Page 55 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
“Now, we grab the brush and some of the Van Dyke. Watch what I do here…”
My thoughts wander while Bob continues to explain. She needs help, Avi had said. If I’m being honest, it was a fair assessment. I hate that I let those fears overcome me when Trev came after me, but it’s hard to stop my body from reacting to being chased. There were too many nights growing up when I tried to flee, tried to find a way away. I failed every time, sort of like last night. Avi lays his head back on the couch and I shift, studying the side of his face.
Noticing my attention, he slides his gaze toward me. “What’s up?”
“I don’t need your help.”
He searches my face, lips pressing together.
“I don’t,” I say again when he doesn’t answer.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, I mean I can’t force help on you if you don’t want it.” He shrugs. “I thought the same thing, you know? That I didn’t need help after the shooting. I was wrong.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek.
“Oops, well, that’s okay. We’ll just turn it into a happy, little bird,” Bob says, fixing a mistake he made on the canvas. Not even his error can distract me from the opening Avi is giving me.
“What happened?”
Avi releases a hard breath. “This talk needs more coffee,” he mutters, standing and going for a fresh mug.
I follow him to the kitchen, abandoning Bob and his happy birds. Avi busies himself with the coffee, and I slide onto the barstool. A hangnail catches my attention, and I pinch it between my fingernails, ripping it off. There’s a tiny bit of pain, but the break of the hangnail from skin is oddly grounding. Steam curls out of a mug Avi places in front of me.
“It was a Tuesday. The sort of day that’s so unassuming you almost forget about it altogether, you know?” He looks at me for confirmation.
“I guess,” I say, not really understanding.
“Tuesday isn’t Monday and it’s not Friday. It’s not the middle of the week or close to the end. It’s just there.”
I nod, sort of getting it now.
“Right, so my Tuesdays were pretty normal. Some routine patrolling, answering a few calls. For the most part, that day was pretty calm.” Something strange flashes across his face, pain and frustration and shame all in one look. He takes a long drink, like he’s gathering strength for the next part.
Joining him, I blow on my coffee before taking a sip, giving him all the time he needs. My finger is bleeding a little where I ripped the hangnail. I tuck it into my fist and squeeze, ignoring the slight ache.
“The call came in around three in the afternoon. A couple of guys robbed a bank and took off through a residential area.”
My stomach hollows. Oh no.
He sucks in a sharp breath. “I was close. I got there first. The guys were speeding down this street. I went after them, but not too fast because the houses, you know? It’s not safe to go so fast. Anyway, my lights didn’t do shit to stop them, and they crashed into this car… a mom on her way to pick up her kid from school.” His eyes mist, but I don’t look away. You don’t hide from someone bearing this much to you, you look them in the eye and help them carry the burden, if only for a while.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, taking another drink.
His gaze tracks the mug, but his focus is far away. “Their car was fucked. I slammed on my brakes to keep from rear ending them. There were three of them. The driver got out first, right before me. He had a bag, and he ran.” Avi takes a breath, grinding his jaw. “I got out to chase him, but the other two had guns.”
Right before me, Avi shatters at the memory of whatever happened. He makes a strange noise then clears his throat.
“Before I could even grab my gun, they opened fire.” Tears flow down Avi’s cheeks. “It all happened so fast. I dropped to the ground, but then I heard this mom screaming at the top of her lungs as the guys took off. Her screams. I’ve never. I’ve never heard true pain like that. I shouldn’t have chased them through the neighborhood. I should have—” He chokes off, shaking his head and covering his eyes.
“Oh, Avi.” I jump off the stool and go around the counter to wrap my arms around him. “You didn’t know.”
Curling into the embrace, he drops his head to my shoulder. He sobs, and the sound is wrenched from somewhere deep inside of him, so achingly tragic my cheeks grow wet too. “Two kids,” he says, voice hoarse. “I killed them.”
“Avi,” I say, pulling back. “You can’t blame yourself for what those assholes did.” I run my hand over the top of his head, desperately trying to take some of the pain.
