Page 13 of Twisted Trust

The gunshot was just a graze to my shoulder and not at all as serious as he makes out.

I can’t stay here, not just for financial reasons, but because of Levi.

He knows where I am, and I’m not going to sit back and let him slit my throat in my sleep.

I need to get out of here.

Scott pulling himself out of my grip because I was holding him too tightly spurs me into action.

I tell the doctor everything he wants to hear and act like I’m going to stay here, just as he requests, but as soon as he leaves the room, I detach myself from all the machines.

Soothing Scott is the hardest battle because he just spent twenty minutes listening to a doctor telling me to stay here.

Unable to tell him my reasons for fleeing the hospital, I make up another story about ogres and after some creative logic, he totally believes my doctor was an ogre.

By the time we reach the parking lot, he’s claiming he could tell the doctor was an ogre even before I could.

It takes forty minutes and money I barely have to get us home in a taxi.

By the time it pulls up to my shabby apartment complex, Scott is fast asleep and I have to balance him in my arms while paying the driver with the only money the mugger didn’t steal—the emergency dollars I hide in my bra.

The driver hums and haws at how long it takes me to count out the money and then he leaves me in the dust without even a kind word.

Asshole.

Adjusting my hold on Scott, I start slowly climbing the steps up toward my apartment.

The painkillers are starting to wear off.

My shoulder aches, my throat burns, my forehead throbs in time to my heartbeat, and the weight of my son in my arms is gradually becoming too much.

Despite it all, I keep going because every second I spend outside comes with the risk that Levi is somewhere in the darkness waiting to strike.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I don’t see Cameron until I’m almost right on top of him and his hand on my shoulder makes me jump out of my skin.

“Jesus!”

“Maeve! It’s me!”

“Cameron, you scared me.” It takes all my effort to keep my voice low so as not to wake Scott even as my heart batters wildly in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I was keeping an eye out for you because you didn’t come home and I called but you didn’t answer and then—” He stops dead in his tracks as I move under the light glowing above his front door. “Maeve, oh my God. What happened to you?”

“I…” Where do I begin? It feels like days since he called me at McDonald’s but in reality, it was only about eight hours. “It’s been a long day.”

“You’re not kidding.” His face twists with worry. “Who did this to you?”

I tiredly shrug one shoulder. “I was mugged.”

“Fucking hell.”

Warning him about bad language feels pointless now. “Yep.”

“Were you at the police station?”

“Oh.” I should call the police, shouldn’t I? “No, I was at the hospital.”

His eyes dart all over my face as we stand together on the landing. “Right. Of course. God… here, let me.” He surges forward suddenly and before I can stop him, he’s scooped Scott right out of my arms. “You need rest.”