Chapter 36 Max

Chapter 36

Max

Fifteen minutes earlier

I toss my backpack to the partially tiled floor and kick off my wet shoes.

McKay is seated on the couch, slumped over, his face in his hands. "Hey," I greet, pausing to study him. "Everything okay?"

His head lifts slowly. Nodding, my brother rests his chin on his clasped hands, his eyes bloodshot. "Yeah. How's Dad?"

"Doing better. They're keeping him one more night for observation."

Dad had another night terror and fell and hit his head on the nightstand. Mild concussion. Four stitches. And a long, sleepless night in the ER before I dragged myself to school for a half day, hardly able to keep my eyes open.

I'm exhausted. Worn down and done.

I miss Ella.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I move into the kitchen to pour a glass of milk, then send her a quick text after chugging the whole thing.

Me: Sorry I didn't come over last night. I was at the hospital with Dad…long story. I have a new list for you. I know it's been a while. See you tonight.

I backspace the heart emoji three times before saying, "Fuck it," keeping it, and tapping Send.

When I glance into the living room, McKay is slumped over again, rocking forward and back on the sofa cushion. I frown. "You sure you're okay?" I ask, setting down my empty glass of milk.

He looks sweaty, agitated, and paler than I've ever seen him.

"Stomach bug," he mumbles into his hands. "I'll be fine."

McKay offered to take Dad to the hospital last night, but I knew his big biology project was due today, so I volunteered to go solo. My brother was going to catch a ride to school with a buddy. "How did your project go?"

He blows out a breath and tents his hands over his face. "I called in because I feel like shit."

My arms cross. "You look like shit."

He makes a humming sound, then pauses. "You ever do something you regret?"

The subject change has me freezing, blinking slowly, and stepping forward. "What do you mean?"

"I said what I mean," he says, tapping both feet in opposite time as he stares out the front window. "Regret. It's the worst feeling in the world. It's like this knife in your gut that twists and twists, and you want someone to pull it out, but you don't know if that'll only make it worse. Either way, you bleed. Either way, you suffer. Either way…you've been stabbed. And you can't be unstabbed."

I stare at him, lips parted, eyes flaring. I'm not sure how to respond, so I move in closer until I'm standing over him, watching as he keeps looking out the window and tapping his feet. "McKay," I murmur. "Is this about Brynn?"

Jesus, he looks terrible. The sickest I've ever seen him.

"Yeah, sure," he forces out. "So, do you have any regrets?"

"Of course. Everyone does."

"What do you regret?" he wonders.

"I regret not being a better brother to you and for making promises I could never keep. I regret not being a better son to Mom and Dad. I've kept myself awake at night, wondering if I was the reason Mom walked out on us. The notion eats me alive."

"None of that's true," he says brokenly. "The knife hardly left a scratch on you. I'm talking about real regret, Max. The fatal kind."

I shake my head, confused. "What is this actually about?"

He finally stops rocking and fidgeting and tears his gaze away from the window, looking up at me. "Whatever happens…I hope you know how much I've appreciated everything you've done for me. I've seen it. I've seen you ," he says. "And I'm sorry for not being there, for not being the brother you wanted me to be. I'm sorry for leaving you stranded with Dad, for abandoning you with a shit ton of responsibility when you deserved nothing more than to live an easy, carefree life. For making you feel like you've been all alone in this. I've always wanted the best for you, I swear. Even when I seemed ungrateful and self-absorbed. My coping mechanisms were fucked and I regret all of it. I regret so fucking much, Max."

His face falls back to his shaky hands as thunder booms outside the house, rattling the walls. I flinch, glancing out the window. Rain pours down in buckets, ricocheting off the glass as my brother's words ping-pong between my ribs.

"McKay—"

"You left the mower out in the backyard," he mutters.

I blink at him, my frown deepening. My eyes pan back to the window he keeps staring at.

"I can put it away," he says, standing. "We can't afford a new one."

As he sweeps past me, his collar drenched with sweat, I grab him by the arm and shake my head. "I got it. Sit. You look like you're going to keel over," I insist. "I'll be back in a minute."

He digs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and nods. "Yeah, okay."

"Hold tight. We can talk more when I come back in." I spare him a final glance before heading out back and stomping toward the lawn mower, filled to the brim with uneasiness.

