Page 52 of Healing Hearts
“Put the scalpel down, Vivian,” I say, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest. “This isn’t the way to fix anything.”
“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?” she spits, her voice shaking. “But you’renothing. Just a fraud with smutty books.”
Before she can do anything reckless, Trevor barrels into me, knocking me to the ground as Sawyer grabs Charlie at the waist and pulls her out of the way of the scalpel. The impact steals my breath, but I see Detective Dana Kowalski moving in swiftly.
“Drop the weapon, Vivian!” Dana commands, her voice calm but firm as she levels her gun at Vivian. Other officers, including Declan and Eli, surround her with their guns drawn as well.
Vivian hesitates, her face crumpling as the fight leaves her knowing that she’s surrounded. She lets the scalpel fall completely, raising her hands in surrender. Dana steps in, cuffing her quickly while the crowd watches in stunned silence.
Trevor pulls me to my feet, his hands running over my arms and shoulders as if checking for injuries. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice tight with worry.
I nod, though my knees feel weak. “I’m fine,” I manage, leaning into him.
As Vivian is led away, she turns back, her voice dripping with venom. “You don’t deserve him,” she spits with venom. “You don’t deserve any of this. You have no idea what kind of filth she writes. It’s disgusting.”
Trevor wraps an arm around me, his voice calm and unwavering. “Oh, I know exactly what she writes,” he says, his eyes locked on Vivian. “And I love every word of it.”
Vivian’s sputtering is drowned out by the sound of water dousing the flames. Around us, the chaos beginsto settle.
Trevor doesn’t give her a second look. His attention is entirely on me, his eyes filled with concern. “Let’s get you out of here,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around my waist.
I nod again, grateful for his steady presence as we start to move away from the chaos.
Charlie shakes her head, her wide eyes darting to me as we’re walking away. “You owe me, Miss Quinn,” she says, her voice trembling but teasing. “I want every one of your books signed. And no more surprises. Got it?”
I laugh shakily, hugging her. “Got it.”
Trevor pulls me close, his lips brushing my temple. “You sure you are okay?”
I nod, leaning into him. “Yeah. I think I am.”
For the first time in a long time, I truly believe it.
Epilogue - Trevor
The hum of excited chatter fills the convention center, a sprawling space alive with energy. Rows of tables are lined with glossy book covers and smiling authors, and the air is thick with the distinct scent of new paper and freshly brewed coffee. Fans clutch tote bags bursting with books, some jittery with nerves as they clutch tickets for autographs. It’s Brooke’s moment, and I can feel her nerves radiating despite the confident smile she wears like armor.
Brooke, my Brooke—headliner of one of the largest book signings of the year. “Sophie Quinn” in bold, glittering letters on banners overhead. I can’t stop the grin tugging at my lips as I glance at her, seated behind her booth with a stack of books and her name on everyone’s lips.
She’s radiant. Her red hair catches the overhead lights, glowing like a halo, and her green eyes sparkle with a mix of excitement and nervous energy. She’s signing a copy ofWhispers on the Windfor a lady, who’s practically vibrating with joy.
“Thank you so much for writing this,” the lady gushes. “Your books mean the world to me.”
Brooke’s smile softens, genuine and warm. “Thank you for reading them,” she says. “You’re the reason I keep writing.”
It’s a simple exchange, but it tugs at something deep in my chest. Seeing her like this—confident, in her element, and finally embracing the recognition she deserves—is nothing short of awe-inspiring.
Beside her, Grace and Charlie are in their element, too, though their “help” is a bit... unconventional. Grace is meticulously organizing the stacks of books while sneakily snapping pictures of a favorite author at the next booth. Meanwhile, Charlie is deep in conversation with a sci-fi author about her favorite characters, gesturing wildly with a coffee cup in hand.
“I swear,” Charlie says, “if you kill off the captain in the next book, I will riot. Like, full-blown riot.”
The author laughs, holding up their hands in surrender. “No promises, but I’ll take your feedback under advisement.”
Grace nudges Charlie, her tone mock-serious. “Can you focus, please? Brooke needs us to be professional.”
Charlie snorts. “Professional? You just squealed like a fangirl when you saw that rom-com author two tables over.”
“Excuse me, I wascomposed,” Grace retorts, her cheeks turning pink.
