by Lindsey Iler
“I can hear you.” I run my hands over my body.
Marek’s quickly cover my own, stopping me. “You’re okay.”
“But Henry . . .” I cry out, the memory of Henry aiming the gun at me so fresh in my mind.
“Marek.” Byron’s voice gurgles with pain.
Marek turns, giving me a clear view of Byron on the floor, Dixon hovering over him, pressing his hand to his chest.
“This is Officer Franklin. I need a caravan of ambulances and backup to 165 North View Lane. I repeat, I need an ambulance. We have a single gunshot wound and possible other victims,” Officer Franklin demands in his walkie talkie.
I sit up, seeing Byron’s chest heaving for a decent breath. Blood stains his shirt and Dixon’s hands as he holds on for dear life. Marek helps me to my feet, and I fall at his side.
“I should be happy to see you in such pain,” I whisper, unexpected tears rolling down my cheeks. “And I’m so sorry I feel that way.”
“Don’t”— a long pause is filled with him bubbling blood— “ever apologize to me.”
The paramedics race up the grand stairs and tend to Byron. As he is placed on a stretcher and carried down, Dixon and Marek help me to my feet.
“You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future.” Officer Franklin repeats this twice.
Once to Henry Lexington.
The other to my big sister.
Overcome by anger, I nearly collapse, but Marek catches me. “I got you.”
“I thought I was dead,” I admit.
“Like hell I’d ever let that happen.” Marek tucks me under his arm and kisses the crown of my head.
Police flood the scene. Each bedroom door is kicked in, and men in handcuffs are led out by police, followed by the young girls who will forever be changed because of this day. The woman from Henry’s building passes me on her way into one of the rooms. Several minutes later, a stretcher is brought up, and a few minutes later, a body is rolled out, covered in a sheet.
“Your best friend is brave, miss,” the woman says, stopping in front of us. “She tells us that, if it wasn’t for you, sir, she wouldn’t be alive. I’m happy to say the same does not go for him.”
Delaney. I sigh in relief, knowing she’s safe.
“Ma’am?” I yell as she walks behind the paramedics. When she turns, she smiles. “You were at Lexington Manor,” I state matter-of-fact.
“There are eyes everywhere, waiting for bad, and wishing for good, Palmer.” She nods once. “You’ve always been the good. Don’t let any of this cloud that.”
As the pieces of this wicked and dangerous puzzle start to click into place, I realize I haven’t been alone during any of this. I never truly was, and to me, that’s the only thing I need to know.
The world can be a fucked-up place. The people who do evil will always believe they will prevail, but that isn’t necessarily true. Sometimes the good can drown the loud voices and raise the silent to a place of safety.
Without looking at Reed, I head for the stairs. Neither Dixon nor Marek follow. I turn and hold out my hand. “Come on. We need to get to the hospital.”
“Your sister?” Dixon says.
“What about her?” I say, glaring at her as she cries. “Family doesn’t make loyalty. That’s the harshest lesson I’ve ever been taught by my sister. Now, she’ll have to sit with her own corrupt morality until she dies alone in a jail cell.”
“We aren’t going anywhere until someone looks at that,” Marek demands, pointing at my neck.
I raise my hand, covering the spot my sister’s knife dug into my skin. “A physical scar is nothing after this.”
“Just please get it checked out.” Marek guides me out of the house, finding a paramedic to bandage up the cut. It’s superficial, at best.
The entire time the cut is cleaned and covered, Marek stands back, watching me as if he’s too afraid to look away for a single second. I know the feeling. When you think you’re about to lose someone, it’s almost impossible clear those memories from your mind and heart. The after effect and the fear sticks around much longer.
After giving our full account of the evening and the things we knew going into it, we’re told we can leave the scene. Unbeknownst to us, Officer Franklin has been on our side the entire time. He shakes Marek’s hand, apologizing for the hell they’ve put him through.
One by one, we form a line and watch every piece of shit linked to this disaster being yanked out of the house with handcuffs around their wrists. The physical representation may be what they deserve, but it’ll never be enough. There is no sadness for their lost freedom.
Red and blue lights flicker as far as the eye can see, a beautiful sight on the grounds of evil. Somehow, a sense of hope takes place in my mind and heart.
Mrs. Hawthorne walks up to us, uncertainty and fear in her eyes.
“Mom, what the hell was that?” Marek asks.
“They approached me, asking me to be an informant. At some point, I knew Henry would come for you, so for once, I did the right thing by you.” Her attention turns to me. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Marek’s mother.”
“I can’t do this right now.” Marek rolls his eyes. His mother doesn’t show any sign of discomfort or resentment.
For the first time, I suspect she will put her son first.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Mrs. Hawthorne turns to talk to an officer.
“Mom!” Marek shuffles to his mother. “Thank you for saving her.”
“I didn’t save her. You did, the moment you walked into that house. It was stupid, Marek, but sometimes stupid is necessary when it comes to those you love.” She nods once and disappears into the thick crowd of law enforcement.
