Dr. Hot Stuff - Tawna Fenske Page 0,78

Dante steps in front of me, blocking my view. He holds out his hand, and when I look in his eyes, there’s a kindness there I’ve never seen.

“Killing a man can mess you up.” He flicks a glance at my father. “He fired the kill shot. You’re clear.”

I recognize what he’s offering me. An out, a chance to wash my hands of blame. It’s an unexpected mercy, though I’m not sure I want it.

But I do know I trust him. I may have saved my own life just now, but these men had my back. If I’d faltered, if I’d missed, they would have covered me.

I don’t know why, but the thought makes me feel stronger instead of weak. I lay the gun in Dante’s palm, then turn to the man who gave me his DNA.

“You’re here,” I say. “You’re really here.”

The man who knocked up my mother shrugs like it’s no big deal to return from the dead. “I come to all my kids’ weddings.” A frown as he considers this. “Some disguises are better than others.”

“I see.” I don’t, though. I have so many questions, and I don’t know where to start.

Which is okay, because Cort Bracelyn has something to say. He steps up beside me and rests a hand on my shoulder. It’s oddly paternal, though I have little frame of reference.

“I understand you’ve got one coming up,” he says. “Wedding, I mean.”

I stare at him as his meaning sinks in. As Bradley’s face flits through my brain, his words echo once more through my skull.

“Plans change. The future you think you’re destined for—it can become something different in the blink of an eye.”

“You’re mistaken.” I lick my lips and look my father dead in the eye. “I’m not getting married.”

His eyes flash with surprise. “Oh?”

I nod, savoring the surge of self-reliance pulsing through me. “I’m done being anyone’s puppet. I’m making my own decisions from here on out.”

“Ha!” He squeezes my shoulder, making me jump. “That’s my girl.”

“I’m no one’s girl.” I lift my chin, ignoring the sight of Dante dragging Skullcap’s body from the room. “I’m a goddamn woman with free will.”

“Damn right you are.” My father grins. “Fiery, just like your mother.”

I’m not sure what to say to that, but I’m spared the need to respond when Dante slips back into the room. “You need to get out of here. Deadeye is on his way.”

“You mean Bradley?” Panic surges up my throat. “What for?”

“I texted him,” Dante says. “Thought we might need backup.”

Cort laughs, pounding a hand on the back of the sofa. “You underestimate my daughter.”

“Everyone does,” I say.

But not anymore.

I meant what I said. I’m done letting other people call the shots. Done being a puppet for my parents’ ambitions. It’s time for me to decide what I want.

And what I want, more than anything, is another shot with Bradley.

“Izzy?”

I gasp and turn toward the door. He stands there in a suit with his tie askew, a pistol gripped in one hand. He lowers it when he sees me, blue eyes flashing. “Are you okay?”

I have never been so okay in my life. True, I’ll probably need gobs of therapy, and my legs might not hold me up much longer.

But right now, I’m very much okay.

“Bradley.” I take a step toward him. “You’re here.” I glance at the gun. “And armed.”

Surveying the room behind me, he holds the pistol at the ready. “I keep it in the truck. I was told you might need help.”

I step toward him, heart thudding in my ears. “False alarm.” I swallow hard, still dumbfounded he’s here. “You came for me.”

He takes a step forward, nose crinkling. “Is that gunpowder?”

“Um, yes. Yes, it is.” I glance behind me, not at all surprised to see my father has vanished.

Dante stands stone-faced at the threshold of the dining room. Glancing from Bradley to me and back again, he nods once. “I’m gonna grab the pig.”

He moves past us with a chin-jerk at Bradley, closing the door behind him.

And then we’re alone. Well, as alone as we get with my fake-dead father and a real-dead thug somewhere on the premises.

I square my shoulders and meet Bradley’s eye. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

His expression turns wary. “I think I’ve heard that before.”

This poor man. I’ve forever ruined that entrée to conversation, but it’s not too late to start over. At least I hope it isn’t.

I reach for his hand. “I love you.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I love you, Bradley.” I squeeze