The car finally slowed as we pulled into Marlon’s driveway.What?
The house looked normal with no signs of anything wrong.
Before the car even fully stopped, I pushed the door open and stepped out. My legs felt unsteady but I kept moving, heading straight for the front door.
Marcus opened it before I could knock.
His expression was calm, but there was something behind it.
“Come on,” he commanded.
We followed him through the house. The air inside felt still. The lights were soft and nothing was out of place. That didn’t match what I knew.
Patch sat at Marlon’s kitchen counter with a drink in his bloody hand. Matter of fact, the entire front of his shirt was blood and it almost made me faint. I held onto Orim as we walked down the hallway and into the living room.
And there he was.
Marlon sat on the couch, leaning slightly to one side. His shirt was off, replaced with thick bandaging wrapped around his shoulder and across his chest. There was dried blood near the edges of the dressing, and fresh gauze secured tight against his skin.
He looked so tired.
But he was upright.
He wasbreathing.
“Thank God!”
The words came out loud and shaky as I rushed forward, closing the distance between us without thinking.
I dropped down beside him and wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight like I needed to confirm he was real.
“Hey—”
“Are you okay?! Oh my God?—”
“Bunny—”
I squeezed him anyway, pressing into him harder than I should have.
“Ow ow ow, Bunny careful.”
I pulled back instantly, my hands flying away from him.
“Sorry! Sorry—oh my god?—”
“I’m good,” he said, steadying me with his voice. “Relax.”
“You got shot!” I yelled. “How am I supposed to relax!”
“He got shot?!” Orim yelled.
“I got grazed,” Marlon corrected.
“You did not,” Marcus handed him an ice pack. “The bullet went through the shoulder and out the back. You’re lucky it was clean and didn’t hit anything important.”
I stared at Marlon.
“Grazed?” I repeated. “You could’ve died and you say it’s a graze?”
