“But you didn’t.”
“I could have killed you.” Regret floods her voice. “We already lost Mom—”
“I’m alive. You didn’t kill me.” The words nearly clog in my throat.
I know I should be angry at Eden for all she’s done, but as tears stream down her cheeks, I see the five-year-old girl who used to crawl into my bed in the middle of the night when she’d wake up to Mom and Dad yelling. I see the teenager who looked so much like our mother, that after Mom died, she cut her hair and bleached it. She did everything to distance herself from those features just so she could stand looking in the mirror.
Tears make rivers down Eden’s cheeks.
Anger floods out. At herself. At me. At Dean. At everything.
Hate is a delicate thing. So easy to grow but difficult to contain.
Eden waves the gun around, no longer in her right mind, as she stumbles back a step. She accidentally knocks a machine, unplugging the monitor and setting off an alarm.
“I’m sorry, Eden. I love you.” The words do nothing to stop her sobs, but she needs to hear them.
I should have said them more often.
So many mistakes have been made. We’ve both done unforgivable things. She needs to know I don’t blame her.
A commotion comes from the doorway, making Eden jump. She drops the gun as Dean and Kincaid rush into the room. The second Dean sees the gun, he draws his own.
I don’t care about pain.
About the blood seeping through my hospital gown.
I don’t care about anything as I throw myself at Eden to stand between him and her. I throw my hands up, shielding my sister.
“Don’t. Please, Dean, don’t. It’s over.”
Behind me, Eden sobs. Dean lowers his gun, and tears stream down my face.
Eden starts to shake, and I feel it in my chest. The weight of our entire lives is being lifted off us. The things we did for our father. For our home. The things we fucked up.
Eden slides to the ground as Dean wraps his arms around me, holding me up when I almost fall.
A doctor tries to come into the room, but Kincaid holds the spot at the door, refusing to let anyone through.
“Is everything okay in here?” the doctor asks, glancing at the mess in the room.
“It’s fine,” I answer, but I’m looking at Dean. “It’s fine. We just accidentally unplugged a machine.”
His jaw ticks in anger. I get it because I feel the same. But this is done. I refuse to let one more person go down because of my father’s mistakes.
I slip out of Dean’s arms and onto the floor, sitting beside my sister while he walks over to the doorway to deal with the doctor. She is no longer crying, just staringoff. Physically, she’s here, but she’s distant in every other way.
“Eden…” I reach for her hand.
“Did you see the blood on Dean’s shirt?” Her eyes stay locked on the wall in front of us, her voice nearly a whisper. “There was so much blood.”
“I saw.”
“Dad was going to meet them to hand over the will today.” Her glassy eyes meet mine. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
I glance at where Dean and Kincaid are talking by the door, covered in too much blood for the other person to still be standing.
Maybe I should lie to Eden to make her feel better. But we’ve both been lied to so much.
