Screw not talking.
“Did you know?” I ask, wondering if she’d tell me the truth. “Did you know Matteo was his son?”
“No,” she whispers, shaking her head sadly. “Your father hurt me again and again, didn’t he?”
“As always you seem to make any situation all about you, Mom,” I wince in pain. Fuck, now my stomach is on fire. “I’m strapped to a gurney—I think I’m full of bullet holes, and you want to talk about your husband hurting you because he had sex with someone other than you.”
“Do you think this is easy for me?”
“What?” I grunt, my heading swimming. “Seeing me like this or having to deal with everyone knowing your family wasn’t so perfect after all?”
“No, Vaughn. It’s not easy seeing you get caught up in all your father’s lies and mistakes.” My mother starts crying. “I always blamed the women, but it was his fault too, wasn’t it?”
A needle pierces my skin and warmth rushes through me. My vision blurs and the sharpness of the pain begins to drain slowly out of me.
“You better not die on me,” my mother’s voice echoes. “So many mistakes have been made. So many.”
“Mom, I love her. Claire. I’m sorry if you hate me for it. But I’ve never forgotten her. She gave up all that money,” I ramble sluggishly.
“Vaughn, save your energy.”
“You have to believe me. I was willing to give up my life for her,” I slur.
“Shush and don’t talk. There’s so much blood. Don’t let your last thoughts be of a Radcliffe.”
My last thoughts?
Jesus, my mother thinks I’m going to die?
The back doors of the ambulance burst open and bright lights flood over me. A crowd of people move around me, rushing, running, yanking, pulling. All I see is the ceiling, white and glowing as it flies over me in a blur. One of the wheels of this thing I’m on feels broken, it clicks, clicks, clicks as it rolls. Clicks, clicks, clicks, like Matteo’s gun.
I wonder if he’s dead. I wonder if my mother lied about Claire. Maybe she’s face-down lying in a pool of blood somewhere all alone. I try to sit up again. Why am I still strapped down?
Then Claire is here, running alongside me, out of breath, dark racoon-circle eyes. Her chin is full of blood, her eyes are raw and so, so blue. I reach out to touch her, and my fingertips brush over her beautiful lips.
I want to tell her I love her. I want to kiss her again. I want her to know we need to make up for a lot of lost time.
Wait for me, Claire.
Wait for me.
