I moved without thinking, shoving Ariana and Sarah behind me. Blake rushed toward Abigail, tackling her to the floor as a shot echoed through the chapel.
For a moment, everything was silent. Still.
Then a blinding pain detonated through my body, and I stumbled backwards, the chapel seeming to spin around me as I hit the floor.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard another series of gunshots, but everything sounded muffled. Like I was hearing it from underwater.
Warmth spread beneath me, my vision becoming hazy as I struggled to breathe.
Ariana hovered over me, her hands trembling as she pressed them against my stomach, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“No. No, no, no, no. You can’t,” she said, her voice sounding far away. “You can’t die on me. Not now. I need you to stay with me.”
I wanted to tell her I was trying. Wanted to tell her I wasn’t going anywhere.
But my body felt impossibly heavy.
Sarah dropped down beside her, and seeing her alive and safe brought an unexpected sense of peace. Because if this was it, if this was where my story ended, at least I’d found her.
At least she was finally free.
“I love you,” I managed to say, peering deep into Ariana’s blue eyes. Then I shifted my attention to Sarah. “Both of you. Forgive me.”
The last thing I saw was Ariana reaching for my face.
The last thing I felt was Sarah’s hand wrapping around mine.
Then everything disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ariana
The waiting room smelled of burnt coffee, antiseptic, and pungent flowers.
The scent clung to the back of my throat with every breath as I paced the length of the private room the hospital staff had ushered us into hours ago to shield us from the press, especially considering I’d been missing for weeks at this point.
Bright fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and unrelenting, while muted voices drifted from the hallway. Nurses. Doctors. Families receiving news that would either destroy them or provide them much-needed relief.
I’d love nothing more than to feel some sort of relief myself.
My gaze darted toward the clock on the wall. It was now a few minutes past midnight.
Henry had been in surgery for over four hours.
Four hours since I’d last peered into his green eyes.
Four hours since I pressed my hand to his wound, desperately trying to stop the flow of blood.
Four hours since he begged me to forgive him before he lost consciousness.
I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes, but it did nothing to stop the images flashing behind them.
The gunshot.
The scream that tore from my throat.
Blake firing back.
