Page 22 of Beyond Redemption

“Have they ruled out a secondary shooter?” Thomas asked.

“Not yet, but we’re moving,” Coleman said.

Livvy’s shoulders shook once, a great shuddering release that came from somewhere deep.

“We’re almost there,” I whispered into her hair, although I knew the aftermath would be equally complicated. “We’ve got you.”

She nodded against me, her fingers still locked around my sleeve. Now, after facing death twice, I wondered if she’d ever let me go.

Selfishly, part of me hoped she wouldn’t.

Chapter Four

Thomas

I pushed our front door open, the hinges giving a soft creak as daylight spilled across the entryway. I stepped in, and then to the side, holding the door wide as I watched Livvy pass in silence. She had barely managed more than a handful of short replies since we’d left campus, her fingers continuously working against each other, rubbing and twisting until the skin flushed hot, then pale beneath the strain.

Once inside, she tracked every sound as if the quiet were a lie, as if the danger had followed us home and was waiting just around the corner. I locked the door behind us, seeing her flinch at the click.

“Take your time,” I said in my best soothing tone. “There’s no rush.”

Livvy nodded, though the motion was tight. She’d kept still for so long to survive and in many ways, she was still there, in that dark closet, telling her body any betrayal meant death. Her eyes stayed on the door as if she expected someone else to walk in behind us, but Liis had already hugged her goodbye before leaving to pick up Stella from Brightwood.

I guided her toward the kitchen where the light was softer, familiar. As she sat, her breath was still shallow, her lips pressed together so tight they trembled.

“Thirsty?” I asked, already making my way to the fridge. “Water will help.”

She almost answered, then shook her head.

I paused. I had never seen her so fragile, not even after she first came to us. She’d always carried a quiet resolve, seemingly made of whatever held the Earth together. But trauma bends iron, and what she’d been through, both before she came to us and today, had stripped her down to the rawest version of herself.

I noticed Livvy had chosen my usual spot, uncomfortable with her back exposed to the entry. I chose the chair Liis usually sat, so she felt we were both keeping an eye on whoever might come in. I gave her space, though she leaned toward me as if she didn’t want it.

“Talk to me,” I said softly.

Her mind was still trapped in the basement, her eyes looking past anything in the kitchen, almost as if she could see things I couldn’t.

“I keep hearing it,” she whispered. “The… the first shot on the Green. It was loud, but it wasn’t loud enough to know for sure what it was. Almost like someone dropping their laptop. And then the screaming started, and my brain… it just”—she swallowed hard—“it split. Everything split.”

I could feel her slipping inward. I reached out slowly, giving her the chance to pull away, but she didn’t. She folded into me as if with her last breath of air.

“You’re safe,” I said. “And I’m right here. We would never let anything happen to you. Bodhi will be here soon. He wouldn’t let anything happen to you, either. We’re all going to protect you. Always.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked. “I do. But my body doesn’t. It keeps replaying that moment where I didn’t know which second would be my last, where—” She stopped herself as if saying too much might shove her back into the basement closet.

Her fingers tightened around my shirt sleeve, and I let her cling to me, to the present.

“Breathe with me,” I murmured, inhaling through my nose. “It’ll help. Now out…”

She tried, then blinked fast, her lashes wet but holding back tears. I found myself wishing she’d cry, sob, let it all escape her body and mind. I’d held grown men who’d survived war, agents who’d crawled through hell, firefighters who were just moments from their own deaths. There was no weakness in treating wounds, inside or out.

The doorbell rang, causing Livvy to jerk so violently the chair legs scraped. Her breath choked, and I squeezed her to me, pressing my cheek against her hair.

“It’s Bodhi,” I said.

Her jaw quivered, a small surrender. She nodded, giving me permission to answer the door.

I walked across the room and down the short hall to let him in. Bodhi stood on the landing, his usual loose confidence gone.