49

NOAH

Wife

Me

You on your way? I gotta put my phone in the locker now.

I stare at the unread message. She hasn’t replied in two hours, and I got the doorbell notification when she arrived home from the library, but damn, that must be some nap. I fight the disappointment that she might not make it to the first game she’d join as my wife .

She is growing a child, after all. Our child. My lips curl into a smile.

I type out another message.

Me

I love you Mrs. Caruso

Tell baby Daddy loves her too

“You coming?” Knox says, pulling my attention away from the phone.

I push down the anxiety and toss it in the locker.

The first quarter goes by, and if I’m not on the field, my eyes are scanning the crowd. Elijah, Sophia, and Theo are at my seats. Alone. No Charlotte in sight.

They’re only twenty yards away, and during the two-minute break between quarters, given Barracudas will start on defense, I jog to the sideline and shout up to them. “Have you heard from Char?”

“No,” Sophia calls back, brows furrowing. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, waving them off. “She must have crashed after the library.”

I rush back to my team and force myself to focus.

This job pays my bills.

This job takes care of my wife and child.

They’re fine.

Just because she’s not in your viewpoint every second of the day doesn’t mean something is wrong. Maybe she went into labor? She’s only a month away from her due date. I shake off the thought. If that were true, Sophia would at least know and be by her side instead of here.

Another quarter goes by, and she still hasn’t arrived. Finally, halftime comes, and we jog through the tunnel and into the locker room. Now fully distracted, I fight to focus during Coach Bexley’s briefing. When he’s done, I excuse myself to the bathroom, sneaking to my locker instead to pull out my phone.

It’s against league rules to do this, and I could very well be fined, but a simple reply back from her could totally change my headspace for the rest of the game.

There’s one text notification and one from our doorbell cam.

I opt to check the text first.

Wife

No cops or she dies.

My blood runs cold. What the hell?

I quickly swap to the doorbell cam for the most recent footage.

A man is banging on the door and looks toward the camera with a sinister smile. My lips part open, nausea creeping up my esophagus, and I struggle for air.

The face of my nightmares is right there on the small screen.

Don’t answer the door, baby, I beg, glancing at the time stamp that shows this was an hour ago.

Shit.

My hands shake.

I’m desperate to call her, but I have to finish watching the feed first.

He pounds harder, and my breathing stutters.

No.

The door swings open.

Fuck .

“Can I…” Her voice falls off, and my father smiles, nudging her inside and off the camera. I tap furiously at the screen for more video, but we only have it set to record on motion. I check the live feed but only hear the normal street noises.

Panic courses through me. I can’t call the police because I believe he’d do it, and I don’t trust them to be discreet.

I fling my helmet in my locker and yank off my jersey, pads, and cleats. There’s no way I can drive home wearing this.

“What the hell are you doing?” Coach Bexley’s voice sends lightning through my veins.

“I have to go.”

“Go?” he scoffs in disbelief, walking closer. “This isn’t football at a Sunday cookout. We’re in the middle of a pro game.” I’ve stripped to my boxers, and I yank on shorts and a shirt, then slip into tennis shoes. “Noah.” Coach Bexley grabs my shoulder. “Stop!”

“I don’t have a choice,” I repeat, rushing towards the exit.

“Excuse me?” he scoffs as I grip the metal handle. “If you walk out that door, you’re done. You’ll never play pro again.”

My eyes meet his. Never in my life has a decision been so easy. “Then consider this my resignation.”

* * *

My heart pounds in my chest. This can’t be happening. He’s supposed to have at least a few more years. A few more years for me to prepare for his release. Figure out a game plan.

He’s not supposed to be in my home, with my pregnant wife, doing god knows what.

A chill scatters down my spine.

Don’t let your mind go there, Caruso.

My fingers itch to call Mom. She’ll wonder why I’m not playing since I was on the field plenty in the first half, but she’ll explain it away with me being benched or injured. The last thing I want is her showing up when we have no idea what’s going on.

He has the upper hand once again.

There haven’t been any other doorbell notifications, so I suspect they’re still inside.

How many times have I screamed at the TV screen to call the damn cops, and here I am, being an absolute idiot.

This is stupid. This is so stupid.

Snatching my phone from the cupholder, I call Elijah. His dad and brother are cops from Longwood. I trust him and he trusts them, so it’s the best I’ve got.

It rings once.

