Page 29 of You're To Blame 2

“Nope, I’m walking out of here.” He turned the Glock on Matt.

“No,” I roared, tackling him to the ground. The Glock fired.

We rolled on the floor, gripping the gun. “Let it go. You aren’t walking out of here a free man. You are going to prison.” I growled, trying to pry the gun from his hands. I turned the gun away from me, pointing it at him. I tried to remove his hand. The gun fired. His eyes widened. I glared between us. The crimson blood, pooled on his shirt.

“Why did you have to do this?” I roared. My heartbeat against my chest at top speed. The air caught in my throat.What have I done?

The life seeped from his eyes and his lips parted.

I fell to the side gripping my hair. “This didn’t have to happen. I never wanted this,” I shouted.

A hand stretched toward me. My mouth hung open. “You’re alive.”

“Quick reflexes.”

He pulled me to my feet. “I’m so happy you’re alive.” I threw my arms around him, slapping his back. He returned the hug.

“Tate, this wasn’t your fault.”

I leaned against the desk.

“Feels like it was.”

“If you wanted to truly harm him, you could have. The Glock resting against the small of your back is the only one loaded with real bullets. Thank God you didn’t draw your weapon.”

“But he did. On his own grandson.” I gruffly ran my fingers through my hair.

“Tate,” Chelsea stood at the door mouth gaped in tears.

I ran toward her. She fell into my chest.

Her watery blue eyes bore into mine. “What happened?”

“We tussled over the gun and I shot him.”

“Tate, the police are on their way inside,” Chris stated.

“We have a long night ahead of us. I won’t leave your side while they question you. Before they get in here, let’s talk in private. I need to know exactly what happened.”

I nodded.

Chelsea stepped back.

“Tate, baby.” Mom gripped my face. “I love you. We’ll get through this ordeal as a family.”

A hand slipped around my neck. “All of us together, son.”

Christmas day was a blur. I went through every stage of grief while I was detained by the police.

I was shocked the grandfather I knew and loved tried to murder me. Denial hit me. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Especially, at my hand. The pain and guilt ate at me second after second. Maybe if I never flew to London, this wouldn’t have happened to me and Chelsea. Pounding my fists against the cement walls, I begged. “Please make the pain stop.”

Depression wrapped me in its mitts. I wanted someone to put me out of my misery. If we wouldn’t have followed Mason up the hill at the lake house, grandfather wouldn’t have ever helped him seek revenge.

Then my emotions took an upward turn. If grandfather hadn’t come to the hospital that day my brother would really be dead.

Chris approached the holding area. “Time to go, Tate. The police have concluded the part of the investigation that involves you.”

He was a disheveled mess. His tie was undone and one half of his shirt was tucked into his slacks.

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