Page 183
Story: Mended Hearts
Two ambulances. A fire truck. Too many police cruisers to count. And more arriving by the second. First responders were swarming the grounds like ants on a hill.
A familiar black sedan sat in the drive, doors wide open.
Ice sliced down my spine, bile rising in my throat. Ollie and I jumped from the Bentley in unison—only for Greyson to bark, “Don’t move!”
I froze. His eyes were on me, hand raised in that universal stop signal. My mouth parted. My instincts screamed at me to run—to bolt into that house and find Tillie and Beau and never let them go was so overwhelming that my body seized.
“They’re okay,” Ollie breathed. “They’re okay, baby.” His eyes flicked to his brother. “Listen to Grey.”
“Slowly,” Greyson ordered. “Moveslowly,” he demanded, his voice riddled with the authority of those years in the Navy as the three of us stepped in front of our vehicles, the doors still open. “Keep your hands visible.”
He stepped in front of us, between us and the chaos, his palms up.
That’s when I heard it—police radios blaring. A chopper overhead.
“Oh my god,” I sobbed, following his instructions as Greyson stepped between us and the police. I mimicked him, glancing at Ollie, where tears poured down his beautiful face. Officers swarmed, shouting commands. Guns drawn—but thankfully, aimed at the ground.
“Step away from the vehicle! Hands where I can see them!”
My body trembled as I raised my arms. The second officer’s hand hovered near his holster. His gaze fixed on me.
“Nobody move. Identify yourselves.”
Greyson’s voice was calm but firm. “GreysonHart. That’s my house. Mywifeis inside.” His voice cracked, just barely, and the officers visibly relaxed in recognition. “That’s my brother, Oliver Hart, and his fiancée, Leighton Rhodes. Their children were inside.”
The first officer’s face softened in sympathy and he lowered his gun another smidge. I’d never been more grateful for the reputation of Emerald Bay’s Titans.
“Copy that, Mr. Hart. We need you to stay here until it’s clear to escort you in.”
The third officer reached for the radio clipped to his shoulder. “Confirming ID—Greyson Hart, homeowner.”
“Are our kids okay?” I blurted, tears pouring down my cheeks. “Please, I?—”
I clamped my mouth shut, throat burning, eyes flicking from the officers to Greyson, then to Ollie when his brother didn’t look back. Another band of pressure wrapped around my back and belly. I forced myself to breathe.
The second officer answered, while the others peeled away in opposite directions, scanning the perimeter. “Ma’am, we need you to remain calm.”
Calm!?
Tillie and Beau were inside that house, surrounded by cops, terrified out of their minds. But I bit my tongue and gave a trembling nod.
“We have units securing your family now,” he added, voice softening. “I’ll get you answers as soon as I can.”
That was when a vaguely familiar man in plain clothes pushed through the cluster of officers—stocky, barrel-chested, wearing a black leather jacket like it wasn’t eighty degrees. His walk was all intent, all irritation.
“Hart, you’re good,” he said, thick East Coast accent curling around the words as he waved the uniforms off. I watched tension drain from both Greyson and the officers as his hands slowly lowered to his sides. “We’ll get this under control. Just stay right there, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Detective.”
Greyson’s unshakable fucking calm had never been more welcome. Jesus, he was the only one of us keeping our shit together. I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. And Ollie—Ollie looked like he was trying to stare straight through the walls to see his babies.
“I can confirm ID,” the man said, already tired of this shit. I recognized him now—Detective Lucas Riviera. The same one who’d been dodging my calls. He’d been at Alice and Greyson’s engagement party. One of their inside guys.
His slicked-back hair glistened in the late sun, and his black shirt pulled too tight over his stocky frame as he stepped in front of Greyson. “You know the drill, Commander Hart. We’ve got to lock the scene.”
Greyson gave a slow nod. “Do what you need to.”
“Any weapons on your person?”
A familiar black sedan sat in the drive, doors wide open.
Ice sliced down my spine, bile rising in my throat. Ollie and I jumped from the Bentley in unison—only for Greyson to bark, “Don’t move!”
I froze. His eyes were on me, hand raised in that universal stop signal. My mouth parted. My instincts screamed at me to run—to bolt into that house and find Tillie and Beau and never let them go was so overwhelming that my body seized.
“They’re okay,” Ollie breathed. “They’re okay, baby.” His eyes flicked to his brother. “Listen to Grey.”
“Slowly,” Greyson ordered. “Moveslowly,” he demanded, his voice riddled with the authority of those years in the Navy as the three of us stepped in front of our vehicles, the doors still open. “Keep your hands visible.”
He stepped in front of us, between us and the chaos, his palms up.
That’s when I heard it—police radios blaring. A chopper overhead.
“Oh my god,” I sobbed, following his instructions as Greyson stepped between us and the police. I mimicked him, glancing at Ollie, where tears poured down his beautiful face. Officers swarmed, shouting commands. Guns drawn—but thankfully, aimed at the ground.
“Step away from the vehicle! Hands where I can see them!”
My body trembled as I raised my arms. The second officer’s hand hovered near his holster. His gaze fixed on me.
“Nobody move. Identify yourselves.”
Greyson’s voice was calm but firm. “GreysonHart. That’s my house. Mywifeis inside.” His voice cracked, just barely, and the officers visibly relaxed in recognition. “That’s my brother, Oliver Hart, and his fiancée, Leighton Rhodes. Their children were inside.”
The first officer’s face softened in sympathy and he lowered his gun another smidge. I’d never been more grateful for the reputation of Emerald Bay’s Titans.
“Copy that, Mr. Hart. We need you to stay here until it’s clear to escort you in.”
The third officer reached for the radio clipped to his shoulder. “Confirming ID—Greyson Hart, homeowner.”
“Are our kids okay?” I blurted, tears pouring down my cheeks. “Please, I?—”
I clamped my mouth shut, throat burning, eyes flicking from the officers to Greyson, then to Ollie when his brother didn’t look back. Another band of pressure wrapped around my back and belly. I forced myself to breathe.
The second officer answered, while the others peeled away in opposite directions, scanning the perimeter. “Ma’am, we need you to remain calm.”
Calm!?
Tillie and Beau were inside that house, surrounded by cops, terrified out of their minds. But I bit my tongue and gave a trembling nod.
“We have units securing your family now,” he added, voice softening. “I’ll get you answers as soon as I can.”
That was when a vaguely familiar man in plain clothes pushed through the cluster of officers—stocky, barrel-chested, wearing a black leather jacket like it wasn’t eighty degrees. His walk was all intent, all irritation.
“Hart, you’re good,” he said, thick East Coast accent curling around the words as he waved the uniforms off. I watched tension drain from both Greyson and the officers as his hands slowly lowered to his sides. “We’ll get this under control. Just stay right there, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Detective.”
Greyson’s unshakable fucking calm had never been more welcome. Jesus, he was the only one of us keeping our shit together. I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. And Ollie—Ollie looked like he was trying to stare straight through the walls to see his babies.
“I can confirm ID,” the man said, already tired of this shit. I recognized him now—Detective Lucas Riviera. The same one who’d been dodging my calls. He’d been at Alice and Greyson’s engagement party. One of their inside guys.
His slicked-back hair glistened in the late sun, and his black shirt pulled too tight over his stocky frame as he stepped in front of Greyson. “You know the drill, Commander Hart. We’ve got to lock the scene.”
Greyson gave a slow nod. “Do what you need to.”
“Any weapons on your person?”
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