“Now I’m glad he died, I’m glad you went away. I was living in both of your shadows. I never got to be the man I really am, I never got to shine, you know? But with you both gone, man, I fuckingshine.”
“No,” Liam finally says, so softly. “You don’t, Jockey.”
Jockey’s smile goes sharp. “You can’t talk your way out of this one, Liam, sorry. You always could, but not this time.”
“No. I can’t.” Liam watches him, and for a terrible trip-wired second, no one says anything. “But neither can you.”
Jockey narrows his eyes.
“You talk so much, man,” says Liam, pity in his voice. “You talk so fucking much. You think that’s gonna cover up what you really are?”
Liam, I think, but don’t say.Don’t do this.
“A coward,” says Liam, that slight, knife-like smile twisting his lips. “A follower.”
“Shut up,” says Jockey sharply.
“An idiot,” Liam continues with a shake of his head. “You can’t do anything good on your own, ever notice that? Every cool or good or badass thing you’ve ever done, you did with us. You’re on coattails, man, always. Without everyone else, you’re nothing. Just a friendless, loveless, aimless, small-time loser trying to be a king.”
“I’ve waited a long time to do this,” Jockey says, his voice shaking with rage. “Say hi to Milo when you see him, Liam.”
No.
Jockey’s finger on the trigger. Light around them like a halo, deifying, like they’re both already half-dead. The hammer, too heavy, too out of reach. The girls. The world. Teeth.
It’s all spiraling around and toward and into this moment, a frenzied tunnel of memories that wind tight as a corkscrew and end right here, right there, on him:Liam.Love of my life. Hot and cold, fire and ice, meant to be, impossible, inevitable.
I’m moving, frame for frame, slow-motion, and I can’t stop. I won’t. I’m already crossing the room, fast as I possibly can, not a question in my mind.
I’m in front of Liam, squaring my shoulders, throwing out my arms, looking up the barrel of Jockey’s gun when the shot goes off.
Crack!
One hard, piercing, deafening gunshot. The sound echoes, slams off the walls.
Am I dead?
I haven’t closed my eyes, but it feels like I’m opening them, reality coming into sudden, sharp focus: the scorching scent of gun powder, and Jockey, eyes wide and empty and blank, a long wet rattling breath through his lips.
Impossible.
Then his gun clatters to the floor, and I become distinctly aware of a horrible, drenching pouring sound. Jockey crumples to the floor, face utterly empty, blood spilling from a gaping hole in his ribs.
I look sharply out the window, and suddenly it all makes sense. Down in the theatre is Margot Dunne, rifle still aloft and a trickle of smoke trailing from the barrel, scope pressed to her eye.
Oh.
Liam spins me around, his face wrought. “What were youthinking?” His voice is wretched, broken. He yanks me against his chest, arms wrapped tight. “Fuck, Lexie! What were you thinking?” He buries his face in my hair, and I realize he’s shaking. “Oh, God. You’re OK. You’re safe, now.”
“Liam,” I say, against his chest, his racing heart. “I love you.”
He goes very still, then draws back, and looks down on me with unmistakable wonder in his eyes. “You do?”
I nod, unbelievably grateful to have his body beneath my hands, real and solid andalive.I lean forward again, touch my forehead to his heart. “Yes.”
He touches my chin and turns my eyes to his, brow furrowed and his eyes blazing. “Lexie. I love you, too.”
I nod, tears flooding my eyes. “They’re yours.”
