Page 8 of Kylie

“I’m sorry. We did everything we could.”

Travis Walker

Oh, Jesus. Fuck.

I tried to take a breath, but someone had replaced the oxygen with shards of glass that rattled around in my lungs, scraping me raw. The pain was unbearable. I could hear the godawful sounds coming out of my throat, but I was helpless to stop them.

God, no. This couldn’t be happening.

I stepped toward the doctor.

“We got her prepped for surgery,” the doctor was explaining, “and that was when we realized one of her ribs had pierced her aorta. There was nothing we could do.”

Before I realized what I was doing, I fisted the front of the doctor’s scrubs. “Go back in there,” I growled low in my throat. “Go back and fix her.”

A firm but gentle hand was on mine. It was the doctor’s, and he wasn’t attempting to push me off of him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly.

Dead.

She couldn’t be dead.

No. Fuck, no.

Someone pried my hands off the doctor’s shirt, urged me back.

Not Kylie.

I stumbled, trying to breathe, but it hurt.

It should’ve been me, not her. I would’ve given my life for hers in a second.

My body was racked with shudders as the sorrow tore through me. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.

I stumbled back until I hit the wall, then slid to the floor, my legs unable to hold me up anymore. Tears flooded my eyes, made it impossible to see. I was aware of the people around me, moving, whispering, someone still talking to the doctor, others trying to console one another.

Didn’t they know it wouldn’t work?

Didn’t they realize that the light had vanished, that the heat from the sun no longer existed because Kylie was dead? Without her in it, the world would be a cold, dark place.

I was vaguely aware of guttural cries. It was enough to draw my attention to where Ethan and Beau were attempting to hold Gage up. I could feel my husband’s pain, but try as I might, I couldn’t muster the energy to console him. Not right now.

“Travis?”

I turned my attention to the man squatting down beside me.

“Reese and I will find her,” Brantley declared, his voice low and hard, his eyes glittering with rage. “We won’t stop until we do.”

I wanted to tell him I'd heard that before, that Brantley’s promises meant nothing. If they’d found her before now, Kylie wouldn’t be dead. If they’d found that bitch and put her in the ground, my world wouldn’t be flipped off its axis right now. My kids wouldn’t have to live out the rest of their days without their mother.

I didn’t say those things, though. I couldn’t. Right now, the coldness had frozen my vocal cords, made it impossible to speak, to feel, to move.

It was all I could do just to breathe.

Chapter Three

Thursday, January 14, 2021