Page 33 of Second Shot

“Love you, man.” His breath comes out in a wheeze. “Take care of Brynne forme.”

“Don’t fucking put that shit on me. You’re going to be fine. Tell me what you took. I’m hanging up. Calling anambulance-”

“She’s always cared about you. And I know…” He sounds so fucking tired, like every word is strained. “I know you love her. It’s bullshit you never did anything aboutit.”

“I’m hanging up now. I’ll be theresoon.”

As soon as I end the call, I dial911.

I’m not a religious person, never have been. But I pray to any God who’ll listen to make me get to him ontime.

The elevator in his shitty apartment is out of order. I take the stairs two at a time until I reach the seventhfloor.

I bang on the door. “Sam, openup.”

Noanswer.

Fear stranglesme.

“Open the fuckingdoor.”

When he doesn’t respond, I step back and slam my heel against the door. The old wood splinters slightly, but doesn’t budge. I kick four more times before the old hinges givein.

Sam’s lying on the couch, face pale, eyes closed, the needle still stuck in his fuckingarm.

I scramble over the fragmented door, bile burning mythroat.

Grabbing his shoulders, I shake him hard. His eyes stayclosed.

“Come on, asshole. Don’t pull this shit on me.” I hold his face in my hands and yell at him. His skin is cool, the sockets of his eyes so sunken they look black, and his lips are a disturbing shade ofpurple.

No. No.No.

“You’re dying on me, fucker.” I slap him hard. “Wakeup.”

Still, nothing. Where the hell are the paramedics? They should be here bynow.

What do Ido?

Check if he’s breathing.The thought slams into my skull, breaking something inside me. Because I already know thetruth.

He’sgone.

I place two fingers on his neck, pressing down, praying for even the faintestpulse.

Nothing.

“Damn you, Sam,” I cry, trying to remember the basic CPR training I’d received. I press my palm into his chest and press over and over again.One. Two. Three.Four…

I tilt his chin back, opening his mouth, andbreathe.

“Come on.” I start compressionsagain.

I don’t know how much time goes by. Seconds. Minutes.Hours.

There’s a commotion behind me. People coming out of their apartments, whispering, watching, but no one comes tohelp.

“Sir, you can step back now,” someone says, as another person takes over mycompressions.

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