigger. You saved her.” I do not need a reminder of what almost happened, what I almost lost. That moment is burned into my brain in a way I know I will never go a day of my life without seeing it, without remembering the fear I felt, the way time seemed to stop as he pointed his gun at her and I made a split-second decision to take his life before he could take hers. “Thank you.” He pulls me in for a hug, pounding my back hard, and I do the same before letting him go.

Hearing the sound of Harmony’s laughter, I look at the hospital bed and see her mom and sister on either side of her, a stack of wedding books and magazines on the table over Harmony’s lap, and all three of them smiling at something. Fuck, I knew I loved her before, but now that I know what losing her would feel like, and I know I will never, ever take a moment of time with her for granted.

Lifting her head, her eyes meet mine and I fight back the wetness building in them as she mouths, I love you.

Chapter 13

Harmony

HEARING MY STOMACH GROWL for the third time in a row, I press Pause on the show I’ve been watching and slowly get off the bed. Once I’m standing, I grab my crutches and maneuver my way awkwardly out of the bedroom and down the hall. Going into the kitchen, I open the fridge and stare at the contents, all of which require cooking—something I’m not really in the mood to do. Okay something I’m never in the mood to do.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Jumping, I turn to look over my shoulder and find Harlen with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed on me, like he just caught me in an embrace with another man. “Looking for something to eat. What does it look like I’m doing?” I reply sassily, and then growl in frustration when he uncrosses his arms and comes toward me. “Do not pick me up!” I yell, right before he picks me up. “Seriously, you need to stop hauling me around.” He kicks the fridge door closed then carries me to the couch in the living room, setting me down gently then lifting my legs and shoving a pillow under them.

“Now, what do you want to eat?” he asks, putting one fist to the back of the couch, the other on the arm, caging me in.

“You need to let me do stuff for myself.” I push at his chest, but he doesn’t move, not even an inch.

“I’m taking care of you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t walk, or cook, or take a shower alone.”

“You complaining about me helping you in the shower?” he prompts, and I grit my teeth, remembering just how nice it was this morning when he helped me in the shower… before helping himself in the shower.

“No.”

“Good.”

“Honey,” I lower my voice in hopes to get through to him, “I’m okay. I’m healing. The doctors have said I’m doing great, but I need to start doing stuff for myself too. Without you hovering over me.”

“I don’t hover.”

Oh Lord, here we go. He does hover. I can’t do anything without him standing at my back, watching my every move. “Okay, you don’t hover. I’m just saying I need to do things on my own again.”

“I don’t hover.”

Lord, give me patience.

“You saved me,” I say, and his chin jerks back so I lower my voice even more. “I love you. I know what happened was hard, but you saved me. I didn’t die. I’m living and breathing, and so are you. I want us to get back to normal.”

“Angel—”

“Please, Harlen,” I beg. “I want normal back. I need that.”

“I almost lost you.”

God, that hurts. No, it kills me, to not only see the pain in his eyes, but to hear it in his voice when he says it.

“I know, but you didn’t and you won’t.”

“You need to give me time, baby.”

“I know,” I agree, because that really is the only thing that is going to help, but at the same time, I want to move on. I don’t want to see him looking at me like I’m going to suddenly disappear right before his eyes, or to wake up at night finding him wide awake, his arms tight around me because he’s afraid I won’t be there if he goes to sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He leans in, resting his forehead to mine. “More than anything on this earth.”

Tears start to fill my eyes, and I can’t hold them back as they fall down my cheeks. “How can I help you deal with this?” I ask through the lump in my throat.

“You breathing is helping me, but I need time to forget how close I came to losing you, to forget what happened. I know I’m a little overbearing right now, and I don’t know when that will stop… or if it will. I still see the look in your eyes when he raised the gun toward you, still feel your body going limp in my arms as I carried you to the ambulance. I don’t know when I will get over that, or if I ever will.”

Every single one of his words cuts me open, leaving me completely bare. I hate that he was so close to losing me, after already suffering the loss of his parents and knowing what a lifetime without them feels like.

“I’ll give you time, as much time as you need,” I finally say, watching his eyes close. Moving my hands to his face, I tip my head and press my mouth against his. “It will be okay.”

“Okay, Angel.”

“I promise it will be okay,” I whisper against his lips, the same words he said to me, and I pray that he will believe them like I did.

“Okay, baby.” He kisses my forehead, and I hold onto him then smile when my stomach growls.

“Now, let me take care of you. What do you want to eat?” he asks, and I look up at him.

“Takeout?”

“Of course she wants takeout,” he mutters dryly, and I smack his arm, seeing his lips twitch. “What kind?”

“Pizza,” I respond immediately then shake my head. “No, Chinese. Wait, no, pizza.” I bite my lip, and he laughs, that sound filling me with the knowledge that we will be all right.

“How about both?” he suggests, and I smile.

“All right, dessert pizza and Lo Mein.”

“I can do that,” he agrees, then his eyes soften, making my stomach melt. “Do you need a pain pill?”

“No, I’m okay,” I whisper, and he touches his mouth to mine then to my forehead before he stands and heads for the kitchen. Lying back against the arm of the couch, I listen to him place our order, and then I smile when Dizzy jumps up onto the cushion to lie down on my stomach. As I run my fingers through his hair, my mind wanders.

Two weeks ago, I was released from the hospital, and ever since, then the media has been clamoring for a story. Harlen had to unplug the phone and change our cell numbers, because the calls just wouldn’t stop. Hopefully, they give up soon, but I doubt they will. A woman getting kidnapped is big news. Over fifty women coming forward to admit they had been sexual harassed by Hofstadter, and then forced to quit or be fired when they went to HR about what was happening, was not just big, but huge, especially in our town.

My dad told me that Dr. Hofstadter was so crazy, so egotistical, that he believed if he got rid of me, his troubles would go away. He didn’t know that his time was already up. There were too many rumors; he had hurt too many women, and his family had run out of ways to cover it up for him. They had been doing it for six years, since the moment he transferred to town.

Hofstadter didn’t know he was already being looked into by an outside government organization, or that a few of the women he had harassed had gotten together and found a lawyer who was more than happy to take on the biggest hospital in four counties. Obviously, Hofstadter is now dead, but the story did not die with him, nor did the case against the hospital. The board changed members, and the CEO wisely stepped down. But even with that, there was a lot of backlash, and someone would eventually pay for what they allowed to happen and what they tried to cover up.