The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield (96 page)

I’ll see you in hell first.

The moment his hand holding the gun lifted, I shoved my free hand up, catching him on the nose with the heel of my palm and sending him back on the seat. 

I turned and dove with my entire weight through the door which easily popped open, praying fiercely that the gun wasn’t going to go off and find me.

Good thing the carriage was going slow. 

I felt all kinds of pain reverberating throughout my body and the side of my head as I landed on the ground, not missing the ugly angle my left elbow bent into when it caught my fall. 

I cried out with the agony of it but kicked my shoes off and forced my legs to get up and run like my life depended on it.

The scene rushed around me—all large, looming trees and glimpses of light—but I didn’t have the time to stop. I could hear Don’s bellow behind me, followed by his footsteps.

I stumbled into a clearing and the mental map I had of the property after days of working there flashed in my head despite the pain that fogged my clarity.

Knowing there was a walking path just around the corner that led to the main house, I banked sharply to the right and kept running despite the suddenly tremendous weight of my ball gown and the rough texture of the earth pricking my bare feet. I clutched my limp arm, screaming as I tried to pop it back into alignment, before nearly crashing into a couple who were just emerging into the walk, the slightly muted music coming out of the house masking their conversation.

“Charlotte!” I recognized the woman’s voice. 

It was Nicole and despite the spinning of my vision, I recognized the tall man next to her as Francis and they were both rushing toward me.

“Go! Call the cops! He’s here!” I warned as I stumbled forward but before I could reach them, a strong hand grabbed me by the hair and yanked me back violently.

“Don! What the hell are you doing, man?” Francis shouted, thrusting an arm out to block Nicole from running straight for us. “Let her go or you’re going to be so dead!”

“I’m already dead!” Don sneered as he pressed me up against him, the arm he’d snaked across my chest pinning me in place. His other hand was waving the gun at Francis and Nicole to keep them away.

“But I’m going to take with me the annoying pest who ruined my life.” He poised the gun against my temple and I had a split-second to decide because while Don may reek of alcohol, he wasn’t really that drunk. 

He was more dangerous than that—he was deadly intent on hurting someone.

“Not without a fight,” I muttered before suddenly and violently rolling to my left, peeling myself away from Don by leaning all of my weight on the arm he held me with. As I rolled, I turned on my heel and sent my still-functioning right arm straight for his head, the bones on my knuckles crunching against his skull as they made contact. 

“Charlotte!” I heard Nicole scream.

I teetered over but caught my balance just at the last second and I pivoted around in time to see Nicole try to dive for me, putting herself right in the path of a recovering Don who was flailing the arm that held the gun in front of him.

“Nicole, no!” I screamed as the moment slowed down like a train wreck in every movie and Don unleashed an angry growl just as the gun went off. 

Francis leapt for her, shoving her to the ground a mere second before the bullet struck him on the arm and sent him sprawling on his side. 

Suddenly, as if the gunshot had echoed throughout the house, the background noise of the party stirred and footsteps started pounding down the path.

Nicole, snapping out of her shock, shrieked and flew to Francis’s side, not caring that Don was still clutching a smoking gun, straightening to take aim at whoever got in his way next.

“Charlotte!” Brandon’s voice surged through the chaos.

Oh, God. No. There are heroes and villains. Then there are those who are just plain monsters.

Tears burning my eyes, I bolted out of my frozen state and threw myself against Don, tackling him to the ground, my scream cut short by the sudden explosion of sound and pain that pierced through me.

I smelled the gun powder, the pungent scent of the woods, the fumes of alcohol on Don’s breath, the fading fragrance of a life abruptly extinguished. 

If death had a face, I wouldn’t know, because all that greeted me was absolute darkness.

***

I wasn’t a stranger to pain.

I’ve felt it in varying degrees, inflicted through a myriad of ways. 

I never welcomed it but it didn’t surprise me as much when it came.

This... This wasn’t pain.

It was probably worse.

It was sheer... nothingness.

Time just passed in this glaringly bright limbo where muted voices played an endless, ungraspable tune, where I felt alien in my own body that didn’t hurt when I expected it to with gusto. 

I had flashes of consciousness which only featured more blinding light, occasionally disturbed by dark, blurry shades that floated into the white backdrop, like globs of ink spilling on paper that unfortunately formed no words—no directions to get out of this suspended state.

