Chapter 21 Ella
Ella
The door closes and I sink to the floor, the gun clattering next to me as a sob tears from my throat. I’ve written about heartbreak, but never truly felt it. I can empathize from things I’ve read and seen, and I write it as well as I can.
But experiencing it firsthand?
It tears me in half.
I let myself cry so hard and so loud that my throat aches more than it already did. Tears burn my eyes and everything inside me shreds, slowly, painfully.
I’m so sorry, Ella.
“What do I do?” I whisper to no one, tears dripping from my chin.
What can you do? He’s a liar. He’s a criminal.
But …
But, what? Ella. You can’t run off into the sunset with a man like him. He’s the bad guy, remember?
The bad guy. He’s always been the hero to me. He never once made me feel an ounce of what a bad guy is supposed to make you feel. It had always been goodness and light and …
Sweetheart, this is real life. A few weeks of good deeds don’t cancel out a lifetime of bloodshed.
I drag myself to my feet in search of a tissues and pause. The door to the second bedroom is still open, and I head toward it. My books are neatly lined on the shelves, and as I walk over to them, fresh tears fall. I run my fingers along the spines and see a note.
Alphabetical, genre, or color order? I vote we go wild and order them by the author's hometown. No one will ever know our code.
I hope you like them.
Asher
The note only makes me cry harder.
“I love you.”
He loves me. He loves me, and the last thing he ever did was protect me. He could have hurt me at any time, but he spent our hours together making me feel good.
He loves me.
He loves me, and he thinks I hate him.
I’m out of the door and sprinting down the hall before I can stop myself. My bare feet thud into the rough carpet, and I smash the button for the elevator.
What are you doing, Ella?
“I just need to tell him I forgive him.”
Why? What’s the point?
I jab the elevator button as fast as I can, but it’s on the bottom floor and not budging. I take the stairs instead and thunder down the concrete steps, the cold working its way through my bare soles. They won’t be in Barnaby’s apartment; they’ll be outside, or even …
Gone. Long gone!
I speed down the stairs, heart in my throat, my tears forgotten because I just have to tell him. At least then, it’ll be one less regret.
The lobby is empty, and I push open the heavy glass doors and step out onto the street. It’s quiet, the night warm, and I look from left to right. Cars pass, and I don’t know which way to go. Which way would he have gone?
Sirens scream in the distance. My dad getting closer.
And then I see Asher.
Standing at the entrance to the alley by the building, a bag by his feet, his hood up.
“Asher!”
He looks over at me. I let out a sob as he closes the gap between us and I throw myself into his arms, legs around his waist, holding onto him tightly.
His arms are strong around me, holding my body to his. “What are you doing? You need to be inside.”
“I couldn’t let you go without …” He places me on my feet, and I look up into his handsome face. His tears are dry now, but his eyes are still slightly rimmed red, and I reach up and cup his face. “Asher—”
His gaze flicks behind me, and he crushes our bodies together.
My front collides with his, and for a moment, I think I’ve fallen for it all.
I think this is the moment he’ll kill me, push a knife into my stomach, squeeze the breath from my lungs, but he wraps his arms around me, twisting my body away from the street.
The world explodes.
Bullets ring through the air. I scream and cover my head, Asher’s body pressed to mine, his arms tight around me. The car windows behind us shatter and spit across the street. People scream. Alarms sound. The sirens get closer.
I fall to my knees, the sidewalk hard, pain shooting through my thighs. Asher keeps his arms around me, never once letting his embrace slip, and I cling to him.
And when it finally stops, I can hardly breathe.
I uncover my head. Alarms echo. A car speeds away. The sirens close in. We’re both on our knees, glass all around us.
“Are you okay?” Asher asks, panting.
“I think so,” I say, and then he stumbles, pressing his hand to the sidewalk. “Asher?” He falls onto his side, and I place my hand on his chest, my skin instantly warm and damp. Blood. So much blood. “Oh, God.”
Asher falls onto his back, his breathing already shallow, face paling. My palm is fixed against the gunshot wound, blood spilling through my fingers thick and fast.
