Page 156 of Mile High Ex's Dad
The baby is moving so violently now it almost hurts. Not pain exactly. More like my whole body has tightened around the fear, and the life inside me is reacting to it. My lower abdomen pulls in a way that makes me grit my teeth.
“Come on,” I whisper to myself. “Come on.”
A woman in a pale pink dress crawls toward me on her hands and knees, mascara already running, face wild. “What do we do?”
I look at her, stunned for half a second that she’s asking me anything. Then training takes over where reason can’t.
“Stay low,” I say. “Get to the terrace. Don’t run upright.”
She nods too quickly and drags herself that way, clutching at the grass.
Across the lawn, one of the musicians is lying flat behind his overturned chair, his cello half on the ground beside him. Nadine is crouched near the aisle, one arm around a sobbing bridesmaid, both of them trying to move toward the house. Anna is shouting at people to get inside, her voice cutting through the chaos with a force I didn’t know she had. Alina is still down near the front row, furious even in fear, fighting Anna’s grip until another shot sends dirt spitting up near the path and finally gets her moving.
Ethan is still on the ground. For one awful second I think he’s been hit.
Then he lifts his head, dazed and pale, and I see that he’s only frozen. Staring. Not moving. Like his body has simply stopped obeying him.
“Ethan!” I hear Alina scream.
That gets him.
He starts crawling toward the terrace, awkward and slow, one hand still half over his head like he can’t quite understand where the bullets are coming from or how a wedding turned into this.
I drag in another breath and force myself onto my knees.
The lawn feels too open now. Too exposed. Viktor told me not to move, but Viktor is no longer here. He’s somewhere ahead of me closing in on gunfire, and I’m in the middle of the grass with a child turning inside me and panic making the edges of my vision blur.
I need cover. I need to get to the terrace.
I start moving, staying low, one hand on the ground, the other arm around my stomach. Every step feels wrong. Too slow. Too upright. The grass catches at my dress. My breath is too loud in my own ears.
Another shot. This one from farther off.
Then shouting from the hedge line.
Male voices. Yuri’s, maybe.
Another one I don’t know.
Then Viktor, sharp and furious, too far away to make out the words.
The sound of him goes through me harder than the shots did.
He’s still alive.
I crawl faster.
A server appears beside me out of nowhere, face white, tie hanging loose. “Miss, come on.”
He takes my arm and helps me the rest of the way behind the stone terrace wall. The second I’m down behind it, my legs give a little and I end up half sitting, half crouching against the cool stone with my heart trying to tear out of my chest.
The server kneels beside me. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” My voice comes out ragged. “No, I’m fine.”
A lie, but not the urgent kind.
He nods and moves on to help someone else. Everything is triage now. Whoever can still move, moves. Whoever can help, helps.Whoever can’t is being pulled behind walls, furniture, flower stands, anything solid enough to matter.
