43. Hope
CHAPTER 43
Hope
E verything stops. My heart. My life. My understanding of life and death. Suddenly, it’s not as beautiful as I once thought, as Braxton hits the floor.
“Stop!” I scream, the sound so shrill that it bounces through the apartment, and I dive for him. The man I love, the man I was certain had betrayed me, but instead, he killed a person he trusted to protect me and my wrongdoings.
I cover his body with my own as he lands beside his dead partner. My father and my aunty are standing at the door, their guns raised. My father’s hand goes to his arm where he’s been hit, and I’m certain my aunt almost accidentally shoots me as I dive for him. She takes her finger off the trigger as I scoop him up into my arms, sobbing.
Oh God. I did this. I did this. How do I undo this?
“Braxton,” I squeak as I bring his hand to my chest. He’s bleeding in the stomach. It’s bad. So bad.
“Shortcake,” he gasps. “Tell your family to lower their weapons.” He tries to smile at the scissors I’m holding, but I angle his head to only look at me.
“You’re not leaving me,” I say quickly. “You don’t get out of this so easily.”
He tries to chuckle but gurgles in pain instead. Red. There’s so much red.
My aunt and father are speaking to one another furiously, but I ignore them. I can only focus on Braxton as if I’m his anchor to keep him here—alive. I feel like it’s my own life force.
Anya moves closer, pointing her gun at Braxton’s head. “He’s a problem.”
I slap her hand away, quickly scoop the gun that’s loosely held in Braxton’s fingers, and point it at her.
“You ungrateful?—”
My father pulls her back. “Anya,” he says as if pointing out something that she hadn’t yet seen. She looks at me and Braxton again, the killer fading from her gaze as she blinks once and then twice.
I wonder how they view me now. I probably look like a feral animal, backed into a corner, fighting fiercely to protect my mate who’s fucking bleeding out all over the floor.
“You’re not a good shot, Shortcake. Lower the gun,” Braxton whispers.
I snap at him. Why is he making jokes right now? This isn’t funny. He’s turning paler by the second.
“I only ever did that, so you didn’t think I was capable of killing, you fucking idiot,” I say on a sob.
“She loves him,” Anya states.
“So fucking what if I do? I’m sure I could find faults with your matchmaking. Just please help me. Please ,” I beg my father, a twist of uncertainty rolling in my stomach as his blood drips onto the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my father bleed. “Please, Dad. Please.”
Anya clicks her tongue but makes a phone call. My father reluctantly lowers his gun and kneels beside me.
“Did he kill his partner for you?” Dad asks. I’m certain he did. Why else would he go to such extreme measures?
“Can’t we ask these questions later, please? I can’t lose him.”
I lift Braxton’s shirt up and try to look at the bullet wound. I have to stop the bleeding, but I’m not really sure how. I’ve helped my mother patch up my father before, but she does most of the work.
“Fuck,” Dad grits as he stands and goes to the kitchen to grab a bottle of whiskey and some tea towels.
My aunt throws her hands in the air. “Come on, we’re not the type who can patch things up. We kill people, not fix them.”
“Anya, help me,” Dad grits.
“I’ve called the twins and the doctor. The twins will be here shortly to clean up this mess,” she bites back.
“Stage it.” Braxton is barely able to get the words out as he hisses in pain. I take the alcohol towels from my father’s hands and start to clean his wound. My father can’t touch other people. It physically repulses him, and I’m sure Aunt Anya won’t be any help, so it’s up to me. “In his home like a hanging,” Braxton finishes. I pour the whiskey straight over the wound before pressing the towels over it to soak up the blood. This won’t do. It’s only temporary.
“Hmm,” Aunt Anya says with a smirk. “Clever. The doctor is five minutes away from your house, Aleksandr.”
My father and I both whip our heads in her direction. She smirks. “I think it’s about time you had a family discussion.”
I shudder as I think of my mother finding out about everything all at once, and I can tell my father is furious, too. But instead of reprimanding Aunt Anya, he grits his teeth and looks like he’s about to puke as he turns a shade paler. My heart flutters as I watch my father, who can’t stand touching anyone but my mother and me, gather the man I love under his shoulder and begin to lift him. My father physically recoils, but he pushes through, and tears spring to my eyes as I realize how much he would do for me, even at the sacrifice of himself.
Braxton is barely conscious, and my stomach flutters with a dread I’ve never known. Please don’t take him. Please don’t take him.
“Make yourself useful,” Dad spits at Anya, and she clicks her tongue, moving to Braxton’s other side.
“What the fuck?” Hawke asks when he meets us on the stairs. Ford’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand the situation. River, Anya’s husband, is already in motion.
“I thought we were killing this fucker!” Hawke shouts in shock.
“It’s a family affair,” Anya says cryptically as she and River share a kiss as they walk past one another. Anya is a capable woman who can help carry his body down the stairs, and she speaks so quickly, instructing the others to move, that I can barely keep up. The only thing I’m focused on is Braxton.
“Stay with me,” I beg as his blood drips down the stairs.
“Fucking stairs. This is what you get when you date peasants who can’t afford elevators,” Aunt Anya curses.
“Anya,” Dad scolds.
“Don’t you, Anya me. He’s getting blood all over my favorite jewels.”
Braxton is barely coherent, his head flopping back and forth. We carry him to my father’s car. I lay Braxton’s head on my lap in the back seat, still trying to apply the pressure.
My father is zipping through the streets at a speed my mother wouldn’t approve of. My aunt is trying to clean herself up and looks over her shoulder.
“Does he know about your little secret?” she asks.
I swallow. Hard. “I think so.”
“And he killed his partner for you?”
“I don’t know if it was for me. I don’t get what happened at all. All I heard was that they should arrest me and that his friend had evidence.”
“Is that the only evidence?” Dad asks.
“Yes.” We all look to Braxton as his breaths come in shallow pants. “I’ve covered the ressssst.”
His head becomes heavier in my hands, and tears stream down my face. “Drive faster!” I scream.
“Don’t go. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this to me. I’m sorry.” I press kisses to his forehead. “I didn’t mean to. I thought you were going to take me in. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” I kiss and kiss and kiss him, hoping it’s enough to keep the Grim Reaper away.
I can feel my aunt and father looking at me, but my aunt no longer interrogates me. But I hear her quietly say, “It brings back memories, doesn’t it?”
I look away from Braxton for only a moment to catch my father’s gaze in the rearview mirror, watching us. I’d heard my father had almost died once protecting my mother. I wonder if my aunt and father are reliving that memory now.
I silently beg him, the man whom I’ve known to be capable of so many things, to help me save Braxton. To save this man I stupidly love and will do anything to protect. For him to somehow fix all my problems like he always has. But when he looks away, that’s when it hits me that sometimes, not even my parents are capable of impossible things. Life and death can’t always be controlled.