Page 4 of Passion Restored

At the sound of a shout, he turned, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Lights filled his vision, and he took a staggering step back, throwing his hands up to shield his face.

The sound of an engine filled his ears, and he only had a moment to realize what it was he saw until he couldn’t see anything else. The truck—it had to be a truck with the size of those lights—clipped him in the side, and Owen flew.

He felt weightless and yet too heavy all at the same time.

His body went numb before it felt as if he’d caught on fire.

He hit the pavement hard enough to crack bones—maybe a few ribs—and he tried to scream, only he couldn’t get enough air. His body skidded across the parking lot for far too long, his head scraping the gravel along the way.

Then he stopped.

His body shaking.

His mind whirling.

And yet he couldn’t focus.

Couldn’t see.

Couldn’t breathe.

The sound of tires burning rubber as they skidded away made him want to wince, but he couldn’t pull his arms up to cover his face. Rapid footsteps sounded as someone came near and others shouted for help.

But Owen didn’t do anything.

He couldn’t.

When he finally opened his eyes and saw Murphy above him, his brother’s eyes wide, tears running down his pale cheeks, the streetlight hovering above him like a halo, Owen figured this might be the end.

Because no Gallagher looked like an angel, not even his baby brother.

Owen tried to reach out, to say something.

But the darkness came, and then there was nothing.

Nothing.

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