7 Months (Time for Love 8)

I knew my mouth was open, gaping like a fish as he rattled off all that stuff about me, but he’d just surprised the hell out of me.

“How do you know all that?” I asked softly, my heart going mushy in my chest.

“I pay attention, and Bronagh talks a lot.” He was looking at me intently, but his response had me trying to build a wall around my mushy heart.

“But that’s stuff you should have learned by talking to me. By having conversations with me. That’s stuff you should learn gradually as we date and get to know each other, not what you learn by listening to my best friend talk.”

Before he could argue, his phone started ringing.

“O’Malley,” Brady answered, his eyes automatically going to the clock on the wall.

I was watching him, so I saw his face go pale, and my stomach clenched when he asked, “When? How bad? Is she okay?” Brady listened for a few more seconds, his expression turning blank as he added, “I’m on my way.”

“Is everything okay?” I asked when he disconnected.

“Can you tell Brock I had to go to work?”

“Of

course,” I said, then reached out to touch his forearm before he could leave. “Brady, what is it?”

“Natalie,” he responded darkly, then strode from the room.

Chapter Nine ~ Brady

I drove frantically through the streets of the city as I made my way to Natalie’s rundown

trailer park on the edge of town, Marsha’s words ringing in my head.

“Some of the boys are out at a domestic call … Brady, it’s at Natalie’s,” Marsha had said, her voice gentle yet firm. “Looks like Zeke finally came back to town.”

“Fuck!” I yelled, hitting my steering wheel with my palm as I wondered what I was walking into. Wondering what Natalie was doing home alone on New Year’s Eve, and terrified of what state she was going to be in when I got to her place.

I’d told her I’d find her ex. Help her get the divorce. Keep her safe.

I’d done none of those things, and he’d found her.

I pulled up to find two squad cars and an ambulance, the flashing lights cutting through the night sky. Jumping out of my car, I jogged to the front of her trailer and walked through the already open front door just as a stretcher was being pushed out.

A sharp breath released from my mouth when I looked down and saw Zeke glaring back up at me. Thankful that it wasn’t Nat, I pulled my gaze from the stretcher to survey the room.

The sofa was overturned, lamps broken, and what looked like a dozen magazines were littering the floor. I saw a couple bullet holes in the wall, which caused my chest to seize, and a broken window to my right.

On the side table was a four-dollar bottle of champagne and a single glass, which was half full with the still-bubbling liquid.

“Irish.”

I looked up to see Doobie standing at the mouth of the hallway. He lifted his hand and motioned for me to follow him.

We walked down the narrow hall, past a small bathroom, and into the bedroom at the end of the hall. There were two cops in the room. One standing, leaning casually against the wall, and the other seated on the unmade bed next to Nat.

At the sound of us entering the room, her head shot up and her already filled eyes spilled over. Her face was swollen and starting to bruise, and when she jumped up and rushed into my arms, I saw that she was cradling her arm.

“Can you give us a minute?” I asked as my arms wrapped around her delicate body. Rage threatened to erupt as I thought of how huge Zeke was compared to Natalie, and how easy it would be for him to break her.

She’d always swore that he’d never touched her, had never been violent, just verbally abusive. Things had obviously escalated that night.

I held her tight as her body quaked against mine, my heart breaking with each soft sob she emitted.