Safe Haven - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,123

doorway, watching with tears of relief in her eyes. Kristen reached out for her, too, and Katie moved closer, accepting Kristen’s hug with a blind rush of happiness.

Lost in the tidal wave of emotion, none of them noticed Kevin appear in the doorway, crowbar raised high. He swung hard, sending Alex crashing to the floor and the kids stumbling and falling backward in horror and shock.

Kevin heard the satisfying thud of the crowbar, felt the vibration up his arm. The gray-haired man lay crumpled on the floor and Erin screamed.

In that instant, Alex and the kids were all that mattered to her, and Katie instinctively rushed toward Kevin, driving him back out the door. There were only two porch steps, but it was enough, and Kevin toppled backward into the dirt.

Katie spun around. “Lock the door!” she screamed, and this time it was Kristen who moved first, even as she screamed.

The crowbar had fallen to the side and Kevin struggled to roll over and stand. Katie raised the gun, pointing it as Kevin finally made it to his feet. He swayed, almost losing his balance, his face a skeletal white. He seemed unable to focus and Katie could feel the tears in her eyes.

“I used to love you,” she said. “I married you because I loved you.”

He thought it was Erin, but her hair was short and dark, and Erin was a blond. A foot lurched forward as he almost fell again. Why was she telling him this?

“Why did you start to hit me?” she cried. “I never knew why you couldn’t stop even when you promised.” Her hand was shaking and the gun felt so, so heavy. “You hit me on our honeymoon because I left my sunglasses by the pool…”

The voice was Erin’s and he wondered if he was dreaming.

“I love you,” he mumbled. “I’ve always loved you. I don’t know why you left me.”

She could feel the sobs building in her chest, choking her. Her words flooded out in a torrent, unstoppable and nonsensical, years’ worth of sorrow. “You wouldn’t let me drive or have any friends and you kept the money and made me beg you for it. I want to know why you thought you could do that to me. I was your wife and I loved you!”

Kevin could barely stay upright. Blood dripped from his fingers and arm to the ground, slippery and distracting. He wanted to talk to Erin, wanted to find her, but this wasn’t real. He was sleeping, Erin was beside him in bed, and they were in Dorchester. Then his thoughts leapfrogged, and he was standing in a dingy apartment and a woman was crying.

“There was pizza sauce on his forehead,” he muttered, stumbling forward. “On the boy who was shot, but the mom fell down the stairs and we arrested the Greek.”

She couldn’t make sense of what he was saying, couldn’t understand what he wanted from her. She hated him with a rage that had been building up for years. “I cooked for you and cleaned for you and none of it mattered! All you did was drink and hit me!”

Kevin was swaying, like he was about to fall. His words were slurred, unintelligible. “There were no footprints in the snow. But the flowerpots are broken.”

“You should have let me go! You shouldn’t have followed me! You shouldn’t have come here! Why couldn’t you just let me go? You never loved me!”

Kevin lurched toward her, but this time he reached for the gun, trying to knock it away. He was weak now, though, and she managed to hold on. He tried to grab her, but he screamed in agony when his damaged hand connected with her arm. Acting on instinct, he threw his shoulder into her, driving her against the side of the house. He needed to take the gun away from her and press it into her temple. He stared at her with wide, hate-filled eyes, pulling her close, reaching for the gun with his good hand, using his weight against her.

He felt the barrel graze his fingertips and instinctively scrambled for the trigger. He tried to push the gun toward her, but it was moving in the wrong direction, pointing down now.

“I loved you!” she sobbed, fighting him with every ounce of rage and strength left in her, and he felt something give way, momentary clarity returning.

“Then you never should have left me,” he whispered, his breath heavy with alcohol. He pulled the trigger and the gun

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