“Where the hell are you?” Elijah asks, voice panicked, the loud noise of the crowd almost overpowering his voice. “Why are you calling me? Why?—"

“My father’s out of jail,” I tell him.

“What?”

Realization hits me he has no fucking clue what I’m talking about.

“I don’t have time to explain,” I say, passing cars at a speed that could put me in jail next. “CliffsNotes version. He’s psychotic. He went to jail. Now he somehow got out of jail.”

“I’ll ruin your life” rings in my head, and I shudder.

“What?” he says, background noise getting quieter, as I assume they’ve left the stands. “I don’t understand.”

“My father’s dangerous. He’s at my house.” I swallow hard. “And he has Charlotte.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Elijah tells me as if that’s an option. “Go back to the game, and we’ll call you when it’s handled.”

“You think I’m leaving the fate of my wife to someone else?” I huff a sarcastic laugh. “I’m already on the way. I called for reinforcements.”

“What do you need?”

After filling Elijah in on my very shitty plan and a panicked drive, I pull onto our street. Charlotte’s Bronco is the only vehicle in the driveway, and I’m hoping they’re still inside and didn’t sneak out the back. I pass the house, trying to peek for signs of movement but seeing none, and park down the street.

Elijah instructed me to wait till they arrive before going inside, but if he thinks I’m letting Charlotte and our baby be in danger for a single second longer, he’s delusional.

I stumble out of the truck, rush up the street and around to our backyard, and quietly unlatch the gate. It closes with a click, and I crouch down, circling the perimeter of the house.

Peering in the kitchen window, I see someone walk by, and I duck. Taking a steady breath, I look again, albeit slower. My father is pacing in the kitchen, and Charlotte is nowhere in sight.

Where is she?

Is she okay?

I need to get to my bedroom and retrieve my gun from the safe.

How can I get inside without him noticing? Or maybe I should go inside. Distract him, and Charlotte can run and get the gun.

Thank god I showed her where it was. A fucked-up sense of relief fills me. What if this happened when I was at an away game?

A high-pitched scream comes from inside, and I sprint around to the front door, finding it unlocked. I throw it open and rush in, finding my father’s hand on Charlotte’s shoulder as she holds her stomach. A blinding rage courses through me.

“Stop!” I shout, rushing towards them. “Get your hands off my wife.”

My father spins, arm flying up, a gun pointed straight at me, and I freeze in place.

“No!” Charlotte screams before another shriek racks her body as he grips her wrist. My blood boils.

Slowly raising my hands, I remain in place even though I’m desperate to grab Charlotte, take her in my arms, and never let her go.

My father stands before me. Our matching green eyes meet for the first time in almost a decade.

His gaze wanders over my body, a sickening smile on his face, and my skin crawls.

“You’ve grown, son,” he says.

My lips snarl. “ Don’t call me that.”

He laughs calmly, lowering the pistol. “I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.”

“What did you do to her?” I snap, feeling braver since there’s not a barrel pointed at my face.

“Me?” he says, placing a hand on his chest. “Nothing.” He waves her way. “I simply told her to stop trying to escape or I would blow her brains out.”

My lips part, nerves buzzing.

After I shot him, the emotions came in waves.

Guilt for pulling the trigger.

Anger he put me in that position in the first place.

But now, more than any moment ever, I’m enraged I let him live. Should have finished him off when I had the chance

My eyes fall to his gun. There’s no way I can take him unarmed.

“She’s going into labor, you asshole,” I say. I’m not sure she is but it could be a good excuse since she’s so close to her due date, and she definitely looks the part.

He shrugs. “Not my problem.”

“This is between me and you,” I urge. Beg . “She doesn’t need to be involved.”

“But doesn’t she?” he says, his smile sinister, tightening his grip, and she flinches, knees buckling in pain. Her eyes meet mine. I’m so sorry, baby . She smiles weakly, telling me it’s okay. This is anything but okay. “She is your wife , after all.”

“Just let her lie in our bed.” So she can get a gun… “Unless you know how to deliver a baby?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “She’s fine right here.”

My eyes find Charlotte’s again, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “What do you want?” I ask him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he says, digging the gun into Charlotte’s side, and my body seizes. Heat courses through my veins. Every single moment of the last six months flashes through my mind. Our first kiss. Her naked in my arms. Early morning runs and fancy galas. The baby. Coming to terms with being a father. The cliff of the canyon where I made her my wife. All of it. “I’m here to balance the scales. A bullet for a bullet.”

“To what ?” I shriek.

“Did you forget you shot me?” he asks.

