Page 97 of What I Should Have Known

“What was that?”

Grinning to myself, I leaned back and let the rain pelt my face.

A weight lifted, even if momentarily. At least at this moment as I raced toward the unknown with Kat, hoping and begging whatever fate held my twisted string of life in their hands that she was okay, something felt a little lighter.

For half a second, before reality set in, before Wyatt shot Kat, I’d held the world in my palms.

Chapter 31

KAT

Adull thump beat at the back of my head in tune with the rhythmic beeping of the machine next to me. Gradually, the world resumed. The mattress was a stiff board beneath my hip. Everything in my body groaned, begging to have me stretch, and I rolled my neck.

“Bernie?” I muttered, prying my eyes open as if they’d been glued shut.

The musty smell of the hospital crashed into my senses, and I took in the sight around me. There was nothing special about this room. Plain, white walls with a light, beige hardwood flooring brought some brightness into the room. But it was the man pacing back and forth to my right that had me immediately clamping my mouth closed.

Wyatt.

The very man who shot me chewed on a nail as his eyes remained wide, and he stared at the floor in front of him—clearly unaware I was awake. His clothes were clinging stiffly to him, mostly dry from the torrential rainfall I’d been in what seemed just a moment ago.

But the person I wanted to see wasn’t here. And just as I was about to let hope flutter into my heart that he was simply out with the receptionist or somewhere else in the hospital, it dawned on me that Bernie would never let Wyatt in this room if he was actually here.

Which led me to my second conclusion that Wyatt had told the doctors and nurses or whoever was in charge that it wasn’t him who shot me. The panic he now clearly was feeling, I assumed was in anticipation for when I woke up and didn’t collaborate his story.

Except Bernie was still missing. Pinching my brows together, I remained still on the bed and ignored the desire to touch the thick bandage on my left arm. Through the dull pounding in the back of my skull, I wondered why he wasn’t here. He would’ve come for me. I had no doubt that he—

My eyes widened as the door shot open.

Glancing over my shoulder, I barely had time to register the fury that stormed in through the frame. Bernie raced like a madman directly at Wyatt who froze in place. He threw his hands in front of him just as Bernie barreled into him.

A grunt crashed out of Wyatt’s lungs as Bernie slammed him to the floor. With one hand around Wyatt’s throat, Bernie dug his knee into his chest, imprinting his clothes with the mud that still caked Bernie’s clothes.

“How fucking dare you,” Bernie snarled.

Wyatt swung a lazy fist at Bernie while clawing at the chokehold around his neck. Bernie simply caught the punch and shoved his hand back down to the floor.

“You shot her,” he hissed again.

The rational side of me told me to stop them. But the side of me that was angry won the battle—I remained silent.

Wyatt gurgled, thrashing against the tight hold Bernie had on him. A sheet of red filled Wyatt’s face as his eyes widened. Each gasp pulled strained breaths of very little oxygen as he fought to free himself from the slowly encroaching death.

Despite Bernie’s aggressive words, everything else in his body remained oddly calm. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip around Wyatt’s throat.

“How fucking dare you,” he hissed again, leaning a bit closer to the man whose flailing had slowed.

“Bernie, stop!” Ford’s voice seared through the heightening darkness encroaching this room.

I glanced at the still open doorway again, and in rushed Bernie’s best friend, followed by four police officers.

With a thud, the massive man tackled Bernie, ripping him off Wyatt. I heard a sharp inhale as two cops cut my view off from Wyatt on the ground, and the other two rushed over toward where Ford now held Bernie pinned to the Wall.

“IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE YOU!” Wyatt shouted, shoving against the one officer who stretched forward a hand to help him up. Stumbling to his feet, he bumped into the other cop who grabbed one wrist and twisted it behind Wyatt’s back.

“I know,” Bernie seethed over Ford’s shoulder.

“I would never shoot Kat! It was supposed to be you! You’re supposed to be dead! You ruined everything!” Wyatt spat a wad of snot toward Bernie as the officer tugged his other hand behind his back.

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