a beeline for her, limping on his injured knee, but still moving fast.
“Stay here,” Gavin ordered. He raced from behind the concession stand toward the parking lot, aiming to intercept McClain before he could reach the girl. “Get back in the car!”
His shout froze both McClain and the teen. Then McClain put on a burst of speed, heading toward the car.
“Get back in the car and lock the door!”
For a moment, she hesitated. McClain closed in. She dove into the driver’s seat and slammed the door just as McClain reached her. He yanked on the door handle, then smashed a fist on the glass.
Gavin never slowed his stride as he slammed into the man. They both crashed to the asphalt, and the impact knocked the breath from Gavin, stunning him into stillness. But at least he landed on top.
McClain dragged in a wheezing breath and swung out with his right hand, catching Gavin in the chin. The blow knocked him to the side.
Police vehicles swarmed into the parking lot.
McClain had pulled his weapon and turned it on Gavin.
Cops’ orders blended into a haze of discordant sounds as time slowed. The muzzle stopped moving and centered on his head.
Sarah gave a terrified cry and kicked out. Her shoe connected with McClain’s forearm and the weapon lifted, fired, then fell to the ground.
She drew back a fist and landed it square in the man’s nose. He cried out, blood spurted, and then he was facedown on the ground, officers cuffing his wrists behind him. Hands pulled her away. The next few moments were a blur, but Sarah soon found herself sitting in the back of an ambulance wrapped in a blanket with Gavin next to her. As soon as the paramedic turned his attention to McClain, Gavin said, “I’m glad you don’t follow orders well or I’d be dead.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So, you don’t hate me?”
“What for? Not telling me my father hired you to babysit me?”
He grimaced. “It wasn’t babysitting, I assure you.”
“No, I don’t hate you. I’m not happy he did it, but I think I’m coming to understand him a bit. And honestly, when we were falling through the sky, it was the least of my worries. So . . . I’m not going to worry about it now.”
He dropped his chin to his chest. “Thank God. I can’t tell you how that’s weighed on me.”
“I realized something else.”
“What?”
“I’ve been angry and rebellious for a very long time and I’m tired of it.” She shrugged. “It’s not very productive and has caused me to give up the peace God’s promised me.”
“Sounds like you can be wise when you want to.”
She laughed. “Wise might be stretching it, but I’m learning. And growing.”
He wrapped an arm around her. “I think you’re pretty amazing.”
“You said something while we were hovering above the earth.”
“I meant it too. I love you, Sarah. I’ve loved you for a long—”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. “Oh no,” she whispered.
“What?” He frowned. “Sarah? What is it?”
“It’s happening.” There was no joy at Gavin’s proclamation of love. Only anguish filled her. Scenes blipped through her mind. Dustin’s loss, her past, the kidnapping, her father’s betrayal. She tried to shove it away, but it pressed in on her. Suffocating her. The pain of it all wanted to cripple her. She pressed her hands against her head. Then her chest. How could this be? Everything she’d ever done wrong was played out on a 3-D screen in her head. The anger at her mother for not telling her about her illness, followed by the hate of her father for his role in it and simply never being the father she longed for. The rebellion that led to the guys in high school. The shame of it all. The shame! She didn’t deserve love. Gavin’s or God’s. She wept and bolted from the ambulance.
“Sarah!”
She ran toward the traffic. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. End it. The shame and the pain had to end.
Hard hands caught her. Held her so she couldn’t escape. “Oh, Sarah.” The anguish in those two words reached her. “Fight it,” he whispered.
Gavin.
He’d never want to be with someone like her. Never. She was too messed up. Worthless. She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not. I’m not worthless.” A sob ripped from her. “Gavin? Why do I feel so worthless? I . . . I can’t do this . . . It has to stop. It all needs . . . to stop.” She