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Right. It was all in my mind.
“You guys should head home,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck, heat licking at my ears. “I’m sure Jase is fine, too.”
“Jase, huh?” My brother shoots me a crooked grin, and despite the disappointing results of today, I grin back.
“Shut up. Just…” I glance at the others who’re parking their cars and preparing to join us. “I dunno what’s wrong with me today. You guys should go home. No reason to go up with me.”
“We’re here,” Tyler calls as he approaches with Zane, and Rafe. “Riot and his buddies stayed at the alley, in case your old man shows up after all. Dylan and Ash decided to stay, too, just in case. Shall we?”
“Guys, look…” I huff. “About earlier.”
“Listen, R, let’s go up,” Ocean says, thumping my shoulder. “Jason is probably watching TV, bored out of his mind. We’ll just say hi and be on our way. No harm done, and we’re already here.”
He’s got a point, I guess. “This way.” I gesture at the building entrance, and lead the way, hoping Jason is dressed.
I swallow hard, an image of an undressed Jason teasing my mind as I ride the elevator up to my place with Ocean and Rafe. The guys wouldn’t even blink at a half-naked guy lounging around in my apartment, I’ll bet. It’s me who’s all hot and bothered at the thought.
The elevator doors slide open and I step outside, my hand in my pocket, fishing around for the apartment key.
“Fuck,” Rafe breathes, and only then do I notice something’s wrong.
My door is wide open.
My pulse roars in my ears. As if in a dream, I step inside, clinically noting that nothing looks out of place, even if the feeling of wrongness intensifies—like a vise turning inside me, choking me. “Jason?”
A smell reaches my senses, a sickly-sweet, copper smell that hits me like a punch. Images flash in front of my eyes—the ratty inside of a car, Livvy laughing, houses blurring by, an impact. Blood. So much blood.
“Jason!” I’m running before I know it, crossing to the bedroom door, but he isn’t there, or in the bathroom… and I enter the kitchen.
Ah fuck. Fuck!
I’m on my knees, hands bathed in blood, unable to breathe. He’s sprawled in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed, face white like a ghost, his sweats soaked in crimson.
“Stop the bleeding,” Tyler is hissing. “Call an ambulance.”
“On it,” Zane is saying.
Hands appear in my tunnel vision. A folded-up towel is pressed to Jason’s leg. Someone tries to drag me away, and I shove them back.
He’s alive, I can see the slight rise and fall of his chest. I?
??m holding one of his hands, and it’s icy cold.
“Can’t have happened long ago,” Zane whispers.
“Ambulance is on its way,” Rafe mutters.
“Looks like he was conscious after he got hit. He tried to drag himself to the phone. The bullet hit the table first, slowed down. That’s lucky.”
Whatever that means. Lucky? And why the fuck’s everyone whispering?
Or maybe they aren’t. The sounds are muted. The colors faded. The world has gone black and white.
“R, you with me?” Someone is shaking me. Ocean. “Breathe, man.”
“I did this.” Fuck breathing. “I fucking did this.”
“No, you didn’t. Raine, listen to me.” My brother’s hands are on my shoulders, giving me another shake. “This isn’t Livvy. He’s alive. We’ll fight for him.”
