Chapter 18

Dona's POV

I stepped out of the shower an hour later, wrapping my towel tighter around me. My hair dripped onto the bathroom floor as I padded into my room, pulling on a loose shirt and shorts.

I was the only person in the house, and the silence was oddly comforting. That left dinner duty hanging. With a sigh, I opened my messages and typed to August.

ME: Hey. My mom just left for her shift.

ME: Your dad’s not gonna be home either.

ME: So dinner’s on us.

AUGUST: Us? You mean me.

ME: Fine. You.

ME: Just grab something on your way back.

AUGUST: What do you want?

ME: Anything. I’m starving.

AUGUST: Careful. That sounds like you’d eat me too.

ME: 🤦🏽‍♀️ Just bring food, clown.

AUGUST: Pizza and shakes?

ME: Perfect. Don’t be late.

I tossed my phone on the couch and flopped down after it, remote in hand. Every channel I flipped to felt off: some sitcom with a laugh track, a cooking show with too much yelling, a rerun of a crime drama I’d already seen. My stomach growled loud enough that I pressed a pillow against it.

The minutes dragged on. I stretched out on the couch, stared at the ceiling, counted the faint shadows on the wall. By the time the front door clicked open, I sprang up like I’d been caught doing something wrong.

August stepped inside with a pizza box in one hand and two shakes dangling from a plastic bag in the other.

“Your savior has arrived!” He announced, toeing the door shut.

I groaned dramatically. “Finally. I was about to pass out.”

He set everything down on the kitchen table and gestured toward it. “Dig in before you waste away completely.”

I didn’t need telling twice. The smell of melted cheese hit me as soon as I flipped the lid open. I grabbed a slice, folded it in half and took a massive bite. Bliss.

By the time I finished one slice, I was already reaching for another, washing it down with gulps of my shake.

August leaned against the counter, eyebrows lifted. “Slow down, McNair. You’re eating like a pregnant cow. At this rate you’ll choke.”

I narrowed my eyes at him mid-chew. “YOU choke on your words!”

“Touché.” He pulled off his leather jacket, tossing it across the chair. What was left underneath made me pause.

He was wearing a white compression shirt, the kind that I used to secretly ogle on gym rats. The fabric was stretched tight over his chest and arms, showing off lines and ridges I really didn’t want to notice. And then he shook his head, sending his dark curls bouncing back into place.

I stared for way too long before tearing my gaze back to my pizza. Nope. Not going there.

August dropped into the seat across from me, grabbing a slice for himself. “So you think your mom is hiding something?”

I looked up, startled. “How did you—oh. Yeah.” I set down my slice, wiping my fingers on a napkin. “She was on the phone earlier and it sounded… bad. She was begging for time off to pay rent. When I asked, she brushed me off. I know she’s lying.”

He chewed slower, eyes dropping to the table. “Sounds familiar.”

“You mean with your dad?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, exhaling. “I asked him straight up why he and Russell were fighting, and he didn’t give me anything. Hell, he even tried to make it my fault. Honestly? It made me more nervous, so I contacted my P.I cousin Kade from back in Chicago. Kade looked into my dad and Russell and it turns out, they were tied up in some fraud schemes, mostly fake insurance claims. It feels like there’s something bigger he doesn’t want me to know."

I folded my arms, frowning. “That’s exactly how I feel with my mom. Something us not right.”

He gave a short laugh. “Guess that makes them perfect for each other. Secrets and lies, the foundation of a beautiful romance.”

I almost cracked a smile at that, but before I could answer, a loud, gunshot-like crack split the air, echoing through the house.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

I screamed before I could even think. August’s arms wrapped around me and in the next second, he yanked me down hard to the floor. His body pressed over mine, shielding me from whatever the hell was happening.

The gunfire exploded through the windows. I heard glass shattering, dishes crashing and our kitchen instantly became a war zone. It didn’t feel real. It sounded like the walls were being ripped apart. My whole body shook, and I kept screaming, over and over, like maybe my voice could cover the sounds of the bullets.

I couldn’t see a thing, just August’s chest against my face. All I could feel was his weight pinning me down. My ears rang so loud that it felt like the whole world was spinning inside my skull.

But just as quickly as it started, the gunfire ended and there was silence again.

Not silence, not really. My head was still filled with the ringing, but the gunshots had stopped. The only sound left was the screech of tires, a car peeling away into the night.

August pushed himself up off me and I realised I'd held my breath throughout the ordeal. He ran straight to the window, glass crunching under his boots.

“Fucking hell!” he muttered.

He pressed his hands against the sill, leaning out just enough to try to see who it was. I curled into myself on the floor, shaking so hard I thought my bones would rattle out of place. My ears still rang. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. My legs felt like they weren’t even mine anymore.

August turned back around. “Dona! Oh, my God, are you okay?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Not a single one. All I could do was stare at him, wide-eyed, every part of me frozen and buzzing at the same time.

He rushed over and crouched beside me. His hand grabbed mine, hauling me up to my feet even though I could barely stand.

“Look at me.” He ordered, scanning my face. His fingers skimmed my arms, my shoulders, my legs, checking me like he expected to find bullet holes. And then he brushed his thumb across my forehead. When he pulled it away, I saw the red on his thumb.

“You’re bleeding,” he noted. “Sit down.”

“No, n—no...” I finally found my voice, weak as it was. “I know where the first aid kit is. I’ll get it myself.”

He shook his head and shoved me gently but firmly into a chair. “Sit down now.”

“I said I can do it!” I snapped, even though my knees wobbled under me. “If you’d let me get it, you wouldn’t tear apart the kitchen like a blind man!”

“Shut up,” he muttered, already turning to the cabinets.

I pointed anyway, my hands still trembling. “Lower cabinet, left side. That’s where it is. Idiot.”

He dropped to his knees and yanked open the door, pulling out the white box. He slammed it on the counter, flipped it open and came back to me with a strip of gauze and a small bottle of antiseptic.

“This’ll sting,” he said flatly.

“Yeah, no shit.”

He pressed the damp cotton against my forehead, and I hissed in pain. “Careful!”

“I am careful.” He snapped back. “You should thank me for saving your stubborn ass.”

“Fine,” I muttered. “Thanks.”

He cleaned the wound silently. His touch was surprisingly steady despite the fear still in his eyes, then he placed a band aid on the cut. When he finished, he leaned back and studied it like he was grading his own work.

“There. Done.”

I stood slowly, brushing off my shorts with shaking hands. My eyes roamed the room and my stomach sank to the bottom of my shoes.

"What the hell....?"

The kitchen was wrecked. Shards of plates covered the floor like sharp confetti, splintered wood hung off one cabinet door, the counter was smeared with streaks of sauce and crumbs from where the bullets had torn through everything, even the microwave had bullet holes in them. It looked like a tornado had passed through.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

August followed my gaze, then turned back to me. “I’ll clean this up.”

“What? No, you don’t have to... ”

“Yes, I do,” he cut me off. “Go upstairs and rest. I’ll handle it.”

“I can help,” I argued, even though the thought of stepping closer to all that broken glass made my knees weak.

He gave me a crooked, teasing look, but his eyes stayed worried. “I’m your big brother now, remember? You’ve got to listen to me.”

I rolled my eyes, but the truth was there in the lines of his face, in the way his hands kept fidgeting. He was scared. Just as scared as me, maybe worse, but he was hiding it.

So I didn’t argue again. I turned and walked toward the stairs. Halfway up, I glanced back once. He was standing in the middle of the wreckage, shoulders squared and trying to look like he had it under control.