Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Thatcher’s chest rises in a strained laugh. I swear I hear him say the word, friend, to Farrow.
Farrow has pain in his eyes.
And then Thatcher stares up again and chokes out, “Banks.”
I turn, and I let go of Moffy. Standing up, I see Banks and Akara running towards us at full speed. “He’s coming—Banks is coming.”
“THATCHER!” Banks screams.
And when I glance back at Thatcher, I stagger like I’ve been kicked in the gut. His eyes are shut—he’s no longer awake. Farrow looks as destroyed as I feel, but he’s checking his pulse. His airway.
Banks lurches backwards, as though he’s being shot. He sees his twin brother unconscious on the bloody grass, and Banks can’t even reach the tour bus where Thatcher lies. His legs buckle, and he drops to his knees. Wrenched in anguish, and Akara is holding onto Banks.
My heart is being shredded. I manage to find balance on my feet. I float towards them and then collapse to my knees beside the men I love.
Akara’s arms are wrapped around Banks as he cries into Akara’s chest. Guttural sobs from somewhere deeper than here. I press my forehead to Banks’ back, wanting to take the agony from him. To soak the pain up inside me.
Akara keeps whispering to him. Keeps talking.
“Just breathe….breathe.”
Tears spill down my cheeks. A darkness burrows through me, hollowing the light out.
Thatcher Moretti took a bullet for me.
He’s going to die protecting me.
All because I had to leave the concert early. Because I was scared of fucking fireworks.
Because I’m a coward.
I want to rewind time. Take it away. Tear it from history. Please. Fucking please.
55
BANKS MORETTI
I hate hospitals.
I hate that I’m back here, worrying about my brother. Last time, his dumbass ran into a burning building for Tony Ramella. This time, he took a bullet for the love of my life.
My eyes are bloodshot. Raw. Everything feels raw. Hell, if someone touches me, I just might crumble and turn to ash. How do I explain being an identical twin? Loving someone for all your life. How pieces of you are a part of them, and if they die, you die.
The waiting room is crowded while Thatcher fights for his life in surgery.
Every chair is filled; every space to stand is jam-packed. With SFO, the guys from Triple Shield, and Morettis, Piscitellis, Ramellas, and Cobalts. Some Hales and Meadows—all would’ve come but hospital staff said we were already past capacity for visitors, so they agreed to go back and watch Jane and Thatcher’s cats.
Sitting on either side of me, Akara and Sulli are quiet comforts that I’m grateful to have. Just feeling Sulli’s hand on my leg, feeling Akara’s arm on my shoulders—I remember to breathe.
I can’t do a thing for my mom. Even if I was fully-functioning.
She grips her knees and speaks to my grandma, Uncle Joe, and Nicola, “He’ll be fine. He’ll pull through. He always does.” She’s pushed away my aunts who try to console her. “I’m fine, Carmela.” Her pained eyes meet mine across the waiting room. “He’ll be fine, Banksy.”
Her denial is killing me fuckin’ slowly.
Janie.
She keeps pacing back and forth, hand on her belly. Hair frizzed and wild and cheeks tear-streaked. I want to tell her it’s going to be okay, but I don’t have the fucking words. I don’t feel like it is.
Of what I’ve seen, Jane only says more than a few words to Maximoff. The rest of her family, she just nods like she’s somewhere else. Gone into the operating room with her husband. Rose will walk over to her daughter and squeeze her hand every so often.
Jane seems to respond to that.
Sulli keeps flipping her new 3-month sobriety coin over in her palm. She’s muttering I’m sorry. I’m so sorry under her breath. I put a hand on her head to try to comfort her, but she winces. Like she’s underserving of the solace. And I get that pain. It lances me everywhere, but neither of us shift away.
Sulli is safe. The only relief I have is knowing she is safe and healthy. Baby’s fine. A nurse did an ultrasound.
“Banks.”
I swing my head to the doorway.
Other heads swing to the doorway.
My dad—he stands there. Stoic. Unblinking.
He’s about to lose another son, is all I think. But he lost us years ago. So why does he care?
He gestures his head towards the hallway. Like, let’s talk for a sec, you and me. I feel like a ghost already. Drifting. I rise. Follow him out into the empty hallway. Further. To the vending machines. He punches a button for a coffee.
Some nurses pass by and he waits until they’re gone to speak again.
“Are you okay?” he asks me.
My throat swells closed. I’ve been asked that about a thousand times tonight. Truth: I think I should be sedated. I don’t feel right in the head. I just want to be under during this part. Wake me up if he’s alive. Kill me if he’s dead.