“It’s okay,” I whisper desperately, glancing around. Tears blur my surroundings, but there are people on the other side of the street. “Help!” My voice cracks, and I try to clear it, but I’m seconds from breaking in two. “Help us, please!”
“Ella.” Asher takes hold of my hand, our touch sticky with blood. “You have to go. It isn’t safe.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I insist, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand. “I’m staying right here. I’m staying here, and you’ll be fine.”
He watches me, his light blue eyes so focused despite the pain he must be in. He blinks slowly, lips parting. “Please, Ella.”
My lips tremble, and I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Glass crunches behind me and I turn, my heart lifting at the hope someone has come to help.
But one look at the man behind me tells me he isn’t here for that.
“No,” Asher groans, trying to sit up, trying to pull me away. “Don’t you fucking touch her!”
He’s ignored. The man is focused entirely on me as he raises his gun.
The car may have left, but they didn’t finish the job.
They didn’t kill me.
Ella. Run. Please run!
I stare at the man holding the gun, tears running down my cheeks, Asher’s blood soaking my hands and clothes. I expect my heart to race, maybe even to stop, but it remains a steady, strangely normal beat in my chest.
Maybe the end of your life brings you total peace.
Maybe the questions are answered, and the pain stops, and the clarity washes over you.
Or maybe I’m giving up.
I look back at Asher. He’s pale now, his breathing labored. He’s looking past me, blinks lasting longer, or maybe time has slowed to allow us these final moments together.
I touch his face, smearing blood across his cheek, and he fixes his attention on me again—and he smiles.
“You were worth waiting for,” he says.
My sob is filled with anguish, and I lean down and kiss him. “I love you,” I whisper, my tears mixing with his blood. I don’t know if I do. I don’t know if I mean it. But it seems the kindest thing to say, and such lovely words to be my last.
The gunshot rings out, and I close my eyes.
I’m cloaked in darkness. My body is numbed to the cold of death, to the damp blood on my hands, to the tears on my cheeks. I’m taken out of this moment, out of the pure terror and horror of losing him, and for a few seconds, I’m safe.
“Asher,” a voice calls out, and I open my eyes. I turn, and the man with the gun is on the ground, dead, blood slipping from his body, and Gable is on Asher’s other side. He places his gun down and takes hold of his brother’s face. “Asher, wake up.”
My trembling body can’t absorb the last few moments. I simply stare at Gable, at the horror in his eyes as he tries to wake his brother.
“Asher,” Gable whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “Please don’t fucking leave me.”
Motor lies by Asher’s head and lets out a low whine, nudging his cheek as if to try and wake him.
The numbness leaves me, and my world crashes as I watch Gable beg. Tears fall freely still, my hand still clasped around Asher’s, his blood cooling against my skin. His eyes are open, but there’s no life behind their blue, no sparkle, nothing that made Asher who he was.
He’s gone.
The sirens are so close now, and the sound tears me from my grief.
“Gable.” I wipe my eyes. “You have to go.” He ignores me, his attention fixed on his brother. I put my hand over his, and he lifts his gaze to me. “They’ll arrest you. You need to leave.”
The deep, vast darkness in his eyes seems to have grown in the last few seconds, like the shadows that kept Gable Flynn down are feeding on his grief. He looks empty. Lost.
“I can’t leave without him,” he says quietly, searching my eyes. He looks back at Asher, his lips parted. “I don’t know how to be on my own.”
The words tear at my already-shredded heart, and I gently take the back of his neck to pull him closer to me. We press our foreheads together, and over Asher’s lifeless body, we share a few seconds, our first seconds, of understanding.
Of pure, agonizing loss.
“Go,” I say quietly. “Quickly.” Reluctantly, he stands, still staring at Asher. “Go, Gable.”
He strides past the body of the man who almost killed me, but pauses. “Motor, come on, boy.” The dog remains at Asher’s side, glancing between the brothers. “Motor, boy. We have to go.”
“I’ll look after him,” I say. “Go.”
Gable gives me one last look, his expression tortured, and then he turns and walks away.