The paramedic who insisted she needed space ignores me. Thankfully, the other one takes pity on me.
“Do you know him?” he asks. He’s an older man, in his late fifties or early sixties, with dark brown skin and gray hair around the temples.
Do I know him?
The question sends pain lancing through me, the gravity of the situation becoming more clear with each second that ticks by.
I know him.
I caused this.
This is all happening because of me.
Our lives are so deeply, intricately, and tragically intertwined.
Do I know him?
I do. I know him intimately. Completely.
Just like I know the two men who hurt him tonight.
I peer over the paramedic’s shoulder to where a crowd has gathered.
Noah is there, in front of the sea of students.
His back is to me, his arms outstretched as he keeps them corralled on one side of the parking lot.
Several students from class are helping him. The lead volunteers wearing safety vests have formed a human wall, and the others look like they’re trying to keep people calm and stop those who have the audacity to try to film Ty.
Despite all the efforts, a general air of chaos swirls around the parking lot.
Helplessness washes over me, a chill sinking into my bones.
I wish I could shield him. Fix him. I wish he would wake up. That he could tell me what happened. Tell me what they did.
But there’s nothing I can do for Ty right now. Just like there’s nothing anyone else can do for me.
Protectively, I scan the crowd and cross my arms over my chest. I don’t know what I’m looking for at first, but when it hits me, annoyance flares like a fire in my chest.
Mercer.
He’s squatting on the ground with his back pressed against the barn. He has his head in his hands. Though a second after I focus on him, he looks up, his eyes on me, as if he can feel my attention.
Fury clouds my consciousness, recharging every cell in my body.
His expression is a mix of anger, frustration, sorrow, and agony, the swirling lights only amplifying the pain there.
Jaw set, I stare back.
He did this.
And I meant what I said.
I’ll never fucking forgive him.
As he searches my face, he pushes off the barn, as if he’s going to stand up or approach me.
I shake my head. I can’t deal with him right now.
