And somehow, for half a second, he’s still standing and I wonder if maybe it missed him. If I didn’t see what I think I saw. But of course that’s not what happens.
And then he’s not standing.
Danger’s already there, already firing back. The other man goes down. He doesn’t get a name, or a last word. Or even a second thought. He’s just a body dropping.
But I’m not watching that.
I’m already running without thinking about it.
I go straight to him. To Trouble.
Because he’s not getting up. Why isn’t he moving? He’s strong. Too strong to go down like this. He’s a fighter. A pain in the ass, a protector.He’s mine.
And as I drop to my knees beside him, only one thing repeats in my head—this can’t be how our story ends.
I’m on him before I realize it, hands over his chest, trying to stop the blood with the only thing I have—my own body, my own hands. His eyes are shut, he’s still not moving.
“Don’t you dare,” I sob. “Don’t you fucking dare. Tristan, you stay with me, you son of a bitch, we need more time.”
I sob as time resumes, and the scene around me begins to move in fast forward. “You’re such a jerk for this. You’remyjerk. You don’t get to leave, do you hear me? I need you.I love you.My heart was yours long before I realized it.”
Knox is next to us, limp, pale. I turn to my brother, desperate. Maybe he can do something. Maybe he has an answer.
He just looks down at Tristan, tears in his eyes. And if you’ve never seen your big brother cry before, I do not recommend. It’s something I know will stay with me forever, it’ll always haunt me.
And if he didn’t suspect something was going on with Tristan and I, he knows now. But none of that matters, not for a second. Because Tristan saved my brother, even after he knew what Knox did. Because that’s the man he is.
Police swarm the yard, then. Guns drawn, voices barking, all of it so loud, but I don’t care. I think they’re yelling at us to put our hands up, but we don’t listen.
The paramedics try to pry me off of him, and I don’t let go, not until I’m physically peeled away. My fingers are sticky with blood and I’m shaking so bad I think I mightthrow up.
As they load Tristan onto the stretcher, I grab his hand. “You were never just a fling, okay? You’re—you’re so much more than that, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you enough. I should have told you the truth. This is not the end for us.” The words tumble out of me, as I cry them out. “You’re not your father, you’re not broken, you’re?—”
I watch as they wheel him away, watch as the cops drag the bad men off in cuffs around me, some in stretchers, I watch as Knox refuses to get on a gurney. An EMT tells me to come with, and I don’t argue. They let me ride in the ambulance, let me hold Tristan’s hand.
I don’t let go.
thirty-four
Sawyer
All I can focus on is the vending machine. How a small bag of Doritos is stuck against the glass, hasn’t moved. Or maybe it has, and I’ve just been pacing the same stretch of tile so long that I can’t tell.
Knox sits in the corner, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, upset at himself. Rogue hasn't said a word since we got here. Charming is pacing too, running a hand through his hair. Danger keeps checking his phone like it'll suddenly tell us something the doctors won't.
And me?
I’m trying to find a way to breathe.
Trying not to think about the last thing Trouble said to me. The way he hit the ground. How still he was. How quiet.
The double doors swing open, and every head in the waiting room turns. But it’s not a doctor. It’s Trouble’s mama, PJ.
She walks in like she’s holding her whole world together with sheer will. Her eyes scan the room and land on Danger.
“Where is he?” she asks.
“They won’t let us see him,” he says. “He’s in surgery. Critical condition. He was unresponsive when he got here.”
