Saving Rain(115)

“Or maybe it's just that I'm not a coward.” I tipped my head, staring into the frozen abyss of his eyes, coal black in the night. “Is that what you are, Seth? Are you such a pussy coward that you'd rather stand over there and shoot me than look me directly in the eyes when you take my life? 'Cause I dunno, man. I think, personally, I'd rather wrap my hands around your goddamn neck and stare at you until you couldn't look back.”

It was a risk to talk to a man holding a gun that way, especially when that man had shown up at our door with nothing but murder on his mind. I knew I was playing with fire, but I had to buy time. That was all I was doing, just buying us some more time until the cops got here. Then, they'd haul him off to lock him away for a long time, and we could finally be free to go on with our lives without wondering if the bogeyman was lurking around every corner.

Maybe we could get married.

Maybe we could have another kid.

Maybe, one day, we could even have enough money to buy a place in River Canyon's historic neighborhood. One of those pretty, old houses with a white picket fence and a big yard. Plenty of room for a dog, a swing set, and gardening.

Those were nice thoughts. But they were nothing but the pipe dreams of a man wishing desperately he had the time left to make them happen.

The dare was enough to make Seth's jaw clench as he took the remaining steps to close the distance between us. I swung hard but too low, catching him in the arm and setting my injured leg off-balance. It knocked him back a couple of steps as he hissed through the pain, but he didn’t waver.

“All right, asshole,” he said through gritted teeth as I tried to steady myself and hoist the bat up high again, “how’s this for being a coward?”

And before I could think, before I could react, before I could imagine another perfect scenario in a perfect life I'd never have, his cold, dead eyes met mine as he charged forward, pressed the open barrel of the gun to my abdomen, and fired.

The next few minutes felt surreal as the rain pummeled against the roof and the bat slipped from my hand to the floor.

I gasped for air and pressed my hands to my gut, aware that he had shot me. Aware that I was bleeding as gushing warmth seeped through my shirt and between my fingers. Aware that my breath was leaving my lungs now in short, shallow bursts … yet I felt nothing.

Seth stared into my eyes as I reached a hand out, grappling for his shirt. Trying to hold on until I couldn't stand any longer.

“Now, I'm just gonna wait right here,” he sneered, keeping his gaze pinned to mine as my knees buckled, “and I'm gonna stare into your fucking eyes until you're no longer looking back.”

Somewhere in the distance were sirens—a whole chorus of them—and I coughed, the taste of copper heavy in my mouth.

Then, I smiled.

Good job, buddy.

“The fuck are you smiling about?” Seth growled, clenching my shirt in his tightened grasp.

“Be-because …” I wheezed, lying there on the floor and wishing so badly I could trade places with the man looking down at me. “I won.”

He cocked his head, fury raging in his eyes. “How the fuck do you figure?”

I thought of Rain. I thought of Noah.

I thought of the short amount of time we had shared together. The happiness I had experienced. The freedom I’d had the chance to know. The love and the family.

And I thought about how they'd get to go on with their lives without ever having to be afraid of this man again.

“Because th-they're still here.”





CHAPTER THIRTY





RAIN



Growing up, I’d found it impossible to not notice Soldier Mason.

He wasn’t popular in the way a celebrity worked their way up the social ladder until every household in America knew their name. In fact, he wasn’t particularly popular at all, especially within the crowd drawn to The Pit.

Soldier was known by simply existing.

He was kind. He was startlingly attractive as a kid and undoubtedly gorgeous as he ventured into adulthood. He was generous. He was helpful with an unrelenting hero complex. And each one of these characteristics had lent itself to an existence that touched every single person who ever came in contact with him.

So, yeah, it was impossible to not notice him, and I’d never forget the first time he’d noticed me.



It was a mundane Wednesday, and I was grocery shopping with my mom after school. I was a kid, only twelve or so, unable to reach a bottle of extra virgin olive oil from the top shelf. I grew exceedingly frustrated with every attempt to reach that last bottle, shoved all the way to the back, and I was afraid I’d have to return to my mom empty-handed—until the impossibly tall boy reached over my head and grabbed it without breaking a sweat.

“Here,” he said, lowering it down in front of my eyes.

I glanced over my shoulder, mouth open like one of the goldfish Stormy had won at the carnival a few months back.

“Thank you,” I whispered, surprised I’d been able to find my voice at all—he was so good-looking.

And, oh my God, was he ever. His face looked like it belonged in one of my teen magazines, right alongside the other pubescent heartthrobs of our time, with his wavy, dark hair, enviable bone structure, and honey-colored eyes. And he stood taller than even my dad, who I had previously been convinced was the tallest and strongest man I’d ever known, but there, in aisle eleven, I wasn’t so sure anymore.