“Where did you find my gun?” Jeremiah asked as he let go of Owen, letting him drop to the floor. “If you point my own weapon at me, you’d better be prepared to use it.”
Wyatt’s arms shook, and he switched hands due to his cast. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Wyatt, hand me the gun,” Owen said firmly. “Dad won’t hurt me. He’s drunk.” He slowly approached his brother, holding out his hand. “Where’s Mom?”
Wyatt swiped at the tears trailing down his cheeks. “I can’t find her.”
“Give the weapon to me, and I’ll take care of it,” he told his younger brother.
His hand clasped around the barrel, enraging his dad. Owen pushed Wyatt out of the way.
“Mason, get them out,” Owen commanded as he wrestled his dad for the gun. “Call the police.”
He heard his brothers running. Wyatt screamed and cried while Dillon yelled at the top of his lungs for Mom.
His dad refused to let go, and rage filled him as Owen tried to push him to the ground.
“You don’t know anything. You have no idea about what I’ve seen,” his dad spat as they fought.
The gun went off, firing twice before Owen managed to get it from him. He bent, holding his hand to his knees, grateful no one got hurt.
“Owen,” Mason screamed in terror. Wyatt’s hysterical cry followed, sending him running upstairs.
He found his mom in the hallway holding her hand to her stomach. Mason held Wyatt as they watched her sink to the floor. Her eyes grew wide as she turned her gaze to Owen.
“Did you call the police?” he asked his brothers as he dropped to her side. He took off his shirt and held it to the wound.
“They’re on the way,” Mason said, his voice shaking.
“It’s all right, Mom. Help’s coming,” he said, trying to stop the bleeding.
“Holly?” Jeremiah called, rushing to his wife’s side. “Oh my God, what have I done?”
Holly gazed at Owen and smiled. Her hand cupped his cheek. “Go be brave, my baby boy. No matter what, you ship out. Promise me.”
“Yeah,” he said, vowing anything as long as she kept talking. “Yeah.”
Her head turned toward her husband of twenty-three years. “You must care for the boys, Jeremiah. You’re not at war anymore. They’ll need you now more than ever.”
“I’m sorry, Holly,” his dad whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Find a way to live with those monsters, and I’ll forgive you,” she said weakly.
The sound of sirens filled the air, and footsteps coming upstairs followed.
“I love you,” his mother said, gazing at Owen. “I’ll be watching over you.”
“No, Mom. Hang on, they’re here. We’ll get you to a hospital,” he said desperately.
“Holly,” his dad wailed in despair as the police and ambulance surrounded them.
They lifted his mom on a gurney, and Owen stood there, his hands covered in her blood.
“Mason, watch the others. I’m going with Mom,” he ordered as they carried her down the stairs. His Dad’s heavy gait sounded behind him.
“Owen, let me ride with her. Bring your brothers,” he said, climbing into the ambulance. He watched them drive away with his mom, who died en route.
Owen shook his head, snapping out of his haunting memory.Why couldn’t his father have died instead?He used the blue towels and returned downstairs to join the others.
