“Cade!” Twisting, I scan the chaos for him. Agents in bulletproof vests, assault rifles, paramedics. No blonde boy in a borrowed flannel. My heart slams against my ribs, adrenaline and shock catching up to me. My vision blurs. “CADE!”
“Sweetheart?” Seba croaks. I scoot closer to where an EMT is examining the laceration through his brow. Our hands find each other’s. He squeezes hard enough to crack my knuckle when the paramedic dabs the wound.
“I’m here, I’m here,” I murmur, glancing around frantically again for our boyfriend.
“Where’s our baby?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, struggling to hold back tears.
Squeaking rubber.
Sneakers.
“LET ME THROUGH!”
I spring up right as Cade hurls himself through the swarm of uniforms, crashing on his knees in front of us.
Seventy-Five
CADE
You’re goingto bury him like your dad buried me.
“Not now, Mom.”
I’m shaking so hard I think I can hear my bones rattling. I’ve been treading water in a cesspool of voices and images, fighting with every tool I’ve learned over the past four years to keep from slipping beneath the surface. But I’m running out of steam really fucking quick.
The minute I saw Sinclair point that fucking gun at my boyfriend’s head, I felt my heart stop. Actually stop. No beats. Clinically. Dead. I don’t even remember what happened next. I think I blacked out. Just with my eyes open, my shoes glued to the floor. I didn’t come back to myself until a distinct pop broke the sound barrier and boot stomped the door labeledCade's Trauma.
So my brain went offline again. This time, I hit the deck. There’s a dull ache radiating from the back of my skull, but at least I ate shit on the carpet. After a quick puke— more of a dry heave, really— I got my numb legs to kind of work.
I say, kind of, because I’ve already tripped twice.
You’re too late. You couldn’t save him either.
“No, no, no, no,NO!”
A barricade of paramedics (BAD SIGN) and police officers (where were they five seconds ago?) blocks my path, but now that my legs are moving, they can’t stop. Nope. I’m a human missile— on autopilot and highly explosive.
“LET ME THROUGH!”
Surprised faces streak as I blast through?—
Red on white tile.
My ribs cave in.
Black vignettes my vision.
White noise screams.
Shutting… down...
“Baby.”
Am I hearing his ghost?
“Shit. I’m right here, baby. I’m real. Sweetheart, bring him to me.”
