Sparrow(85)

I was so tired of being strong. Being taken care of, even by him, was a concession I was glad to make.

“Sorry, Red.” He picked up Brock’s gun with a handkerchief and walked to where Brock had been standing before the bullet hit him. “I promise I won’t even graze your ear.”

Then he shot me.

Troy Brennan, my husband, shot me.

He missed my ear by an inch, but I still felt the heat radiating from the bullet as it flew next to me. The scent of gunpowder burned my nostrils, and my eyes rolled back in their sockets.

I lost it for a moment, barely noticing Troy’s arms closing around me. The next thing I knew he was picking me up. He carried me like an altar boy, and I was his cross. Swinging my arms over his neck, hugging me tight like I could evaporate at any moment.

I clung to my mother’s white sheet and sobbed. I don’t think he noticed the sheet. I’m not even sure that I noticed what I was doing at this point. So much had happened so fast, it was almost like I was an outsider peeking into a reality that wasn’t really mine.

A second person ran through the trees in our direction. A small man with utilitarian clothes and sharp nose. A cop. He hurried toward Brock’s body and felt for a pulse.

I was still woozy and incoherent, but I noticed Brock’s gun was back in his hand.

My husband, ever the fixer.

“You shot him?” he roared at Troy.

Troy’s arms tightened around my body protectively. It started to hurt. So did my forehead and foot. Everything hurt. Everything felt broken. Especially my heart.

“Self defense,” Troy said, and I felt him through my shoulder pointing his chin at Brock. “He shot my wife, missed only by a few inches, and he was going to try again.”

Not true. Brock never did any such thing. Troy was the one who shot him, and Troy was the one who used Brock’s gun. Of course, I didn’t utter a word to the cop. I let Troy carry me to a black SUV I didn’t recognize, my arms flailing like they were no longer part of my body. I released my hold on the sheet, but he bent down, picked it up and flung it over his shoulder. He knew I knew, and somehow, that made me even sadder.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Red.” He kept on repeating it, more to himself than to me.

“I know everything,” I whispered into his chest. “How could you have done that to my mom? How could they have done this to us?”

His muscles tensed around my body. Chest, biceps and even his fingers stiffened.

“Sparrow—”

I fainted the second he placed me on the seat, and for the first time since everything happened, I truly didn’t give a damn if I woke up or not. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Nothing.

I didn’t come to until I was at the hospital, and even then, everything was a blur. The first few minutes, I thought I was still in the woods, still with Brock, or even worse, dead. Then I felt the needle in my wrist and the scent of antiseptic and anesthetics attacked my nose. Blinking slowly, trying to gain some control over my vision, I saw a hazy figure sitting by my bed. I realized it was Pops, his head between his hands. His body shook, and I figured he was crying.

Lucy perched on the window sill, looking out, but mostly looking worried.

Daisy was digging dirt from under her fingernail absently, leaning against the wall, popping pink bubblegum.

I found comfort in the simplicity of everything around me. The walls were naked and everything was white or pale. The linoleum on the floor, basic furniture, blind-covered windows. It was boring, it was bare, and I loved it. My current self couldn’t handle detail, or stomach anything more complex than what was in front of me.

And most importantly, I was surrounded by the three, only important people in my life.

My husband was no longer a part of this short list. Not after what he did.

Pops and Lucy must’ve heard me gasping when I tried to move my foot—unsuccessfully, by the way—because Lucy jumped from where she was sitting and appeared by my bed.

“I’m sorry, honey. You broke your foot.”

“Actually, Brock broke it for me.” I winced, but stopped trying to move my leg. It was so sore, no amount of morphine in the world would be able to subdue the pain.

By the looks on their faces, they were confused and still in the dark. I wondered how much they knew.

“Where’s Troy?” I licked inside my mouth, trying to fight the dryness.

Lucy and Daisy exchanged glances, and I didn’t like what was written on their faces. It pained me to admit that even though Troy did unthinkable things to a lot of people, the woman who gave birth to me included, I still cared about him. Still didn’t want him to get into trouble. Even if I couldn’t be with him, that didn’t make him any less important.

If anything, it made me worry for him even more. The cancer has successfully taken over my whole body. I was infected head to toe. Resistant to any medicine, immune to anything he might do. In fact, I knew that even if the bullet he shot at me pierced my skin, I would still love him. Very much. It sucked, because I knew that I couldn’t forgive him.

It also sucked to know he might be a free man, but he wasn’t in the room, because he didn’t want me anymore.

Pops was the one to break the news, since Lucy and Daisy were too empathetic to do such thing.

“He’s at the police station,” he said, unblinking. “Giving his statement about what happened.”