Remembering Everly (Lost & Found #2) (26 page)

I inched forward as he rambled on incoherently.

“You’re always fucking me over. I should have known. I should have known a spineless little asshole like you wouldn’t be worth my time. And now look at us. We’re so fucking screwed, it’s not even funny. And it’s all your fault.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to keep him talking as I made my way slowly across the living room. His focus was everywhere. He’d gone completely off the deep end, and because of that, it made my pursuit that much easier.

“I’m bankrupt!” he yelled, finally looking directly at me. I froze.

“All the money we have in the company? Fake. Totally fucking fake. I’ve been grasping at straws for the last three years trying to pull shit together while you wasted away in a fucking hospital bed. You and your fifty-million-dollar mistake. I told you our money was liquid? Well, nonexistent is more like it now. I needed you to keep us afloat, and instead, you ruined us!”

Several pieces of the puzzle settled into place all at once. Memories of him needing help in almost every financing class. His pursuit of me after I’d gotten out of the hospital, the almost stalker quality it had. How he’d seemed to insert himself into my life in every way.

He’d been out for revenge, sure. But that hadn’t been the only reason.

Desperation. He’d lost everything.

Trent was destitute and the only person he’d thought could turn the tide was the one person he despised. The one person who had deceived him and cost him everything.

Me.

Greed made people do all sorts of things. It created a never-ending hunger that would never be fulfilled. I had no doubt the investment blunder I’d made right before my coma had added to the financial distress of the company. However, seeing Trent now—his need, the way he seemed completely desperate—I knew he was the ultimate reason for the downfall.

Fancy boats, multimillion-dollar houses…living well beyond our means. It had all finally caught up.

And now it was time for him to pay.

As soon as he turned his head, distracted by his own deteriorating mind as it poured forth an intangible string of words, I acted, jumping for him before he had the chance to react.

Two things happened simultaneously. The gun went off and Everly let out a blood-curdling scream.

A
shot went off and everything happened at once. All I could do was watch in horror as August and Trent wrestled for the gun. I screamed at the sight of the blood covering both of them, not knowing which man it belonged to.

August took a swing, his face pale, and Trent fell to the floor. As soon as he went down, the entire house erupted in noise. Men outfitted in SWAT gear swarmed the house, guns at the ready.

Both of us held up our hands, unsure what to do, but their focus was all for the man on the floor.

It was over.

Oh thank god, it was over.

I managed to lock eyes with August from across the room, seeing his relieved expression moments before I noticed the blood soaking his shirt.

“August!” I screamed. His fingers touched the bullet wound above his heart, near his left shoulder and his gaze traveled back to mine in shock.

And then he collapsed, crumpling to the ground like an oversized rag doll.

“No! Oh God! No!” I cried, rushing to his side.

“We need an ambulance!” One of the men said into a walkie-talkie as they handcuffed an unconscious Trent. His head bobbed to the side as they pulled him to a standing position. Slowly, he began to regain consciousness, and that’s when I saw red.

“You fucking asshole!” I yelled, pushing past several large men to get to Trent. “If I lose him because of you—I swear to God, there won’t be a jail cell deep enough for you to hide in. I will find you!”

His sneer was the last thing I saw before they took him away.

Three of the men stayed behind. While two of the men secured the area and provided communication, the third stayed by August’s side, applying pressure to his wound as I kneeled beside him, praying to every deity I could think of to not take him away from me.

“It’s a clean wound,” the man said, his gaze strong and true. “Clear exit wound. It must have gone through muscle only.” He pointed to the back where several makeshift towels had been applied, soaking up more blood than I’d ever seen outside the human body.

“Will he—” I couldn’t even say it.

Before he had a chance to answer me, the EMTs stormed in, rushing into action. I was asked to step back as they did their job. I watched from the sidelines as they tended to August, feeling useless as they tried to keep him alive.

My hands shook and sobs quaked through my body.

“I’ll take her,” Agent Martin offered, reappearing just as they lifted August into the ambulance. Knowing his situation was far too dire for me to accompany him, I silently nodded and watched as they drove away.

Oh God, what if I lost him?

Again.

The trip to the hospital was quick. So much of the experience took me back—to the last time I’d sat in a spot just like this, waiting, wondering…worrying. After a long while, I was allowed back to a room and found him asleep. He looked so much like the man I left all those years ago. I still remembered holding his hand, wondering if I’d lost him for good as guilt had clawed at my belly.

If I had only kept the door shut like I’d promised. Perhaps none of this would have happened.

I knew that wasn’t true.

Trent wouldn’t have given up. He never would have given up.

And this time, neither would I.

I stayed by his side all night, and through the following morning.

Seeing him in a hospital bed again was like taking a walk back in time.

Even though the doctor assured me he was not in a coma, the fear was still there.

What if he never woke up?

What if he did, and he didn’t remember? Had he hit his head when he fell? I couldn’t recall.

Everything would be better when he woke up.

August…please wake up.

The news of August’s injury reached our friends quickly, and the outpouring of support was massive. Looking around the room at the scattering of flowers and cards, it filled my heart with warmth and love. What a difference a year made.

