Page 106 of Walkoff Wedding

Oh god. There’s… hope. Hope that I’m going to cling to with all that I have.

Grant tightens his arm around me, exhaling a deep, ragged sigh as he nods. “That’s reassuring. Thank you and your team for working so hard to get it put out.”

“Generally in our investigation, we work to figure out the cause, but upon arrival, we were able to confirm arson since we caught the perpetrator as he attempted to flee the premises. We’re holding him over there for questioning.” Investigator Bishop points across the street.

My hand flies to my mouth as I see a familiar face sitting on the curb, handcuffs bracketing his wrists.

Brent.

I’m trembling so hard that my teeth are chattering, and I feel like my legs may give out with a dangerous combination of fear, adrenaline, and anger as I try to let this all sink in.

Brent set my mother’s bakery on fire…

“I’ve called in backup with the NOPD so I can remain on scene, but he’s being arrested for arson here tonight.” Someone calls his name near the building, and he raises his hand, acknowledging it. “I need to head over there. We’re doing everything we can to get this fire out. I’ll have some questions later that I’ll need answered, so please stay on scene at a safe distance from the fire.”

“Thank you,” Grant says, reaching out and shaking his hand. “We appreciate it.”

Investigator Bishop nods and turns, leaving us alone with my stepfather sitting in handcuffs along the curb.

The fact that Brent is being arrested should bring me a sense of relief, knowing that he’ll pay for what he did, but it honestly only makes me angry. That he would do something so vile, so evil.

The shuffle of gravel scraping against the pavement sounds behind me, causing me to jump, and I whip around. Out of my peripheral, I think I see a darkened shadow in the bushes next to the building next door, and I think it looks like a… person?

“Grant,” I whisper. “I-I think someone’s in the… bushes. Over there.”

It’s so dark that I can’t really see if it’s my mind playing tricks on me or if there’s someone really there. I’m so amped up on adrenaline that I could be imagining it completely, but I would swear that there’s someone there. Why would someone be hiding in a bush?

Grant’s brow pinches as he squints, trying to see what I do, and then he turns to me. “Stay here, baby, where the investigator can see you.”

Abruptly, he takes off toward the other side of the building, disappearing into the darkness, and my heart thrashes wildly as I wait. My eyes continually scan my surroundings, cataloging every sound, every movement. My panicked gaze returns to Brent on the curb near where Investigator Bishop is standing and talking to another person in uniform.

A loud grunt sounds from the darkness, and I gasp, covering my mouth with one hand as I desperately try to see beyond the shadows.

There’s another pained grunt, closer this time, followed by the sound of something hard hitting the ground.

I’m going to pass out. Or have a heart attack. In either order.

Tears prick in my eyes, and I squint, trying to blink them away when, suddenly, there’s a shadowed body striding toward me, and then I forget how to breathe completely.

I hold the breath inside of me, too afraid to move or make a sound until my lungs begin to burn, and even then, I don’t dare to move a single inch.

Then, I see it’s Grant walking toward me.

And… he’s not alone.

He’s practically dragging someone with him, and I wait on a burning, bated breath for the moonlight to illuminate them both. I need to see that he’s okay.

I need to make sure he’s not hurt.

Oh my god.

Dixon?

Finally, his face comes fully into view as Grant tosses him roughly onto the concrete only feet from where I’m standing. There’s a trickle of blood seeping from his nose and split lip where Grant must have hit him. The skin around his eye is red, angry, and beginning to swell, making him squint to see.

I shift my eyes to Grant, running them over his entire body, desperately searching for reassurance that he’s okay. I see a bright crimson stain on his gray shirt, and my hand flies to my mouth, covering it.

“It’s not mine, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m okay.”

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