“We should go,” Marek says as he comes to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“Let’s get you to your brother, okay?” I offer Dixon my hand, which he takes, while searching the area with panic filled eyes. “Reagan. She’s at the hospital.” His hand drops from mine as if the worry is too heavy. “I’m sure she’s fine, Dixon.”
“You need a ride?” Officer Franklin hollers. “I have a few more interviews, but I’m headed that way anyway.”
We pile into the car, silent with our own thoughts, until Officer Franklin interrupts them. “My name is Corey.” He looks at us in the rearview mirror. “I just thought we should be on a first name basis. I’ve worked this case since I’ve been on the force. My father before that. I wish he was alive to see it crumble at its core, but unfortunately he’s not.”
“How did you convince them you could be trusted?” Marek asks.
“By treating you like shit. The thing about career criminals is they aren’t that smart. They believe almost anything you say to them, if you have enough proof to back it up. My arresting you with zero evidence helped. Officer Striker introduced me first, not knowing my father’s undercover involvement before his death.”
“Officer Striker? He’s . . .” I can’t finish. It’s going to be a while before I trust the police.
Corey glances at me before turning into the hospital parking lot. “Going away for a long time, I’m happy to say. He may not have stolen, bought, or facilitated any of the transactions, but he helped cover it up.” He tips the bill of his hat at us, dropping us at the front entrance.
Inside, the E.R. waiting room is flooded with girls covered in blankets. Each of them have matching hurt and fear written on their faces. I make a point to look each of them in the eyes as we pass, reminding them they have value in this world.
A young blonde girl stands as I pass in front of her. “Palmer?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Kelly Hamilton.” Tears rush down her face, and I wrap her in a hug.
“You’re okay.” I run my hands down her matted hair, comf
orting her. “You’re okay, Kelly.”
“You saved us,” she whispers. “And I know how fucked up it is that your sister had to go down for the rest of us to make it out barely alive, but thank you.”
I hold her out at arm’s length. “You aren’t barely alive. You are alive.”
“Kelly!” a woman shouts, crossing the room and taking Kelly into her arms. Her mother. The one she’s so afraid of disappointing, that she put herself in harm’s way to save them from any sort of pain.
“Mrs. Hamilton?” I place a hand on her shoulder. “Your daughter, you should be proud of her.” I smile. “And, Kelly, don’t ever be afraid to be who you are.”
That’s something I’ll need to tell myself as we navigate this new reality.
Marek reaches out his hand, taking mine in his. We are escorted to the family waiting room where we wait to hear of any news on Byron. Marek tugs me onto his lap, cradling me in his arms, rubbing smooth strokes over my back.
“I told you I loved you,” he whispers.
“How did that make you feel?” I ask.
“Whole. A way I haven’t felt in a really long time.” I lift my head from his chest and smile. “This is such a mess. That isn’t how we’re supposed to do it. You deserve better.”
I cup his cheek and run my thumb over his soft skin. “Two fucked-up souls, remember?”
“Two fucked-up souls,” he repeats, placing his hand on my neck to lead my lips to his. The kiss is soft and real, something I’m growing to appreciate more and more.
It’s just like Marek to profess his love as I’m heading to my slaughter. Before, I wouldn’t have understood it, and I may have agreed that I deserve better. With everything that has happened between us, it feels right. A declaration before it’s too late. A promise in the darkest place.
“Dixon Decatur?” a doctor shouts. Dixon is fast asleep beside us, and I kick his leg to rouse him. When his eyes fly open, he sees the doctor waiting. They talk for several minutes before Dixon waves us over. “I’m sorry, but only family.”
“We are family,” I decree. Dixon’s features soften at my declaration.
The doctor shows he understands what I’m saying when he holds his keycard to the reader, gaining us access to a long hallway.
“He’s the third door on the left. He may still be a little sedated, but he’ll be awake soon,” the doctor explains.
The three of us walk down the hall, stopping at the ajar door. Dixon enters first, and Marek takes my hand, almost feeling my apprehension. The last time I was in a hospital, the very person I’m worried about had turned a knife on me.
The machines whirl and beep, a song I recognize. Dixon sits on the edge of the bed, watching his brother. I stand off to the side, unsure of my place. Our connection is deep rooted, but at any given moment, it can be severed. All we can do is wait.
“Hey.” Byron’s raspy voice startles Dixon. His head jerks up to check his brother, to make sure he heard what he’s positive he heard. “Don’t be like that. Don’t cry.”
“I thought I lost you,” Dixon mutters under his hiccup.
“I can’t be taken out that easy. You should know that by now. Plus, I have something I need to say to someone.” Byron waves his hand in the air, prompting Dixon to move out of his way.
I stand with my hands at my sides, unsure of what I’m supposed to do. Do I go to him? Do I stay where I’m at? I reach my hand out and grab Marek’s.
“You had us fooled, man,” Marek says. “We thought Reed had you.”
“I’ve spent the last few weeks alone. Do you know what seclusion will give you?” he says, looking directly at me. “It gives you clarity. I’ve been blinded by what I wanted to see, and unaware I wasn’t viewing things how they really are.”
“You didn’t have to take that bullet for me,” I say, inching forward.
