Singer

Lucas McCoy.

At first, I’m thrown off as to why Lucas McCoy is in my apartment. But all it takes is one look at his neck to know why. While he stands near the living room window looking out, I see it, and remember: “Grabbing a piece of glass, I cut his neck, wanting to end him.” Aaron’s words.

“That’s a bad scar on your neck. It’s still healing?” I ask, keeping my eye on him. I stare at him from the couch with his shaking hands and nervous eye twitch. He’s not the same man I met at the ball. This is a man living with demons. A man living with demons has nothing to lose, but I do.

His hand covers his neck, and he looks back at me. “Shut up.” He begins pacing the floor in front of me. To the kitchen, five steps back to the couch. To the bedrooms, fifteen steps back. To the bathroom, ten steps back. Most of what he’s been muttering has been incoherent, although I did pick up “I didn’t mean to” several times. I also caught: “Accidents happen. One did happen.”

I can argue that Melanie’s death may be an accident to him, but it is everything to me. I don’t because he’s not stable. My biggest fear is I may be another one of his accidents if I don’t get out of here quick. Accidents. Oh my God. “You tried to kill me by having me pushed into traffic. How much did you pay that homeless man to murder me?”

I’m pinned by the devil himself. “Thirty dollars. That’s what your life is worth.”

My eyes dart to every nook and cranny, searching for something that can help me. But the last time I was here, Melanie had just straightened the living room. I need to get a knife from the kitchen, but he’s currently walking by it, leaving me no chance to get over there.

“What do you want, Lucas?”

“It was supposed to be a message. To end this standoff. He’s ruined me, is ruining me.”

“Who?”

His dark eyes hit me like a shark in the deep ocean, no emotion, only a killer and his prey. He begins to circle. “You know too much,” he stammers.

“No, I don’t.”

“He wasn’t here and then he was, making my life hell. My father. I’ve become the disappointment he said I would become. While he’s off partying like he’s not destroying lives.”

Trying to reach him, to calm him, I keep my voice controlled and patient, soft, respectful. “Who are you talking about, Lucas?”

He snaps to reality when hearing his name. “Fuck, what am I going to do with you?”

“You don’t have to do anything with me.” Sickness blackens my stomach, turning it. I swallow, the bile burning my throat. I glance to my purse by the door, too far to get and dig a phone out before he can stop me. I let my guard down. I wasn’t thinking it wasn’t safe to be here. Looking at the TV cabinet, a photo of Mel and me during spring break our junior year in college sits in a frame she bought in Jacksonville and took to Boulder. It was our first taste of the world outside our Colorado bubble. We stayed up late for months talking about all the places we wanted to go, all the cities and countries we wanted to visit.

We didn’t get that chance because we chose to move to New York. Sitting here, that feeling of wanting to conquer the world comes rushing back. I have to fight. Lars’s words cross my mind. Don’t let the bad guys win, Singer. Fight.

Looking at the photo once more, I may have lost my friend, but I realize I’ve found this amazing group of people who want me to live, to fight, to save myself. They all believe in me. I need to do the same. “I won’t tell anyone anything. I swear.”

By his harsh tone, he’s losing the last bit of humanity he had left. “It’s out of control. There’s no coming back from this. Don’t you see? I killed someone. If I’m caught, which is only a matter of time, I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison. I went to the best private school in Manhattan. I attended Yale, our family tradition. I’ve brought shame and embarrassment to the McCoy name when all I wanted was respect, to show them I can advance the family in standing and financially.”

“You can. You can earn that respect, Lucas.”

“No I can’t!” Walking to the kitchen bar, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a gun. “I was golden. If he’d stayed in Texas, I would own full cargo holding rights in East Bay.”

It’s out of control. There’s no coming back from this. Don’t you see? I’ve killed someone.

Ethan. Oh God.

The renegotiation of rights.

Melanie died over the right to move cargo in and out of East Bay. My disgust must be obvious. Her life. Her life meant more than a ship docking with crap from who knows where.

While my mind revolts in anger, between gritted teeth he continues, “None of this would have happened. But he had to move here. He had to take over what wasn’t his to take. So I’ll take something of his. I’ll destroy him like he destroyed me.”

I plead for my life. “Please. Those rights aren’t worth losing more lives than have already been lost.”

“To me they are.”

“He’ll end the negotiations. You don’t know him like I do. He will agree to end them if it means sparing lives.”

“Sparing your life. That’s what you want when my life is already ruined. So why should I be the only one who suffers?”

I stand, and he yells, “Sit.”

“No.” I take a deep breath, resolved that there is a good possibility I will die today. But I won’t die without a fight. “I want you to see my friend in this photo. You killed her, and if I’m going to die, I want this photo with me.” I take one step and then another. Four steps. The frame is in hand.

Two Mississippi seconds before he says, “It was an accident. I wanted to scare you . . . her. I thought she was you.”

I nod, attempting to stay calm under his chaotic gaze.

