Page 94 of Shameless in Vegas

Joaquin is only a step behind me, but he quickly shoulders his way in front of me and pushes his sisters, father, and Celia out of the way, and the full scene comes into view like a gut-punch that sucks all the oxygen out of my lungs.

“Baby… baby… baby, look at me.” Colin’s voice is shallow, desperate, and terrified, but also feigning steadiness, albeit by a thin, fraying thread.

Joaquin strips off his shirt as he drops to his knees next to them, wadding it up and pressing it against Elle’s blood-soaked white dress. In the two seconds before he did, the damage was clear. At least three of the shots I heard left Elle with a shredded, bloody torso.

Still framing Elle’s face with his shaking hands, Colin snaps his head up, flicking his wide, blue eyes around wildly. “Where is Audrey?”

“She’s with Mamá,” Joaquin says steadily, using both hands to firmly press his shirt against Elle’s middle. “Mal’s guys are with them. She’s safe.”

Celia is frantically wringing her hands, pacing and whimpering what sounds like prayers. Isla is on her phone, shouting in Spanish at the emergency services. Ernesto is on his phone as well, also barking in Spanish, while he frantically whips his head around in all directions. Lili is as still as a stone statue and almost as pale.

“Fuck,” Colin wheezes, gripping Elle’s motionless face so tightly that his fingertips appear to be leaving red marks on her now-pallid cheeks. “Elle… baby, open your eyes. Look at me, Elle. Open your eyes, honey. Just open your eyes. Please open your eyes, baby. Do it for me. Do it for Audrey.” He releases one side of her face long enough to slam his fist against the sand. “Fuck. Elle,look at me, God dammit!”

But she doesn’t.

Approaching sirens drift on the sea breeze, and Joaquin is still pressing his shirt against Elle’s middle. It’s now soaked, and he clenches his jaw, closing his eyes briefly before cutting a panicked, red-rimmed glance at Colin.

A sob explodes from Celia’s lips as she drops to the sand, landing hard on her ample behind and dropping her face into her hands. “Lord Jesus, where are you right now?”

“Elle.” Colin’s voice is quieter and more fragile. “Baby… try for me. Fight for me. Fight for our baby girl. She’s gonna need her mama, so I need you to open your eyes.”

But she still doesn’t.

The handsome face of this typically carefree, confident, and kind man is so fearful and broken that I have to look away from him. My eyes drift on their own accord past Celia, Ernesto, and Isla, and they land on Lili, who is a step or two away from the harrowing scene, and some part of me… probably the part of me that is still fighting the sinister cynicism about the inherent nature of people… but some part of me doesn’t like the look I see on her face.

Lili’s not even looking at Elle.

She’s looking at Colin.

And the longer I stare at her while she stares at him, I think of every single conversation I’ve had with her, and how essentially all of them were about how much she wantshim.

And maybe it’s just that sinister cynicism, but I don’t like the look on her face.

Because it doesn’t look likefear.

It looks like hope.

And given the fact that Lili carries the blood ofmafiososin her veins, it suddenly makes me wonder exactly what kind of woman my sister-in-law really is.

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