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Reno’s grin fell away. He really didn’t have a sense of humor. The dude only laughed at his own jokes.
“Are you trying to say something?” He took a step toward Julien. I moved into his path, teetering on the edge of the sidewalk. “Move, Amir. I’m talking to your funny friend. He says I’m not helpful. Not fucking helpful, when I practically raised you, gave you a job, helped you buy the house his pussy ass lives in.”
Julien ground his teeth behind me. He didn’t think much of Reno. Neither did Marco. But Marco could keep his mouth shut when he needed to. Julien hadn’t mastered that skill yet.
“You don’t need to talk to him,” I said. “We need to go home. I’m barely standing here. I’m toast, man.”
“Whose fault is that?” Julien couldn’t fucking help himself.
Reno’s body went taut. He started to reach into his jacket pocket when bright lights coming way too fast down the street caught everyone’s attention.
“Oh shit.”
Almost as soon as the truck came into sight, it veered onto the sidewalk, heading straight toward us. Reno dove away, Marco made a run for it, but I could not get my body to move. And then it was too late. Even if I moved, I couldn’t avoid being hit.
It happened in a blink, but I managed to have a million thoughts.
Zadie was nine hundred ninety-nine thousand of them. Her face, her sweet smile, her scent, her laughter while she danced in the rain, her pouty lips, her kindness, her love. She was my last thought before I went flying and searing pain in my side took over all my synapses, leaving no room for thought or memories.
And then it was chaos. A crash. A thump. A wet smack. Squealing tires. Broken glass. Screams. Fucking gut-wrenching screams.
I crawled across the sidewalk, clutching my ribs. Marco was there, ahead, in the middle of the street. Where was Julien? Where was he? He’d been behind me, hadn’t he?
“Julien?” I croaked. Nothing louder would come out of me. I couldn’t get my lungs to fill. But I kept crawling, crawling, needing to get to Marco. He had to know where Julien was.
Reno ran past me, to the truck that had crashed into a light pole barely half a block away. A few of his guys were behind him, barking words my ringing ears couldn’t register.
But Marco…he was crouched over something, his phone to his ear. What was Marco looking at? Where the fuck was Julien?
“I need an ambulance. Someone’s been hit by a truck. He’s hurt. Really hurt. You gotta get here now. There’s a lot of blood. He’s not moving.” Marco was talking to someone on his phone. Who was hurt? It’s just been the four of us. I was hurt, but I didn’t need an ambulance. I just needed to find Julien.
“Julien?”Where are you?
Marco raised his head, and then shook it. “I don’t know if he’s gonna make it.” He clawed at the sides of his hair. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I should touch him.”
I made it to him, and at first, I couldn't understand what I was seeing. It was Julien on the pavement, but it wasn’t. Because Julien was fine. He was on the sidewalk. This Julien was broken, bent wrong, his face flayed open on one side. And the blood, it was every-fucking-where.
“Julien?”Where’s the real Julien?
Marco was shaking, his hands hovering over the man on the ground. “He pushed you out of the way. Why didn’t he go with you? He pushed you, but he just stood there. He could have dove with you. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He’s not going to die. He can’t.”
This couldn’t be Julien. Not my friend, my brother. He always landed on his feet. He fell, he bounced. That was what we always said. He was impervious to damage. That was why this couldn’t be Julien. Fucking Julien.
But it was. It was, it was, it was.
That was Julien’s blood soaking the ground. Julien’s shoes on the other side of the street. Julien dying on the gritty street.
Fucking Julien.