There was no sense of time, like waiting when the point was that it never ended.

I forced myself to listen to the hum of sounds, picking out words and voices I knew, putting them together like parts of a puzzle that was severely missing key pieces. I tried to focus on the moving shapes, straining with the effort to make out hazy features of a face but getting no further than a rough sketch of someone vaguely familiar.

I couldn’t remember how long this game played out but one day, I got very tired and decided that I was done. 

The white light faded, the voices trailed off, and the first calming feeling of cold came over me.

I must’ve whispered a thank-you but someone didn’t appreciate my gratitude because before I knew it, I heard this anguished roar of a voice calling my name, telling me all kinds of things that I thought were pretty amusing until they weren’t because the voice started sobbing—angrily, I might add—saying something about how I still owed him nine months.

Nine months? How the hell do I owe anyone nine months?

Apparently, I was interested enough in an answer because I was back in that sea of light again, kicking my legs hard enough so I could reach where that voice was coming from, hoping to get there quickly enough so I could strangle him for his nerve. 

It was a long swim because it took forever.

“Charlotte?” 

The white light started to clear, my vision starting to fill with sharper details as if I suddenly just found all the final pieces of the puzzle and figured out the picture.

Hospital room.

Bare branches of a tree by the window.

Fluffy pink and white peonies sitting in a large crystal vase.

Gold-flecked hazel eyes stricken with fear.

A large hand running down a scruffy face, a gold and platinum band on one finger glinting against the light.

Nice ring. I picked that out for the wedding.

Wedding? Wait. What the—

“Brandon?”

Someone else must be in the room, saying his name. I didn’t recognize the voice.

With bleary eyes, I searched the room and found faces but there were too many to fit into my narrowing vision as my lids grew heavy and slumber called again.

I heard the voices calling my name but they were drifting away, like water rushing out.

***

“Charlotte?”

The voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel, echoing so much the first syllable just layered over the other.

Even without understanding the words, I felt the voice draw me out, coaxing the dark edges away.

My eyes cracked open and my vision swam as images swirled and tried to straighten themselves out.

I was still at the hospital.

I can still smell the peonies.

I can still see the dark head hanging low by my bedside.

I can feel the warmth of the skin pressed against my mine.

Turning my head slightly, I met Brandon’s large hazel eyes gazing at me.

“B-brand...”

I didn’t think I sounded like I had a clump of instant noodles in my throat but it surely felt like I did.

“I’m here, baby,” he cooed with frantic gentleness and I could feel his fingers entwining with mine.

Even though I could definitely tell I was fully conscious, I couldn’t figure out why my body still felt so strangely heavy, it didn’t seem like it would budge even with persistent effort.

“Wh-wha...” I swallowed hard, wincing at the abrasion against my very dry throat.

A glass appeared in front of me and a straw was guided to my lips. Slowly, I sipped, barely managing the strength to pull in the liquid deep, but I drank as much as I could. I licked my tongue across my lips and caught the sharp cracks on them. 

So much for wondering if maybe Brandon could drop me a kiss. I’d leave him with a bleeding mouth.

I giggled and briefly closed my eyes.

I felt so giddy and floaty, I opened my eyes and glanced around to see if I was levitating off the bed.

“Charlotte, are you okay?” The concern in Brandon’s voice drew me back to him and I frowned, confused why he looked so unhappy. 

“What h-happ... happened?” I tried again, sounding much better than I did earlier.

The helplessness on Brandon’s face was quickly extinguished by a dark, furious look that reminded me of thunderstorms that came out of nowhere. 

“You got shot,” he said, his lips so thin and tightly pressed together, I was surprised I understood what he just said. “Don found you at the ball, while you were on your way to rendezvous with me. He slipped into your carriage unnoticed and you jumped out, dislocating your elbow. You tried to get away and ran into Francis and Nicole but Don grabbed you. He shot Francis. When you jumped him, he shot you.”

Ah. That more than explained why Brandon looked like he could torch something with a look right now.

“Where?” 

“Left shoulder,” he answered, his eyes moving down to where my injury must be under the layers of bed sheets covering me. His face pinched with the torture of someone reliving a very traumatic experience.

“There was so much blood when I got to you,” he added, his voice rough and scraping. “And you’d completely passed out and no one would tell me that you were fine—that it wasn’t serious.”