What a difference
we
had made.

Together.

Around midnight a nurse snuck in to check his vitals, seeing my unchanged position from the last time she’d been in the room. Fifteen minutes later, she reappeared with a tray of food and a soda.

“Eat, sweetheart,” she urged. “And try to get some rest.”

“I can’t bear to look away,” I confessed, looking up at her with tears in my eyes. “What if he needs me?”

Her caring smile warmed slightly as she took the seat in the corner, letting her feet rest for a moment. She had those funny white shoes nurses often wore, the ones that look like a cross between clown shoes and something you’d see in Denmark. There were tired, dark circles under her eyes, probably from working the night shift, and her gray-brown hair had been neatly pulled back into a severe bun. Her Hello Kitty scrubs made her seem young, though, reminding me of something a child might wear rather than a nurse who was probably pushing sixty.

“I heard what happened to him,” she said, her eyes moving over his still frame. “It’s a brave thing he did.”

I simply nodded. It was all I could do to keep the sobs at bay.

“He’ll be needing a lot of help over the next several weeks. Bullet wounds take time to heal.”

“I’ll be there for him,” I said.

“Good. Then eat,” she pressed. “He’ll need his strength. But so will you. You can’t take care of a great big guy like that with no food in your belly. Rest while you can so you can take care of your man. Got it?”

Looking down at the tray of hot food she’d brought, I heard my stomach growl, realizing it had been over twenty-four hours since I’d last eaten.

“Yes ma’am,” I replied.

“All right, then. I’ll be back in here to check on both of you,” she said, rising to her feet. She stretched languidly, several of her bones cracking as she moved to the door. With a quick wink, she was gone.

I don’t know how many hours passed after that. They all seemed to mesh into one another. After eating several nibbles off a bread roll and some lasagna, I fell asleep, waking every half hour with a jolt—the memories of the day before rushing back with a vengeance.

My hands would skim over August, making sure he was still there—still in front of me, within my reach, and then I’d drift off again.

Soon, we’d be together again.

“Soon,” I whispered to myself as my eyes closed once again.

Daylight filtered through the hospital window as my eyes slowly fluttered open, taking in my surroundings. Just like every other time I’d awakened since Trent’s break-in, my mind went back.

Back to the moment he rang the doorbell.

Back to the moment he’d threatened August if I didn’t answer.

Back to the instant he’d fired the gun, sending a fiery hot bullet into August’s chest.

Panic.

It all came back.

“Shhh, I’m right here.” August’s voice came through the noise in my head. I looked up and saw his beautiful hazel gaze looking back at me.

“You’re awake.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah.” He smiled weakly. He still looked pale, with dark shadows around his eyes. His voice was hoarse, as if he’d spent a night at a concert screaming over the loud noise rather than lain unconscious in a silent hospital room.

But none of this mattered.

Because he was alive.

So beautifully alive.

“August,” I said, my voice cracking as I tears fell down my cheeks, following the same path so many had before them. I’d cried a lot of tears in the past twenty-four hours.

These were tears of joy. Tears of relief—because we were finally free.

“You scared me,” I whispered. “I was so scared.”

“You never have to be scared again.”

And that was the simple truth. Through the years, we’d lost each other over and over—to greed, loss of trust, and a thousand memories scattered in the wind. But our love had never surrendered. We’d never given up on each other and here we were.

We’d been lost to each other so many times over. But now, we were found.

At last.

Three years later…

H
ey, boss lady! We need more peanut butter brownies up front!” Trudy yelled from the front counter as she went back to softly humming a popular top forty song to herself. Her large belly bobbed and bounced as she danced, bringing a smile to my happy face.

We’d done it.

Just as this place I’d called home for years had been facing foreclosure, I’d been able to do the impossible. It had taken time, a whole lot of savings, and it had meant putting off several things, including the possibility of a family, but it was one wish I could officially strike off my list.

I was my own boss.

The coffee shop I’d loved for so long was now mine, and since taking over, Trudy—now general manager—and I had made some major changes, including the addition of a new kitchen—complete with the fancy stainless steel mixer I’d always wanted. We no longer counted on anyone else to make our food, which meant I had the freedom to use my pricey culinary degree to its fullest.

Within months of announcing new ownership, we’d been recognized in papers and food blogs all over the city for our ingenious salads, delectable sandwiches, and to-die-for desserts.

Business was booming, and I couldn’t be happier.

Carrying out two orders of Cuban-inspired sandwiches, I delivered them to a couple sitting near the window, thanking them for their business as they checked out our funky interior and original artwork.

“Do you sell these pieces?” the wife asked, pointing to a black-and-white framed photograph of the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Yes, we do.” I smiled, looking at the photo with pride.

I wasn’t the only success in the family.

