19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Sutton
A sobbing sound draws me from sleep. Although Maci hasn’t been sleeping well, she hasn’t cried, so the sound is disorienting. “Firecracker?”
I sit up and look around the pitch-black room. She isn’t in the bed with me, and even as my eyes adjust, I don’t see her on the couch or throughout the room.
Her crying turns to sniffles, and it registers that she’s between the bed and the closet. I roll over her side of the bed to slide onto the floor and scoop her into my arms, leaning my back against the bed. She readjusts, straddling me and tucking her arms between us and laying her head against my shoulder. I rock her side to side without saying anything.
Maci continues to draw new feelings out of me that I’m wholly unprepared for. Usually those new things are good. Since the incident with Colt, there have been more I’d rather not deal with. Like being completely useless at the hospital and terrified that I’d lose her. Now it’s like a punch to the gut that she’s crying on the floor by herself. Why didn’t she wake me?
She keeps trying to convince everyone she’s fine, but she’s struggling. Maybe she admits it even less to herself.
“I got you.” My fingers draw up and down her back in the slow, aimless way that she likes. I want her to open up to me, but I don’t want to push her. I want her to want to talk to me. In fact, I’m willing to bet she would normally. Something has her really fucked up.
When her breaths even out and she’s no longer audibly crying, I press my luck. “Nightmares?”
Her wet cheek presses into my chest as she shakes her head. She pulls back, wiping at my pec, because of course that’s her concern, and tucks herself against me again.
Having Maci’s skin on mine is like no other. Her body is a balm to my nerves, but not in this way.
“You want to talk about it?”
She takes a deep, shaky breath but holds it at first. “I killed him.”
I want to argue, to come to her defense. Even though what she says is true, it’s not like she did it on purpose. It’s painful not to object. But whatever she’s going through, she needs to get it out in the way that she feels it. Later, I can tell her how fucking wrong she is and why it doesn’t matter.
“I took his life. He’s dead because of me.”
My arms tighten around her. I wish I could send my strength straight through our limbs into her. When she doesn’t continue after a minute, I respond. “He’s dead because of choices he made.”
“He was sick.”
“Even if that’s true, that wasn’t your fault.” I kiss the top of her head. I don’t want to fight with her, but she may need someone to fight with. She’s mad at herself, but she needs to get out of her head.
Maybe that means drawing her out to argue with me. She can’t wallow in her self-deprecating grief if she’s angry with me. “You did what you had to do in the moment.”
She sits up, and I’m a little relieved at the fire I see in her as she says, “I could’ve tried harder to stop him. To talk him down.”
“There was no talking him down. His mind was made up when he got there.”
“But he didn’t have all the information when he showed up. He didn’t know about James.”
I shake my head. “James had nothing to do with his decision. He was focused on you. On a history that he created in his mind and that you had nothing to do with.”
“He didn’t deserve to die.”
I shrug. “Neither did you. And if it came down to you and him again, I don’t know many people who would’ve made a different call.”
“That’s not the point. Of course you’re going to say that. You love me. You don’t want me dead.”
“Fuck no, I don’t want you dead!” Now I’m the one getting angry. “And I’m pissed you had to make that call. That you had to be the one to put that fucker down. I would gladly take that burden from you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time. But you made the right decision. You had to. There was no other way.”
Silent tears stream down her face.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
Her cool hands cup my cheeks. I’m mad at myself all over again that she’s trying to comfort me.
“I know what you’re trying to do.” A tiny, sad smile graces her lips. Her thumbs rub back and forth.
I release her and take her hands into my own, kissing them in succession.
“I’m scared.” Her voice is small and choked.
“I’m here.” I squeeze her hands tighter. “And he’s gone.”
She swallows hard. “That’s not what I mean.” Her nostrils flare as she inhales deeply. “I’m scared of who I’ve become.”
My head shakes in confusion. “What do you—”
“When Colt came over that night, I waited until the last possible second. Part of me feels like I should’ve done more. Instead of antagonizing him, I should’ve tried to really explain my side so he could see that I never wanted to take Alan from him. But the other part of me knows that I couldn’t have waited any longer.” She slides her hands down and presses them against my chest, steadying herself.
“I warned him. I told him I would shoot. I hoped he would reconsider.” Her eyes fall to the floor as she sees images in her mind that I will never bear witness to. “I tried to move slowly so that he wouldn’t jump out of fear. The gun slid out of the holster just as he came at me. I took a step back and shot, but it went right because we were both moving. That’s when he slammed into me. When he…stabbed me. The gun was squeezed between us, and I was trying to get my hand free when it went off the second time.”
It takes effort not to squeeze her tighter in my hands with the force of my anger. It’s not directed at her, but all over again I yearn to break something.
“Any twist one way or the other, one second later, and he probably would’ve gotten me in a completely different spot. We’d probably both be dead, instead.” Her eyes come back to mine. “I waited until the last possible second. And now, anytime someone so much as looks at me the wrong way, it feels like I’m loaded and ready to go off. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to carry for a while.”
My heart drops. “I thought it made you feel safer.”
She shakes her head and stares at me blankly. “No. I don’t trust myself. It’s too easy to pull it now.”