Page 42 of Mine to Fear
“The only person who failed her was you.” Kieran’s voice was getting closer. “The only person who hurt her, who tried to destroy her, who made her believe she wasn’t worth choosing.”
“I chose her!”
“You claimed her. There’s a difference.”
Dex’s arm tightened around me again, and I felt his breathing becoming more erratic. “Don’t you dare lecture me about love. You don’t know what love is. Real love fights. Real love doesn’t give up when things get complicated.”
“Real love doesn’t leave bruises,” Kieran said quietly, taking another careful step forward. “Real love doesn’t put bullets in people. Real love doesn’t use fear as a weapon.”
Dex’s grip tightened on me, his breathing becoming more erratic. “Real love does whatever it takes to keep the person you love safe. Even from themselves.”
“Is that what you think you were doing?” Kieran’s voice remained steady, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. “Keeping her safe?”
“I was keeping us together.” Dex’s voice rose, defensive and desperate. “I was fighting for our marriage when she wanted to throw it away over every little argument.”
“Every little argument?” I found my voice, found my anger. “You call putting me in the hospital a little argument?”
“I never meant to hurt you. You know that. You know I love you.”
“That’s not love.” The words came out stronger than I expected, cutting through the fear that paralyzed me. “Love didn’t hunt people through the streets. Love didn’t threaten innocent people to get what it wanted. Love didn’t hold guns to people’s heads.”
“Love does whatever it takes,” he repeated, but there was something desperate in his voice now, something that suggested even he was starting to doubt his own narrative.
“No,” I said, and for the first time since he grabbed me, I felt something other than fear. I felt angry. “Love lets go when holding on causes pain. Love wants the other person to be happy, even if that means being happy without you.”
“You were happy with me. Before he poisoned you against me, before he made you think you deserved better?—”
“I do deserve better. I deserve someone who doesn’t use violence to solve problems. I deserve someone who respects mychoices, even when they don’t like them. I deserve someone who loves me enough to let me be free.”
“Free?” His voice was getting higher, more unstable. “You think you’re free with him? You think living in his perfect penthouse, working in his office like some charity case—that’s freedom?”
“It’s more freedom than I ever had with you.”
Something in my tone must have gotten through to him because his grip loosened just enough.
I drove my elbow back into his gut as hard as I could.
The impact knocked the wind out of him, loosening his grip just enough for me to break free and dive to the side. The gun went off as I hit the concrete, the bullet ricocheting off the warehouse walls with a sound like thunder.
Then chaos erupted around us.
FBI agents swarmed from every direction, tackling Dex before he could fire again. He fought them, screaming my name over and over, his voice echoing off the concrete until it was finally muffled by distance and restraints.
Kieran reached me first, dropping to his knees beside me and pulling me into his arms while I shook with adrenaline and relief and the aftermath of fear.
“It’s over,” he whispered against my hair, his voice rough with emotion. “It’s finally over.”
Hours later, back at Kieran’s penthouse, I sat curled up on his couch, still wearing the Kevlar vest because taking it off felt like tempting fate. The sun was rising over the city, painting everything in gold and pink, and for the first time in years, I felt completely, utterly safe.
“How are you feeling?” Kieran asked, settling beside me with two cups of coffee.
“Free,” I said, and meant it more than I ever meant anything. “For the first time in my entire life, I felt completely free.”
He smiled, the expression transforming his whole face. “Good. Because I have plans for our freedom.”
“What kind of plans?”
“The kind that involves me telling you every day that you were always the choice. The kind that involves actual dates and flowers and arguments about movies.” He set down his coffee and turned to face me fully. “The kind that involves me waking up next to you for the rest of my life and never taking for granted that you chose to stay.”
