The rumble of a motorcycle draws closer. But it feels so far away.
Ifeel so far away.
Blood seeps through my fingers and my vision spots.
Outside, the engine cuts. Dean’s boot steps on the wobbly porch planks make the whole house groan.
“Hey, princess. Sorry I missed your call. I was almost here.” He pushes open the door with a smile on his face.
I suppose that’s a nice way to go. Basking in his smile.
But when he sees me on the floor, it slips, and there’s only panic. Dean drops to his knees, and I think he’s holding my hand or the wound, but I’m numb. I can’t feel him.
No more pain should be a good thing, but I know it isn’t.
His lips move, but I can no longer make out what he’s saying. His eyes are angry and full of fear. A waterfall of emotions cascades over his face.
“Dean.” I don’t know if his name comes out or if it’s in my head.
I don’t know if I’m still here or floating over us, looking down at myself.
I don’t know if this blinding light is heaven or someone here to help.
At least I’ll die in Dean’s arms.
30
Chaos
I’ve spent my fairshare of time in hospitals. Patch is good at fixing brothers up, but sometimes the damage is worse than we can handle at the clubhouse, and we end up in the hospital. Lying to the cops about bullet wounds and getting side-eyed by the people in the waiting room.
I’ve spent plenty of time pacing the halls, listening to the beep of machines, and wondering if someone’s time is up.
Some of my worst memories are in places like this. Like when Willa backed away from me outside the door to her mother’s hospital room in this very building and told me she chose my brother.
But I don’t leave this time. I can’t.
I pace the blue-and-white checkered linoleum, my boots squeaking every time I turn. I can’t sit. I can’t rest. This is why I stopped thinking I deserved anything good.
My lifestyle brings nothing but trouble.
It brings nothing but death.
“You want a coffee, brother?” Venom stands against the wall, watching me walk back and forth.
“No.”
“Breakfast?”
I shake my head, and he glances at Soul, neither of them saying anything before Venom disappears toward the coffee stand.
“She’s gonna be all right,” Soul says, trying to be reassuring for the tenth time this hour.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know she’s tough enough to put up with your difficult ass. If she can survive you, she can survive anything.”
I glare at him, and he shrugs, not apologizing.
