Page 169 of The Incredible Ordinary

It takes everything in me not to answer that.

“Get. Me. My. Money!” Dallas screams, so suddenly I jerk. “Or good luck seeing the brat ever again.”

I raise my hands placatingly. I’m out of options. All of them.

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” I say. “I’m going.”

I turn.

“No!”

I whirl back around at Rory’s desperate voice.

“No,” he says loudly. “Please. I’m sorry. Don’t. I’m so sorry.” His eyes are huge and his voice breaks, but he swallows and goes on. “It’s not true. None of this. I came here voluntarily. I… I… He’s not going to hurt me. There are no bullets in that gun. I’m?—”

A loud crack makes my ears ring, and I instinctively crouch before I look up frantically.

Dallas is standing, Rory’s forearm still clutched tight in his hand, holding the gun up toward the ceiling, where panicked pigeons have taken flight and flecks of paint and plaster are raining down all around us.

Rory’s mouth has dropped open, and he seems to be frozen to the spot.

“You dumb little shit,” Dallas says with a harsh laugh. “You really thought you were getting your hands on any ofmymoney?” He laughs; a loud, ugly sound that echoes from the tired walls. “You’re as useless as your mother.”

Rory has started to cry. Silent tears flow unrestricted, and the urge to kill anybody who makes my kid cry makes me take a step forward, fists already raised. Fuck the gun.

“I’m sorry,” Rory says. He dashes his wrist under his nose. “I just want to go home. Please. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” I say gently, my attention only on Rory. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out on a hiccup.

I shake my head. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. I’ll make it okay. I promise.”

I mean every word.

Whatever purpose I’ve been searching for most of my life is right here. In this life I accidentally stumbled into. I see the obvious so suddenly and clearly. Finally.

I smile at Rory.

He sniffs and smiles back. Tentatively. It’s so small, but it’s there.

“How sweet,” Dallas says. “Can we get back to?—”

His voice is cut off by a loud clang when a rusty paint can smashes into his temple. I stand there blinking for a moment, trying to process what just happened, but Jordan is already charging toward Dallas, who must have a pretty fucking thick skull, because he recovers way too quickly and is already waving the gun around again.

Jordan slams into him just as Dallas turns.

I thought I’d maxed out on being terrified for the day, but it turns out there’s room for more, because seeing the man I love wrestle on the floor with a motherfucker with a gun makes me freeze in terror.

Jordan rams his fist into Dallas’s face, and the gun goes off again.

Rory lets out a terrified squeak, which makes me snap out of the state of frozen fear I’ve been in for the past few seconds.

“Run!” I shout without looking at Rory while I spring toward the two men rolling on the floor. I slam my foot down on Dallas’s wrist, trapping the gun. I put as much of my weight on my foot as I can until Dallas lets out a shout and lets go of the gun. I pick it up and aim it at Dallas.

There are sirens in the distance, but I’m not sure if they’re real or if I’m imagining them, because my eyes are on Jordan, and there’s blood, and suddenly I can’t breathe anymore.

“Oh, fuck,” I say, mouth dry and static playing in my ears. “You’re…”