After looking at the photo one last time, I see his hand around his neck covering the scar. “I was fighting for my life. She screamed. It scared me. I didn’t know what to do, so I fired.” He pauses, briefly turning his eyes downward in shame before looking me in the eyes. “That night was the first time I ever shot a gun. That guy, the driver. I thought he’d be dead. I didn’t realize I’d shot her until she collapsed, but I was fighting for my life.”

I have no sympathy for this man; my patience ran out before I arrived. “Guess you won.”

Hate fills his gaze when it’s aimed my way. “I was cementing my family’s legacy.”

“Your family has billions. McCoy Properties owns half the buildings in Manhattan.” Raising my voice, I say, “My friend’s life is worth more than another million to your family that won’t even ripple the McCoy waters.”

“Shut up.”

“No. Because if you’re going to kill me, it won’t be an accident. You will be making that choice. You’re already going to hell, so are you willing to risk a last-ditch effort for redemption by killing me?”

A debate wars inside his shaking head, his eyes finally landing on the gun. Fight. I throw the frame as hard as I can, praying to God that it lands exactly on target. This is my only chance.

The frame hits him on the side of the head and falls to the ground shattering at his feet. I dash for the door, but I’m not fast enough before he fires the gun. The world seems to slow when your life’s at risk, but I force my way through the quicksand of time and reach the door.

I can taste freedom, but my ankles are pulled out from under me. My scream echoes through the apartment instead of down the hall as my back hits the hardwood floors. A fist slams across my face, and my jaw wrenches in pain as my brain is shaken.

Find the moonlight in the dark. Ethan.

My eyes fly open and I gasp for air.

I will not give up.

My arm is swinging, landing a hard jab to his ear, knocking him sideways. I scramble to my feet, but in that second I have to decide how my fate will play out—the stairs.

I will never make it out of this building alive. I know that. One shot is all he needs, and I doubt he’ll miss a second time. I’m collateral damage to him now.

Plan B is put into play before I think it through. I kick his arm as hard as I can, and the gun slides across the floor. Lucas is quicker than I am and knocks me on my ass with a thud. He crawls on his hands and knees toward the gun, but I grab one of his feet and yank as hard as I can.

In one swift second, he turns and aims the gun straight at my face. There’s no other out, no escape, not even enough time to move out of the way.

This is it.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

Four . . . Bang.

I don’t feel any pain.

I don’t accept death with open arms while searching for peace.

Looking up, Frank has Lucas pinned. Frank. Thank God. Blood covers his hands and runs from Lucas’s nose. I spy the handle of the gun on the kitchen floor but stop, pausing to make sure Frank’s all right.

“Get the gun, Singer.”

And I do. I grab it and rush back. Standing above them with the gun in my trembling hands, he adds, “Call the police.”

Walking a wide berth around them, I keep the gun aimed on Lucas, who appears lifeless, while Frank gets up. He takes the gun from my hands, aiming it on Melanie’s killer while I call 9-1-1.

* * *

You learn a lot about people in life-or-death situations. I never knew Frank was a marine veteran who fell on hard times after suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. That’s on me for not asking more about his story, about his incredible life. I’ll make it right with him. I owe him my life after all.

I learned a lot about myself as well. Although I’m a work in progress, this year has taught me so much.

I’m strong.

Of mind. And body.

I’m a dreamer.

With my head in the clouds, my feet are still planted firmly on the ground.

I’m a romantic.

Give me a great romance novel over a baseball game any day. Although I can admit the sport is growing on me. The box suite seats help.

I’m a believer.

Karma exists, and destiny plays a hand in our daily lives.

I love with all my heart and make sure to show it every day.

I may have picked that lesson up from a certain someone with the biggest heart and—well, other big attributes, but that’s personal.

I’m a fighter.

Period.

Sitting in the back of the ambulance, I have a blanket wrapped around me that the EMTs insisted I wear, even though it’s eighty degrees out. My legs are dangling, and I’ve been watching Ethan “handle” the situation. Arms crossed. Intense focus. Full height with broad shoulders. Standing in a suit he wore to work that was clearly tailor-made for him. It’s a sight to behold. The hottie.

I’ve learned a lot about Ethan Everest. For one, no one messes with the ones he loves. His love for me runs deep. My love for him is bigger than the mountain sharing his name.

When he returns to me, he’s touching my knees, his eyes subtle in their vibrancy. His concern shows right through. And he can’t keep his hands off me; I will never complain about that. He’s been talking for a minute, but all I see are those kissable lips moving, drawing me to them. I reach up to kiss him, but he stops me and asks, “What do you think?”

“I think it sounds great.”

Lifting up, I go in for the kiss, but he stops me again, moving eye level with me. “You sure?”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Yes, I’m sure. I promise. Now kiss me.” I have no idea what I just promised, but when his lips press to mine in the most searing, soul-scorching kiss, I know I’ll make him a million more for another just like this.