Savannah’s head shakes rapidly, and her eyes snap to me, wide. “I didn’t—I just?—”
Reaching for the gun, I wrap my hand around the barrel and gently pull it from her grasp. “It’s okay.”
Luke and Hunter rush forward. Hunter sits on the floor, guiding Savannah into his lap. He grounds her by situating her back against his chest and wrapping his arms around her stomach. Luke checks the deep cut on the thigh, and I examine her hands.
Savannah rambles, repeating the same words over and over. “I shot him. I shot my father.”
“It’s okay,” Hunter coos in her ear.
“I shot him. I shot my father.”
My hands cup her cheeks, directing her to look at me. “Savannah. We’re here. Everything is going to be okay.”
Savannah blinks, and the far-off look on her face fades. “You came for me.”
“Of course, we did,” Luke responds softly.
“I killed him,” she chokes.
“It’s okay,” I assure her.
She heaves, her chest moving up and down in rapid succession as she spirals. “Is he dead? Oh God. I killed him.”
I keep my hold on her face firm. “No. Not you. No, you didn’t.”
Her brows pinch. “What are you talking about?” I drop my hands, and she glances over the three of us. “You all came in and saw me holding the gun.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” I return.
“Me either,” Hunter adds.
Luke tilts his head to the side. “As I recall, we came in, and he was about to shoot you, so I shot him first.”
The furrow in Savannah’s brow deepens. “How?—”
Luke leans forward, grasping her wrists to avoidthe cuts on her hands. “Let me take this one. You don’t need to carry the weight.”
Her eyes move back and forth, unsure.
Hunter’s expression is open. “We can carry this for you.”
Savannah’s face cracks as she lets go and allows herself to feel everything. She lets her head falls back against Hunter’s shoulder as she sobs.
We sit with her, letting her know that she can break because we’re here to put her back together any time she needs it.
CHAPTER 50
SAVANNAH
Adjusting my legs on the gurney, I shift from side to side. Cop cars and other emergency vehicles surround the abandoned building as the first signs of morning light peek at the horizon.
An antiseptic swipes across my palm, and I wince.
“Sorry,” the paramedic apologizes.
“It’s okay.” I give the EMT a soft smile. I know he’s just doing his job.
He finishes bandaging me up and climbs into the ambulance to put away his supplies.
