Page 89 of Ridin' True

In spite of my resolve, I was cautious as I walked through the parking lot to my car. I made it a point to look around to ensure there were no cronies lurking about. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and I was on my way without incident.

When I arrived at my apartment building, I strolled inside thinking how strange it was a place so familiar could feel so foreign after only two weeks. It was home. All my things were there. While I hadn’t gone all out to decorate the place I always hoped would be temporary, it was still mine.

But there was something about Jed’s house—something my apartment lacked.

His surprisingly good taste gave his place character, but it wasn’t flawless. The décor could have used a woman’s touch. Yet, the homey nature of the house wasn’t derived from the stuff inside of it. It wasn’t the extra rooms or the huge yard. It wasn’t the upgraded fixtures or appliances he had, either.

It was like the walls were coated in memories. They were hidden in every nook and cranny. The life lived there created a feeling as inescapable as it was welcoming.

Inserting my key into the lock of my unit’s door, I didn’t get that same inviting sensation. I was home, but it wasn’thomey.

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me, and in the very next second,homebecame something else entirely.

I wasn’t sure if I heard thebangfirst or the sound of broken glass. Neither did I have time to think about it before there was another bang. And another. And another.

I dropped to the ground, the contents of my bankers box spilling everywhere as the shots kept coming. I didn’t know how many rounds were in a gun, but as the bullets flew through my apartment, I knew whoever held that gun was aiming at my unit exclusively, blindly shooting at me.

It took a second, and the gun was still going off, but I reached into my purse for my phone. When I had it in my hand, I saw blood and panicked—then I realized I only cut myself against the edge of the cardboard. I wasn’t hit.

I’m not hit.

I blew out a breath and instinctively called Jed.

He answered on the second ring.

“Hey.”

“I messed up. Oh, my god, I messed up,” I whispered.

My voice was trembling, and I realized I was shaking from the inside out.

“Lex? Where are you?” he demanded to know.

“I came home. I—someone—someone’s shooting into my apartment. Jed, I’m all alone. What if he comes inside? I don’t have a gun. I don’t have anything!”

“Shit,” he spat. “Where are you? In your apartment, where are you?”

“On the floor. By the couch.”

“Are you okay? Can you make it to the bathroom?”

“I—I think so.”

“Hang up. Stay low. Get there. Call the cops. I’m on my way.”

He hung up before I could say a word, and I paused to listen for more gunshots. Rather than bullets flying, I heard the screeching of tires in the parking lot. I didn’t for a second think that left me in the clear, but the silence that followed was my cue tomove. I got on my hands and knees and quickly crawled my way to the bathroom, locking myself inside before I called nine-one-one.

I relayed the state of my emergency to the dispatcher curled up in the bathtub. Then, as I waited for help to arrive, the gravity of what was happening hit me anew. I needed to stay calm, but I couldn’t. My heavy breathing made it difficult to hear anything—but someone had just tried tokill me!

My grip around the phone tightened, and I curled up even smaller as I trembled and cried silent tears. A minute felt like an hour, and I had no idea how much time had passed before I heard my front door open and slam against the wall. I bit my lip hard, willing myself to remain quiet as I sealed my eyes closed and prayed that whoever that was didn’t have a gun.

I whimpered when the knob on the bathroom door jiggled.

I took my first deep breath when I heard—“Lex, it’s me. Open up.”

I dropped my phone in my scramble out of the tub, and I was across the room in no time. I unlocked the door and swung it open, and Jed had me crushed against his chest before I could even blink.

Sandalwood.