“You almost killed Mom!”

“And she would have deserved it,” he snarls.

My body trembles with rage. The gun pressed into Charlotte’s rib is the only thing keeping me from ripping him apart with my bare hands. If he shoots me, so be it. If he shoots her? We might as well both go because there’s no way I could live a life without her.

“You’d really shoot your own grandchild?” I say, grasping for something, anything to bring humanity back to the monster before me.

“Of course not,” he says, tone full of humor. “But it’s not your baby.”

“Yes. She is.” How does he know that? Sure, our friends and immediate family are aware, but it’s not common knowledge.

“That’s not what Tabitha said,” he replies.

Charlotte and I share a look. The only reason his lawyer would know that information specifically is if a certain politician informed her. I assumed Georgia helped him get released, but hearing it confirmed?

Fuck .

Seeing Charlotte in danger, whimpering in pain, triggers a panic in me I’ve never felt. I should have listened to Georgia. If she blew up my career, so be it. But this?

“Then let them go!” I plead.

“ Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. ” He pulls the gun away, waving it towards me, and I let out a silent sigh of relief. That’s right. Keep it on me. My life for theirs. An even exchange . “You still have such a temper.”

I’m fourteen again. Useless. Helpless. Even the self-defense classes won’t help for shit if I can’t get Charlotte out of here. Risking a bullet going off and hitting her is not an option.

Something crashes outside. Shit. I hope the guys didn’t give themselves away. My father drags Charlotte with him as he looks out the window, gun in his right hand. She turns, eyes finding mine.

Run, I mouth to her, pointing towards our bedroom and making a gun hand gesture hoping she gets the message.

He turns, dragging her back towards me, pistol pointed towards the floor. I sidestep so I’m on the same side. If I do this correctly, I should be able to knock it out of his hand and she can get to the bedroom.

“I kept waiting for you to visit me in jail,” he says. “To apologize.”

“Apologize for what?” I say, squaring my shoulders and stepping towards him to reduce our distance. He takes a step too, dragging Charlotte. I force a smile on my face. “You deserved it.”

His jaw ticks, and he lifts the gun my way. Charlotte swings, knocking it out of his grasp, and it slides across the floor. She bolts from him and scrambles for it as I tackle my father to the ground. I don’t have time to be furious she didn’t listen as she snatches up the gun, pointing it at us.

“Put your hands on the ground,” she shouts, and my father laughs, flipping us and pressing a knee to my chest. Shit. “Get off of him!” she shrieks, gesturing again with the gun, her hands shaking.

“Come on,” he says, and I jerk beneath him, unable to get free. Useless. Powerless. I’m fourteen again, watching Mom take another beating I couldn’t stop. “Put it down, sweetheart .”

“Don’t call her that,” I growl.

He smiles at her. “Guns are not for pretty little things like you.” He tugs me up, and my muscles tense as he uses my body like a shield. With both hands, I grip his arm around my neck. He extends his opposite hand towards Charlotte. “Give it to me before you hurt someone.”

Charlotte’s eyes meet mine, and I bring a finger up, tapping his arm near my shoulder, trying to signal her to aim there and praying she’s a good shot.

Bang.

She’s not.

“ Fuck !” I gasp, pain radiating throughout my shoulder.

“Oh my god,” she gasps. “I’m so sorry.”

My father releases me, charging at her, and I ignore the blinding pain, jumping to my feet. Her eyes are wide, and she bends, sliding the gun across the floor towards me.

And misses me by a mile.

Soffione, I love you so much, but what the fuck?

She’s married to a quarterback, and her aim is worse than a drunk idiot at a urinal.

Spinning away, I fight for mental clarity, rushing after the gun. It lands next to the fridge, and I snatch it up, turning to face them with a wince, veins going cold. He’s straddling Charlotte on the ground, hands around her neck, her face beet red as he squeezes the oxygen from her lungs.

“Let her go!” I shout, pointing the gun at him, my arms bloodied. Luckily she shot my left shoulder, and my shooting hand is functional. Although the blinding pain I’m experiencing makes focusing incredibly difficult.

“Drop the gun or I break her neck!” he shouts back as she slaps at his hands.

My body flickers with indecision. She needs oxygen urgently, and if he doesn’t release his grasp, she could die. Baby could die. I would die.

“You have one more chance!” he sneers, tightening his grasp.

I grip the cold metal in my hand.

Finger on the trigger.

Take a deep breath.

Bang.