Losses.
There was gas. They found Gran in the kitchen, in her nightgown.
We can’t go in. We can’t enter or recover the bodies until they complete their final walkthrough and ensure the house is clear of carbon monoxide.
They’re sorry.
So sorry.
So sorry.
It’s lucky I wasn’t home, they insist.
Lucky that I stayed out so late.
Lucky that I didn’t even have the chance to fucking try to save them.
Eventually I tune them out. Close my eyes. Shut it all out to protect myself from the striking, brilliant, blinding lights.
Not all that long ago, an accident here changed me forever.
But tonight was no accident.
Tonight’s incident was an intentional, targeted strike. It was planned and purposeful. Mercer may not have known how far this would go, but he always intended for there to be course-altering consequences.
I knew his intent. I’m complicit, because I didn’t stop him.
We did this, Mercer and me.
We hurt that kid.
But why? Because we couldn’t find the courage or decency to initiate an adult conversation?
Across the open space, Sawyer grabs the bar on the side of the ambulance and hoists herself into the back of the vehicle.
It makes sense that she would go with him. That she’d stick by his side. He shouldn’t be alone.
But that doesn’t stop the painful ache coiling in my chest. It doesn’t temper the hurt of watching her leave with him without even a glance my way.
“Mercer,” I bark again, louder.
I can’t do this. I can’t keep it together in front of all these kids. The lights. I can’t hold back the devastation that floods me, drowning me little by little.
Mercer still hasn’t moved. He’s still sitting on the ground outside the barn.
He’s unreachable.
He’s gone, just like she is.
And just like the worst night of my fucking life, I’m well and truly alone.
I shake away the agitation gnawing at my insides. Now is not the time to turn on the people I care about. The only real path forward is to deal with this situation head-on.
I survey my best friend again. Note the way his shoulders sag and his head is bowed. He better get his shit together and get his ass over here. I need help, god dammit.
“Mercer Christopher Eden,” I yell once more.
Several of the students in the vicinity turn toward me, blinking, then look to him. Under this level of scrutiny, he has to reply.