“Ever since August got that feature in the
Chronicle
, we’ve barely been able to keep the walls covered,” Trudy said with a wide grin as I walked back to the counter, grabbing a pot of coffee. She watched with lust as I filled a cup to the brim, grabbing the brownies she’d asked for so she could refill the to-go case. As she began, I leaned against the counter and enjoyed a few moments of bliss as I sipped slowly from my “I’m Awesome” cup. I knew drinking coffee in front of a pregnant woman was mean, but what else could I do?

It was my fuel. I needed it to function.

“I know,” I agreed with a small shrug as I looked at the walls we’d decorated with my husband’s vibrant prints. “But he won’t sell them anywhere else. At least he’s in the paper for his artistic ability and not because of the trial.”

When the media had caught wind of Trent’s arrest, the story had swept through the Internet and newspapers with gusto. August was sought after for interviews—exclusive and everything in-between—especially when it was discovered that every penny that had once filled his very large bank account had been handed over to start a charity to help the victims of Trent’s fraud.

He was touted as a hero, and although I agreed, he hated every second. All he wanted to do was melt into the background and live our lives in peace. And he eventually got his wish. Trent was prosecuted on several counts of embezzlement, and after a few tips regarding the gallery fire had come in, a trial for murder was becoming a real possibility. He’d spend the rest of his useless life in a jail cell.

Away from us, away from those he could hurt most.

Life had finally moved on.

Looking out at the café, I noticed the changes—the fresh coat of paint and the updated tables and chairs. We’d done a lot since taking over and it showed—even changing the name to Flower Box Cafe—a nod to August’s and my humble beginnings. Although some things had been modified, we’d still managed to keep the feel, and that was why when I gazed out into the sea of people filling the small café, I still saw many of our old patrons, still occupying the same spaces they had for years, drinking the same coffee, because I hadn’t changed the beans or the way we made it. We’d even kept their favorite cups.

It had been hard work. Every penny we’d spent on this place had been earned, borrowed, and bled for. I wish I could say when we left the hospital all those months ago, things had been rosy and our road paved with nothing but promise.

But there were hard times. Like everyone else in this world facing financial problems, we’d struggled. Even our wedding had been done on the cheap—a small ceremony overlooking the ocean with those who were closest to us. Brick officiated—another one of his talents—and Sarah planned a small meal at a nearby restaurant. It was intimate and romantic, and we had about a dozen rolls of film for every second that had passed.

We found a small apartment near the school. August worked two jobs while I was in classes, doing anything from working in restaurants to brushing up on his skills in the financial world. He’d hated every second. But at night and on days off, he’d pull out his camera and shoot pictures—anything and everything that caught his eye. I was still his muse, but his lens eventually widened and he began to see a world beyond my ginger red hair and blue eyes. Every once in a while, he’d send out feelers to galleries but would rarely hear anything back.

Then, when we heard the coffee shop was having difficulty, we knew what we had to do. The money we’d been dutifully putting into a savings account every month for two years, hoping to buy a house one day, turned into a down payment on a much smaller piece of property. With the acquisition of a business loan, and some much needed help from our friends, we took on the role of business ownership—knowing full well if we failed, we’d end up broke.

Again.

But sometimes you have to take a risk to find your heart.

And that’s what we’d done.

“Oh boy, look at the hot young things coming in here,” Trudy said, a slow smile spreading across her face.

I turned to see the two men who’d forever altered my life walk in side by side. Smiling and sweaty, August and Ryan ambled in, fatigue showing on both of their wind-burned faces.

“Good run?” I asked as I went up on my tippy toes to offer August a kiss, purposely putting a safe distance between me and all his stinky sweat.

A mischievous smile spread across his face as his arm slinked across my back and hauled me against his wet t-shirt.

“Great run. Too bad Sparrow slowed me down.”

I turned, completely happy with my sweaty fate now as his muscled arms wrapped around me. Ryan was cozying up to his wife, bending down to kiss the child growing in her belly before he turned around.

“When Everly’s pregnant and asking you to go out in the middle of the night for McDonalds, because it’s the only thing that will possibly make her happy again, then we’ll talk about who’s slowing who down,” he said, the laughter in his voice making each word nearly quiver as he turned back to wrap his arms around Trudy.

I don’t know how many times she’d tried to get my attention, stop me at work to tell me about her and Ryan, before she’d literally grabbed me by the shoulders, sat my butt down in a chair and said, “I’m dating Ryan!”

She’d been nearly shaking, so fearful I would be upset with her.

I’d risen from the seat, taken her in my arms and cried. Not out of sadness, but of joy. Because I knew in that moment, Ryan had found the one.

Trudy was everything he’d been searching for. She was kind and giving, sweet and tenderhearted. They were the perfect match and as I watched their love blossom, I knew this was exactly how our lives were supposed to end up.

Friends. All of us.

In a few months, August and I would stand up in a church and be named their daughter’s godparents and tonight, we were all attending Sarah’s first ballet as a choreographer. She was even bringing a date to the after party…and this time he wasn’t a mystery to us all.

So much joy. So much happiness, and it was just beginning.

All because two people didn’t take no for an answer.

We’d fought for our happily ever after, and in the end, it had found us. Our own little slice of heaven. With coffee.

Lots and lots of coffee.