Read Online Someone Else's Love Story by Joshilyn Jackson - Free Book Online

showing it to her in the shelter of my legs. “Where is it?”
    Her eyes went wide, and this time the tremble back and forth was a definite no. At the same time, her gaze darted away from me to a two-drawer metal file cabinet by the door. The cowardly little object was lying. The file cabinet had a weapon in it, I was sure.
    Stevie had turned toward me. “Are you talking to her? What are you saying to her?”
    Stevie took a step in my direction.
    As the gun turned our way and Stevie stepped close with such intent, I could feel Thor coiling. The muscles in his big body tensed, readying for fast movement, but he wasn’t really Thor. He was just some big blond guy, sitting close to Natty. I couldn’t let gunfire happen this close to my son.
    I started talking, my voice all high and shaky. “Nothing, just . . . nothing, just . . .”
    “Just what? Just what?” Stevie said, and the gun seemed to grow and swell in his hand as he approached. With every step he took, the blond guy wound himself tighter, and that huge and huger gun came closer to my kid.
    I said, desperate, “I was checking on her. She seems real scared.”
    Stevie drew up short, and the gun tilted a little sideways. Off Natty. Now it was pointing at Thor himself, and I felt Thor’s tension ease a notch. It made me love him more, that he would rather have its eye on him than Natty.
    Stevie blinked. “Well, that’s nice then.” After a second he added, “She don’t need to be scared.”
    Now that he had stepped in close, I saw how red and quivery the skin around his nostrils looked. His pupils were huge, though the room was bright. Dear God, but Stevie was jacked up on something. He started to back away, his twitchy gaze pinging to the door.
    “We’re all scared,” I said. He paused like this was a new idea to him, and I kept talking, because now I had something human and not crazy to say. “My son here, Natty, he is only three. Natty is so scared. He shouldn’t be in here.”
    Now Stevie looked at Natty, and I could feel Natty shrink into me. “You scared?” Stevie asked.
    I felt more than saw Natty’s head dip in a nod.
    “Well, don’t be. I like little kids. I’m a daddy myself. I ain’t gonna shoot no little kids, okay?” Then he walked backward, glancing all around the room so it looked like his eyes were rolling. “Oh Christ, what next?”
    Stevie, who would be our hostage taker today, was floundering. The gun wobbled in his hand.
    “I gotta get out of here,” he said. “Should I run? Maybe I should run.”
    I stared at him, too frozen with hope to answer. The clerk beside me made a honking noise, swallowing her tears, and his gaze went to her.
    She said, “Yes. Run. You should run now.” Her voice was low and trembly, but she sounded so sure. I could have kissed her.
    He made a move for the flip-locked door, and my heart fluttered and flapped, wild with hope. But then Stevie stopped and cocked his head like a dog. It was a full three seconds before I understood.
    Sirens. I could hear them in the distance, wailing their way closer every second. We all froze then, listening to the cops coming. Lots of them. An ambulance for the downed Statie, too, I bet. Walcott was doing what he could for us, but why couldn’t the cops have been two minutes later?
    Stevie moved first, stamping his feet in a blurring frenzy of a rage dance, then hopping up and down like a redneck Rumpelstiltskin. He kicked backward, like a vicious mule, the sole of his boot banging at the wall behind him five or six times. It made flat slaps of ugly sound against the brick. He said a long chain of words, most ones that Natty had never heard before.
    I put my head down, made myself smaller, squeezing Natty close into my side. I had to make everything be different. I needed a gun. Stevie had one, and that meant Natty could be hurt, could be worse than hurt. I could not allow it.
    I had this crazy trapped-on-the-playground-seesaw feeling then, like I was jacked