“You’re right. I could have let you die, but then I’d have to watch the three most important people in my life watch as the life disappeared from your eyes. That isn’t something I was willing to do. You mean more to them than some of them are willing to admit.”
“What about you?” I shuffle a little closer, feeling my guard lower.
“What about me?” Byron coughs, grasping at his chest.
“What do I mean to you?”
“For the first time, I wanted to end up on the right side of things, Palmer.”
“So, you’re telling me you took the bullet for selfish reasons?”
“You can say that.” He laughs, regretting it and clutching at his stomach. Serves him right.
“Well, I think it’s safe to say, blood loss hasn’t changed you one bit.” I roll my eyes, exasperated by the fiber of who Byron Decatur is, yet completely accepting it.
“Did you expect it to?” He smirks.
The hospital room door swings open. Breaker walks in alone. I search behind him, but there’s no Delaney to be found.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“She needed some time alone. Her mom came to pick her up once they cleared her.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know when she’ll return.” The sadness in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. Whatever he saw tonight, whatever the two of them endured, it changed who they are.
“Can you guys give Byron and me a few minutes?” Marek asks. Everyone nods and empties out of the room. As I try to stay, Marek jerks his head at Breaker. “Keep an eye on her for me, will you?” He leans forward and kisses me. “We’ll head up to the house after I’m done, okay?”
Breaker, Dixon, and I wait in the hallway. I stretch my body closer to the door, trying to listen to whatever Marek needs to say to Byron.
“It’s not cool to eavesdrop,” Dixon says, smiling.
“Funny coming from the perverts with cameras all over their house.” My eyebrow rises, daring them to disagree with me.
“We should probably take those down anyway. At least the ones in the bedrooms,” Breaker says, twisting the ring on his finger.
“I’m keeping mine.” Dixon wiggles his eyebrows, amusement painted over his face.
“With her consent, Dixon.” I pierce him with my stare.
“With whose consent?” Dixon plays dumb.
“Don’t play coy with me. You know who I’m talking about.” I point at him as I push off the wall.
The door opens, and Marek steps out. “You ready to go?”
“Absolutely,” I say, taking his offered hand.
“I’m going to stay with my brother,” Dixon says, flicking his thumb over his shoulder.
“I’ll stay with you. You two can take the truck.” Breaker tosses the keys to Marek.
On the ride to the house, I can’t stop staring at the boy sitting next to me. The curve of his jaw, the bright blue of his eyes, and the long tendrils of hair on his forehead are some of the alluring things about Marek Hawthorne. To the outside looking in, I see confidence and wealth. Those things are blaringly obvious. The problem with the outside is that it makes it easy to ignore and dismiss the things on the inside. I saw the truth in a split second.
“What are you thinking about?” Marek glances at me before turning down the road.
“You’re broken. In our own way, we all are,” I whisper, afraid if I talk any louder, tears will follow. “When I look at you, I don’t see the things you’ve done to me, but the things you’ve done for me.”
“Seeing you, under your sister’s hand, completely silenced, I thought that was it.” He grabs my hand and lifts it to his mouth to press his lips against my skin. “I’m scared of who I’ll be with you.”
“I’m scared of who I’d be without you.” I laugh through a stream of happy tears. “You changed me, Marek Hawthorne. Fixed parts I didn’t know needed fixing.”
“I still feel broken, Palmer. Parts of me will always be cracked.” He flicks his eyes to me. “Are you prepared for that?”
“I told you that one of these days, I’d expose those cracks.” I intertwine our fingers, holding onto him for
dear life.“I wanted to use them to destroy you, and now, I want to sit with them and introduce them to my own.” I cover my mouth, overwhelmed by who I’m supposed to be, and who I’m finally going to be through this chaos.
Marek parks the truck in the driveway and jumps out, circling the front to yank open my door. His hands wrap around my waist, hoisting me into his arms. The back of my legs hit the metal of the hood.
With a tenderness he reserves for me, Marek tucks my hair behind my ears. “We’re going to survive our trauma. I promise you that, and that alone.”
“Dance with me.” I slink down off the hood, open the door, and turn up the radio.
“I don’t dance, Palmer.”
“Then just hold me until it stops hurting.” The anxiety and fear of the night starts to show its ugly, bitter face. I force a smile and rock in place, hoping to make the darkness stop encroaching in on us.
“I’ll stop the world for as long as you need, Palmer.”
Marek wraps his arms around me, holding me tight to his chest, allowing me to fall apart.
Allowing me to be who I am.
A broken girl loved by a broken boy.
Epilogue
Marek
The truth.
It’s hard to come by. It’s even more difficult to accept.
Mine is grinning at me from across the table.
Her hair is wild because, unbeknownst to our guests that surround us, I fucked her on this very table before they arrived.
Palmer pokes the tip of her tongue out of her mouth, as if she knows where my thoughts have flown off to, and nibbles on the sensitive skin. An amused laugh surfaces from my mouth, and I have to stop myself from kicking every last one of them out of this house before we even begin to celebrate.
“Sorry, I’m late,” my mom announces, breaking me away from Palmer. She holds a casserole dish in her hands, searching for a place to put it. Byron swoops in to take it from her.
