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For a moment there, I thought he did, too.
“I’m so sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry for Ian and for making you go through that. I’m sorry—”
“Shut the fuck up,” he rasps and then he’s crushing his lips against mine and now, my head is definitely spinning.
Mason kisses me like it’s the first time. The last time. The only time. And he doesn’t stop until I’m sure my heart is either going to beat out of my chest or my lungs will collapse.
“I’m so fucking in love with you,” he grits against my lips. “But if you ever do something that fucking selfless and stupid again, I’ll tie you to our bed until we’re old and gray.”
I press feverish kisses to his lips in between each word.
“Never again,” I promise and this time, I mean it. “You and me?”
“Fucking always. You and me, baby.”
And then . . . like most things, all good things must come to an end.
A shot from somewhere up high rings out in the air and Mason’s face is suddenly covered in red spots. I panic, the surge of adrenaline rushing through me rendering me speechless as his eyes go wide.
And then everything erupts in blinding pain.
I sputter and Mason screams something, but I can’t hear him.
Did I . . . Did I just get shot?
I don’t know how it happens, just that I’m on my back on the dirty floor again, staring up at the prism-colored ceiling of broken stained glass before Mason’s looming over me.
I take in his face because this really might be the last time I see him. I can’t feel the spot where I was shot. Just pain. It engulfs my body in burning lava as if I swallowed the core of the earth.
“Hannah, don’t fucking close your eyes!” I hear Mason bellow, but I’m so fucking tired and I really, really need a nap now.
Someone else screams something as my hearing fades in and out, but it’s Mason’s voice that I cling to.
“I swear to fucking God, Hannah. Don’t you fucking die on me.”
I don’t want to, but . . . I also don’t know if I have a choice.
Because again, bad things happen in threes.
Mason
Idon’t move. I haven’t moved in nearly eight hours. Doctors and nurses have come and gone with shift change, each coming in and saying the same shit.She’s in good hands. My family has been in and out, all eyeing me warily before helping with whatever menial tasks they think are necessary. Even Puke showed up, flowers in hand that now sit on the table beside Hannah’s hospital bed. Little fucker even shed a tear.
Still . . . I haven’t moved.
The chair beside Hannah’s bed is uncomfortable as fuck, but I refuse to leave her. Not again. I attempted to sleep, but there’s too much disturbed energy circulating in my veins.
I lost her. Got her back. Nearly lost her again in the blink of a fucking eye.
Thank fuck Cortez is a bad shot.
He’s dead now, but it does nothing to offer any sort of comfort. Not until she’s awake and staring at me with those soft green eyes. Not until I fucking know she’s real and not just some figment of my imagination.
The shuffling of boots on the hospital floor behind me cause me to snap around, ready to rip someone to shreds. It’s been like this since we got here. I keep waiting for something else to happen; some proverbial shoe to drop, but it never does.
This can’t be over, can it?
“It’s me.”