He dragged a trembling hand down his face, before shoving it back up to clutch at his messy hair. “They were working on you for a fucking eternity.”

I winced at Brandon’s language, not because it bothered me but because Brandon was always so composed, he never really had to give in to the urge to swear. 

“You lost a lot of blood. And for a second there, we thought...” He swallowed so painfully, I thought he had a rock in his throat. He looked up to me with hazel eyes I’ve never seen so haunted before and he snatched my right hand up and pressed it against his lips. “If I have to go through that again, Charlotte, I swear to you, I will become an absolute madman.”

I smiled and curled my fingers through his even though my arm felt like the weight of a wooden log. “I might just... indulge you... Just to see your f-face.”

“It’s not remotely funny,” he muttered, giving me a withering stare.

Oh, Brandon.

I remembered it all—the gut-wrenching fear, my frantic flight from Don, the agony of my fall, the ear-splitting sound of the gunfire, the bright, hot pain that seared through me.

I could feel the panic break through the surface but I forced it down, determined to let the horror end there because there was no point in letting it invade the rest of my life.

I tugged at Brandon’s hand, still too tired to do more. “Is Francis okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was a through-and-through. No serious damage.”

“That’s good.”

“Although the bastard could’ve told us without waiting to be shot that he’s not one-hundred percent okay,” Brandon scoffed although his face hinted at regret. “They found a benign tumor in his kidney a year ago when he was still in London. He’s being closely monitored. If it gets any bigger, he’s going to have to go through surgery and treatment.”

That explained a lot, even if Brandon and I didn’t have to point it out.

My heart broke for Francis, at the threat of his time suddenly cut short when he had a young family who needed him. It shouldn't have taken him a scare like this to do what he should've done from the beginning but still, what they had now was better than what they didn’t have at all before. Time was of the essence but it wasn’t always everything.

“They’ll be okay,” I told Brandon with a light squeeze of his hand.

“Did anyone else get hurt?”

“Don did after I got my hands on him. Gilles and Layla’s hulking body guard had to pry me away. They should’ve just let me kill him,” Brandon seethed, his profile so stony, his cheeks were sharp enough to cut. 

I squeezed Brandon’s hand. “He’s not worth your life.”

“He’s not worth the dirt your feet stand on,” Brandon snapped before exhaling loudly and pressing his lips to the back of my hand as if the gesture soothed the rage in him. “Someone had spotted him in the property and they’d just started their patrol when he snuck into your carriage. Gilles had alerted me. When we heard the gun shot, we weren’t far.”

“I want to press charges,” I muttered, inhaling deeply only to choke out a cough when I felt all kinds of pain break through the deceptive lethargy of my body. Brandon gripped my hand as I waited it out, taking shallow breaths until the pain subsided. 

God. My shoulder hurt like a bitch twice scorned.

She was demanding full punishment.

I was going to settle for simple justice.

“That scumbag deserves a first-class ticket to prison,” I added, rolling my head to the side to better look at Brandon. “Is Layla okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Couldn’t be better. The last time I saw her, she was talking about forming a foundation against women abuse or something—right after she stuffs her husband in jail.”

I grinned. “Sounds like her normal self.”

“How about the ball?” I asked, suddenly struck with worry at the realization that my own brush with danger and death might have cost other people more. “Did we screw it up?”

“I don’t think so if you consider the news coverage it got,” Brandon replied bitterly. “There are a couple dozen reporters waiting outside the hospital for the last couple of days now. You’re a national hero.”

I closely watched my husband’s face. 

He was distraught but he was also very angry. I knew he was angry at Don, but I suspected he was also angry about something else.

“You don’t seem to like the idea of me being a hero,” I said.

He scowled. “No, I don’t, because heroes often die in stories. I know you have a heart bigger than my entire empire, Charlotte, but I sometimes wish you can be a little less selfless because while you’re not scared about what happens to you, I am. I am absolutely, completely and totally terrified about what’s going to happen to you next while you’re trying to save the whole damned world.”

I bit my lower lip, feeling the fear and panic coursing through him reverberate down to the very core of my soul. “You’re right, Brandon. If there’s one person I would never want to hurt, it’s you. And sometimes, I forget that the one person who could hurt you the most is me. I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly, his cheek brushing the back of my hand. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to yell. The last forty-eight hours of my life have been filled with acute suffering as I wondered if you were ever going to wake up.”

