Page 119 of Versions Of Us

Mackenzie doesn’t answer right away. Her door is slightly ajar, so I walk over and push it open the rest of the way. “Mackenzie?”

Her bed is empty but unmade. She must have gone out earlier while Henley and I were otherwise occupied. Sometimes she likes to go out for a morning jog, so I assume that’s what she’s doing. That, or she’s already sitting at a table at the Haven waiting for me.

The air is crisp when I step out on to the street, but the sun shines low in a clear, blue sky. There isn’t a cloud in sight. I never thought I’d be this happy again and although I know there’s a long road ahead for us, I’ve chosen to remain positive about the future. I breathe in, never more ready to take on the day.

I want to believe that our darkest days are behind us, but my optimism is challenged when I round the corner onto the esplanade and the tavern comes into view.

You can be anywhere when your world caves in. When it’s changed forever in an instant. Your darkest moment could come in the brightest of places, a brilliant summer’s day underneath the bluest of skies.

You could be strolling down your favourite street in a town you’ve always called home. A town that becomes suddenly transformed into the foreign, most dangerous of places.

In one moment, you could be daydreaming about your one true love and in the next wishing with all of your heart that you held them closer. And that moment will take your breath away.

At least that’s how it happened for me.

My vision blurs with flashes of red and blue and I know, with that sinking feeling churning in my gut, that nothing will ever be the same again.

The energy is abruptly sucked from me, my heart jackhammering against my ribs. Dylan stands on the corner outside Steve’s Tavern, his hands cupped over his mouth as he paces back and forth. Even from here I can see the way his chest expands and contracts with every laboured breath.

My feet are frozen in place on the pavement, shock setting in as paramedics emerge from the tavern’s doors pushing a stretcher bearing the weight of a lifeless body.

Suddenly I’m triggered, my feet awakening. I’m running now, faster than I thought I knew how to. I don’t need to see the tattooed arm hanging limp from the side of the stretcher to know it’s him. His skin normally tanned a golden brown is pale and grey, his white t-shirt now stained red in patches as a medic holds gauze to his side.

The air is gone from my lungs, and it takes me a second to regain my voice. “Henley!” I scream.

I’ve almost reached the ambulance when strong hands pull me back. “Kristen, let them do their job.”

“Dylan, what the fuck is happening?” I cry. Dylan holds me close as more police cars screech around the corner. “Is he going to be okay?”

Dylan is silent.

“Dylan, he’ll be okay. Right?” I wait for him to comfort me, to reassure me that everything is fine. Or better yet, wake me up from this nightmare. But when my eyes meet his, they only mirror the terror I know are in mine. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” I lash out at him, my right-hand curling into a fist. I grit my teeth and hit him in the chest. “Dylan!”

Our eyes dart back and forth from each other to the ambulance as its doors swing shut and Henley is taken away, sirens blaring through the otherwise quiet street.

“I’m so sorry, Kristen,” Dylan chokes, his breath ragged.

“What happened?” I demand.

Dylan’s face is pale with shock. “He was unconscious when I got here. I found him behind the bar. He’d been stabbed.”

I shake my head in denial. “That doesn’t make any sense. Who would want to hurt Henley? No. It’s impossible.”

The name Ethan Davis comes to mind as I say the words out loud.

“Kristen.” Dylan swallows the lump in his throat as his eyes fill with tears. “I saw him.”

“He’s going to be okay though.” There’s no question in my tone. “They’ll fix him.”

Dylan squeezes his eyes shut and turns away from me, his hand coming up to his forehead.

“Right?” I ask.He has to be okay.

He turns back to me, pain in his expression. “He lost a lot of blood, Kristen,” he croaks.

“No,” I say, stricken with panic. “He’s going to be fine. I need to go to him. Where are they taking him?”

A police officer steps toward us and I become aware of the scene unfolding behind us. Several forensic investigators file into the tavern, armed with bags of equipment, another closing off its entry with police tape.

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