I shake the thoughts from my head and rush to Taylor, pulling her away from her father and into my arms, squeezing her against my chest. I ease back, hold her face in my hands, and brush the hair from her cheeks with my thumbs. “Go check on your grandma for me, okay?”
She nods through her sobs and moves out of my way. I reach for Lewis next, my hand lingering over the wound. I don’t even know where to start. What to do.
The police should be here.
Across the room, Taylor helps Mom sit up, and I hear her groan.
“Corinne?” she calls.
I place my hands on his back, and he’s warm, but barely. His back rises with shallow, quick breaths. “Please don’t die on me,” I whisper, lowering my mouth next to his ear. “Please.”
Mom scoots over beside me, grimacing with pain. “Corinne.” Her voice cuts through the chaos, commanding even as it trembles. She winces, inhaling sharply through her teeth, one hand on her hip. “Taylor, towels. We need every towel you can find.”
Taylor snaps into action, but we both know it’s pointless. The gunshot went straight through his stomach, through his back. There’s too much blood.
Towels won’t help.
Nothing will help.
Tears hit my cheeks as I kiss his forehead with shaky lips. A lump of dough sits lodged in my throat as I whisper, “I love you.”
It’s “I’m sorry and thank you and goodbye” all rolled into one.
Taylor brings the towels, and we cover the wound, but his blood soaks through, warm and sticky. His face is pale as a sheet, mouth slack. I hope he can hear me, that he knows he’s not alone.
If I hadn’t sent Benji away, maybe he could help. Maybe he could do something.
My fault.
My fault.
My fault.
As I look at my daughter, then at my mom, I know we’re all having the same thought, each shouldering some of the blame.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper, sobs tearing through me. “Stay with me. Please. The police are on their way. Just—just please keep breathing. Please.”
I can hear myself panicking. I know I’m scaring Taylor, but I can’t calm myself down. He’s too still. The wound is too bad.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
None of this was supposed to happen.
Mom’s hand touches my arm. “Corinne.”
I snap my head to look at her.
“I need you to get up.” Her eyes are steady, voice low and firm.
“What?”
She winces again, eyes squeezed shut. “Go. Go to the cupboard.”
I brush tears from my cheeks, sniffling, desperate to understand. “What are you talking about? Lewis is bleeding out. We have to do something. We have to save him?—”
“Go. Now.” She’s calm. Too calm.
I rise, confusion gnawing at my chest, and cross the room. My fingers are icy as I pull open the cupboard door.
