Page 91 of Fate

Chase.

No! I shake my head, close my eyes, and pray Chase won’t do anything stupid. I should have known better. His gaze goes to Misty’s hand holding the gun, and he walks up silently behindher.

Please no. God, don’t. Don’t.

My heart stops beating as I watch him get closer to her back. The room is dead silent. I can’t even hear Cora screaming anymore. Misty’s eyes flick to me and then to the picture hanging over the bed. I follow her line of sight and see reflected in the glass with sickening clarity Chase creeping up behind her. Her eyes widen, and she turns around as fast as a spinning top, the arm holding the gun rising instantly.

Chase lunges at her, grabbing the gun with his hand. The sickening sound of a gunshot blast reverberates through the room. Chase’s body jerks once, but he shoves Misty back, his hand now holding the gun. Misty falls to the bed as Chase stumbles back, blood spreading on his white dress shirt. He falls to his knees, the hand not holding the gun clutching at his belly. In a nanosecond, he lifts the gun just as Misty finds her footing and stands. Her face is maniacal and she snarls, screaming out while pushing forward and lunging for thegun.

Chase squeezes the trigger once, catching Misty in the chest, and then fires a second time, the shot entering directly over Misty’s heart. Her body jolts and falls back to the bed, eyes open and lifeless.

I dash over to Chase as he falls to his back. The bloodstain on his shirt is bigger than a dinner plate already and pouring out from his abdomen. His body jerks as he coughs. I rush to his side and fall to my knees, using both my hands to put pressure on his wound. It’s the hardest I’ve ever pushed my injured hand. Still, blood is oozing over my fingers, warm and slick.

“Chase, Chase, honey stay with me. Please, please, stay with me.” Tears spill over my cheeks. “We need help. Hold on, please!”

He looks at me, his eyes filled with agony. “Gillian, the kids…” He gasps and winces. “My reason.”

“Yes, Chase. Gillian and the kids, they’re your reason for living, so live! Don’t give up! Don’t give up!” I’m yelling and pressing harder on his wound. “I need to get you help!” I scream to the empty room, thinking I need to get to my phone. Call someone. Anybody.

That’s when Carson runs into the room. “What’s going on?” He drops the bag he’s holding. “Oh my God! Kathleen! Fuck, Chase!” He falls to his knees by my side. “Are you okay? The baby?” His voice is stern and assessing.

“Fine, fine. We’re fine, Chase. Call the police. Now! He’s been shot in the stomach.”

Cora is still screaming in the otherroom.

Carson runs to the phone, calls it in, and before long sirens are blaring. Time seems to stretch, ebbing and flowing wildly. Carson has Cora in his arms just down the hall, not where she can see her mother dead or Chase on the floor bleeding out. When the paramedics finally arrive, Chase is unconscious and barely breathing.

“Back away, ma’am. Let us do ourjob.”

“I can’t let go. He’ll bleed to death.”

“Ma’am, we’ve got this.” A big paramedic grips me around the biceps and physically pulls me off. “We’ve got him. Let us help him.” He sets me aside and goes to work. The scene as they work on him floats through my conscious mind as if in a dream.

Finally, they are on the move, and I follow them to the ambulance, blood coating my pajamas, arms, and hands.

“Kat…” Carson says, broken. “Baby…”

“I’ve got to go with them,” I say, swiftly slipping into my flip flops at the door as they maneuver through the entry.

“Sorry, ma’am. Against protocol for a GSW. You’ll have to meet us at the hospital.” The paramedic jumps into the back of the ambulance and slams the door so fast a gust of air hitsme.

Carson puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “The cops need your statement, and you need to change before we go to the hospital,” he says while looking down at my blood-soaked clothes.

That’s when I start to shake. A small tremble in each limb turns into a full-body shudder. My stomach twist and turns until vomit roars up my throat. I rush to the nearest bush and empty the contents in several body-racking heaves. A female cop holds my hair back and soothes a hand down my back as Carson stands helplessly to the side, calling out kind words while holding Cora tight.

This is pathetic! I lock my fear and anguish down. I need to be present for Chase. He saved my life, my baby’s life. I owe him everything. I’ll keep it together until I know he’s going to live. I wipe away the tears and the moisture coating my mouth and vow not to lose it again. I’ll be strong for him, for all ofthem.

That’s when I start topray.

The only soundin the room is the ticking of the clock, a low murmur from outside in the hospital corridor, and my sniffles. I grip his hand as tight as I can with my gnarled one, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. He always comments on how the strength in my hand is getting better, patting the top of it while gifting me with a tiny curl of his lips. Right now, nothing. Just me and him. I’m not sure where Gigi ran off to. I expect she’s resting, since they finally kicked her seven-month-pregnant ass out. After four nights of touch and go, she and the baby need it. Hell, we alldo.

Only, I can’t sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Chase falling to his knees, blood pooling red on his stark-white dress shirt, his eyes widening and his lips firming while one of his arms comes up, the track lighting glinting off the gun. One shot, then two, right into Misty’s chest. Then he falls back, his mouth opening in a silent scream, but nothing comesout.

Then I wake up. Every night. I slip out of Carson’s warm arms—we’re sleeping in the guest room for now—being as quiet as possible. I change into yoga pants and a sweatshirt and come here. To the hospital. I need to make sure Chase is alive. That he’s still breathing.

When he breathes, I breathe. Usually it’s just me watching through the blinds outside of his ICU room as Gillian and Chase sleep. Tonight though, she’s gone. So I’ve slipped in to sit by hisside.

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