Page 152 of Catch the Sun

I don’t even remember heaving myself through their front door. I don’t remember how I got there, shaking and screaming in their living room, staring down a blood-soaked body, unable to tell who is sprawled out at my feet.

Max, the love of my life.

Or McKay.

I can’t remember what he was wearing. I can’t remember anything.

I hardly notice Jonah standing there, his chest heaving, pistol aimed at the man writhing on the floor. The man with blood spurting from a gaping chest wound. Puddles of red pool beneath him. My screams are echoes, unable to penetrate the terror, the despair, the shock, as I drop to my knees beside him and press both palms over the hole in his chest.

I look up when another figure appears.

And that, I know, I will always remember.

I’ll never forget the look on his face when he comes to a dead stop, letting out a howl of pain when he finds his brother bleeding out on the living room floor.

Chapter 36

Max

Fifteen minutes earlier

I toss my backpack to the partially tiled floor and kick off my wet shoes.

McKay is seated on the couch, slumped over, his face in his hands. “Hey,” I greet, pausing to study him. “Everything okay?”

His head lifts slowly. Nodding, my brother rests his chin on his clasped hands, his eyes bloodshot. “Yeah. How’s Dad?”

“Doing better. They’re keeping him one more night for observation.”

Dad had another night terror and fell and hit his head on the nightstand. Mild concussion. Four stitches. And a long, sleepless night in the ER before I dragged myself to school for a half day, hardly able to keep my eyes open.

I’m exhausted. Worn down and done.

I miss Ella.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I move into the kitchen to pour a glass of milk, then send her a quick text after chugging the whole thing.

Me:Sorry I didn’t come over last night. I was at the hospital with Dad…long story. I have a new list for you. I know it’s been a while. See you tonight. ??

I backspace the heart emoji three times before saying, “Fuck it,” keeping it, and tapping Send.

When I glance into the living room, McKay is slumped over again, rocking forward and back on the sofa cushion. I frown. “You sure you’re okay?” I ask, setting down my empty glass of milk.

He looks sweaty, agitated, and paler than I’ve ever seen him.

“Stomach bug,” he mumbles into his hands. “I’ll be fine.”

McKay offered to take Dad to the hospital last night, but I knew his big biology project was due today, so I volunteered to go solo. My brother was going to catch a ride to school with a buddy. “How did your project go?”

He blows out a breath and tents his hands over his face. “I called in because I feel like shit.”

My arms cross. “You look like shit.”

He makes a humming sound, then pauses. “You ever do something you regret?”

The subject change has me freezing, blinking slowly, and stepping forward. “What do you mean?”

“I said what I mean,” he says, tapping both feet in opposite time as he stares out the front window. “Regret. It’s the worst feeling in the world. It’s like this knife in your gut that twists and twists, and you want someone to pull it out, but you don’t know if that’ll only make it worse. Either way, you bleed. Either way, you suffer. Either way…you’ve been stabbed. And you can’t be unstabbed.”

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