“I’m alive and I’m awake, Brand,” I reassured him, putting a bit more energy in the grip I had of his hand. “And I’m going to take on a whole new cause once I’m better.”

Brandon looked at me in horror.

It hurt to laugh a little but I let it happen. “I’m going to be a better wife to you. I’m still going to want to help whenever I can. But the priority is you and I.”

He smiled tremulously and leaned forward to drop a sweet, light kiss on my forehead. “I set all those stupid rules about how a Mrs. Maxfield should be in the beginning, and that’s my fault. You should be whoever you are, Charlotte, even if you shorten my life span a decade or so when you occasionally do something reckless.”

I grinned. “I’ll have to curtail my misadventures then. I don’t want you getting old on me.”

He grinned. “I might just live forever if that’s what it takes to make sure someone’s looking after you.”

“Speaking of looking after me, where is everybody?,” I asked, glancing around the room again. “I could’ve sworn the room was crammed full before.”

“I sent them all away,” he said brusquely. “I told them to keep themselves and their problems away from you.”

“But—“

“And if you’re curious about Jake, I believe I last saw him making out with my younger sister down the hall an hour ago,” Brandon said with a snort and a roll of his eyes. “I think something about your close call finally jarred them into panic and now they’re all over each other.”

My nose wrinkled. “And you’re not mad?”

Brandon shook his head and sighed out loud. “I gave Jake fair warning that if he breaks Tessa’s heart, I would personally see to his castration. I’m a little worried but I’m not mad. Tessa was sobbing about how she’s now more scared of losing him than she was of being with him and all that crap.”

I smiled and gave Brandon’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “He really does love her, Brand. And she was just being so stubborn in her fear.”

“And I wish one of you would’ve told me,” Brandon said wryly. “Think of all the pain and trouble it would’ve saved us.”

I winced. “I wanted them to be able to sort it out themselves, without interference. I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark—I didn’t think it would take them forever. I just wanted to help.”

“Of course, you do. You’d save the goddamned universe if you have to.”

I sighed, knowing he was right.

He leaned close and brushed a soft kiss on my cheek. “But your superhero cape is going to have to wait. You’re not playing hero anytime soon, my love.”

I smiled. “Even if I were interested in being one, I can’t do it right now. I feel like shit.”

Brandon’s eyes sought mine, looking a little desperate. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. For not having been there to save you. For not having been there with you in those two weeks when I stayed away because I was stewing in my own guilt. In my heart, I couldn’t believe you would ever betray me with Jake but I let my fears fester. Between my guilt and my misery, I didn’t know whether I wanted to run after you or jump off a fucking cliff.”

“No, Brand. Don’t.” I shook my head slowly. “It wasn’t just you. I had a hand in that mess. I’m sorry, too.”

“And I’m sorry again for dropping your mother on you when you didn’t want to ever see her again,” he added, chewing on his bottom lip as his gaze pleaded with me. “I thought if I could heal that last wound, close that one last door, you’d be happy. And you’d never have reason to be hurt or feel unworthy ever again.”

“It’s okay, Brand,” I reassured him. “I needed to face her at some point. I don’t know that I will forgive her anytime soon, or at all, or if I’ll open that door to her ever again. What I do know is that she has nothing to do with what I want with my life now.”

“And what is that?”

“I want to be happy.” I smiled at him and touched a finger to his lips. “I want to be with you.”

“Someday, I’ll deserve you,” he said quietly.

I stuck my tongue out at him like old time’s sake. “You can bet your ass I’ll make you work for it.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

I grinned back. “Oh, Brand. There’s no penance to pay. Just love me. Tell me every day. Be with me. Smile and have fun with me. That’s all I need.”

“I’ll do all that but while there may not be a penance to pay, there’s still a lot that needs to be said so you would never have a doubt,” he said, picking up a familiar-looking envelope from the table next to the bed. “You never got to read my letter. I found it in your bag when we recovered it.”

“I was saving it for when I saw you,” I said. “I didn’t have to read it to know how you felt.”

He smiled softly. “But I wrote you a fairy tale.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He flashed me a dazzling smile. “I totally did.”

“You didn’t strike me as the type to like fairy tales, much less write one,” I retorted pertly despite my head which was growing fuzzy again.