“He’s dead?” she whispered in disbelief.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “He was pronounced dead at the scene.”
“Huh,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel right now.”
“You’re supposed to feel however you actually feel.”
“I meant, I’m not sure how I feel. I think I’m kind of pissed at him. Is that normal?” she asked.
“I think you might be in shock. Maybe you should sit down,” I suggested.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” she agreed and took a seat in the chair Copper moved to the side of my bed.
Moments later, the doctor came in to tend to the wound on my arm. Between the pain in my head and my worry over how Blakely would take the news, I’d almost forgotten about it. Thankfully, the bullet grazed my arm, so the wound only needed to be cleaned and bandaged. However, I did have a concussion and a skull fracture, but neither required an overnight stay at the hospital.
As soon as the doctor left, the police showed up to get my statement. I told them what I could remember and answered the few questions they had.
Then, River came in and told me I could go home. She went over my discharge instructions, removed my IV, and handed me a stack of papers.
Copper drove us home in my truck that one of the brothers brought to the hospital.
Throughout all of that, Blakely hadn’t uttered a word.
23
BLAKELY
Ididn’t know what to say or do. And I certainly didn’t know how to feel. My brother was dead. My brother that I’d never known and never would. My brother who tried to kill the man I loved and probably would have if he had better aim. My brother who left his child with me under false pretenses. My brother who stole guns from a gang and hid them on my property without my knowledge. My brother whose association with said gang resulted in my attack.
The facts were easy to list. I had no trouble acknowledging the things he’d done. What I couldn’t do was process any of my emotions resulting from his transgressions.
I wanted to be angry, but what good would that do? Ben was gone and didn’t have to face my wrath. Or anyone’s for that matter. Anger wouldn’t change anything.
I felt like I should be sad, but why? Ben was little more than a stranger to me. His death wouldn’t leave a hole in my heart that would be torn open at holidays and family gatherings.
One thing I did feel was relief. I was glad the situation with Ben had finally come to an end. And for that, I felt guilty. My brother was dead. My boyfriend was the one who killed him. How could I possibly feel relieved?
“Blakely,” Grant said softly. “Please talk to me.”
I blinked to bring my vision back into focus and found him watching me intently. We were back in his room at the clubhouse, and for the first time in hours, it was just the two of us. “I’m not sure what to say,” I admitted.
“Say whatever you want. Yell at me. Tell me you hate me. Just say something,” he pleaded.
“Hate you?” I asked in confusion. “Why would I hate you?”
“Because I killed your brother,” he said quietly.
“You had to. I could never hate you for that,” I said truthfully.
“Then what’s got you stuck in your head?”
“I feel guilty,” I finally admitted.
“What? Why?” he asked incredulously.
“Because I’m not sad. If anything, I’m relieved that this whole mess is over. I didn’t want him to die, but I don’t exactly feel bad that he did,” I confessed.
“Come here,” he said and opened his arms for me.