I've never seen McKay like this before. I know he took the breakup hard, but it's not like him to confide in me, especially with deep, uncomfortable topics. For years, he's kept me at arm's length.

Zoned out, I push the lawn mower into the shed, the rainfall a roaring soundtrack to my dark thoughts.

Hunched over to tighten the gas cap, I jerk upright when I think I hear Ella's voice.

Yelling, shouting, begging.

What the hell?

A popping noise follows. A thunderclap.

I freeze, pivot, race out of the shed.

Heart stuttering, I glance up, my face doused in cold rain. The sky continues to untether as lightning flashes across gray clouds in veins of pale yellow. I wonder if I imagined it. Maybe it's just the storm.

Maybe Ella is haunting me.

Anxiety prickles as I pull the door of the shed closed and swipe a hand through my sopping wet hair.

I'm jogging back toward the house when I hear something else. Something I know I don't imagine.

A scream.

A bloodcurdling, stricken, ice-fraught scream.

My ears ring, my pulse trips, my legs turn to jelly underneath me.

I run.

I run faster than I've ever run before, slipping in the wet grass, my heart shooting up my throat until I almost choke on it. The back door whips open and I barrel through, knocking over a small table, dishes clattering to the kitchen floor. Curving around the corner, I careen to a time-stopped halt at the edge of the living room.

And I see it.

I can't unsee it.

Ella, bent over my brother, her hands pressed to his torn-up chest.

McKay, lying in a pool of blood, his body twitching. Liquid crimson spurts out of his mouth and seeps through her hands as she screams and cries.

A man.

A man with a gun, standing over McKay, his shirt sprayed with red and fury in his eyes.

Gunpowder and copper fill my nose as Ella's ragged wails fill my ears. My own howl bleeds with hers. Horror, confusion, debilitating fucking shock .

I don't know how to move, how to breathe. My vision clouds, a haze of red, and a second later, I'm on the floor with Ella, covered in my brother's blood. I don't remember moving. I'm just there, shouting, crying, spitting, begging. "What the fuck, what the fuck ," I cry out.

The man is looming over us, reaching for Ella. "Let's go. We have to go. Now." He grabs her bloody hands, but she swats him away, hysterical.

When I blink again, the man is gone, the front door swinging on its hinges.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Ella shrieks, hands newly clasped over McKay's chest. "I'm so sorry!"

I need to call 911. I think my phone is gone, but I don't remember looking for it because my eyes are pinned on McKay's blood-spattered face as he chokes and coughs up red fluid.

"No, no, no," I plead, snatching his face between my hands and forcing his eyes on me. "McKay, stay with me." His eyes flutter closed. I slap him. "Stay. The Fuck. With me."

I don't recognize my voice.

"I told him," Ella cries. "I told him, I told him. He knows… Oh God, Max…"

Her words seep through the madness. I lurch forward and snatch her by the upper arms, my bloody fingers smearing her skin. "Told him? Told him what, Ella?"

She's not looking at me. She's staring at McKay, in shock, shaking and screaming.

"What did you tell him?"

Another figure appears in my periphery, racing toward us, sliding to his knees. A phone. He has a phone pressed to his ear as he prattles off a location.

Chevy. It's Chevy.

"Jesus Christ, what happened?"

I hear him but I don't hear him.

"A man's been shot," says a faraway voice. "We need an ambulance, fast. I don't know what happened. Yes. No. You need to fuckin' hurry…"

Tears track through the warm blood on my cheeks. I grab McKay's face again, my thumbs bruising his cheekbones as I try to keep him with me. He wheezes, tries to say something. Nothing comes out but more blood.

"McKay, McKay…don't you fucking die on me. Stay with me. Stay with me !"

He sputters, still trying to speak.

His head tilts, eyes finding me through the black haze.

Lips parted and quivering, he hitches out a breath, and those eyes dim before me as a tear slips loose and trails down his temple.

A light flickers out.

His life is draining, expiring, and I'm helpless to stop it.

"No," I croak. "No…" I shake him hard, growling with horror. "Stay!"

McKay goes motionless on a final frayed breath, his eyes wide open and locked on mine.

He's still.

Completely still.

I don't remember what comes next. I'm hardly alive myself as noise trickles into my psyche, voices tangle, and strong arms haul me off my brother while I cling to him, sobbing, cursing, and shouting my grief and disbelief to his lifeless body.

Beeping noises. Defibrillator paddles. Men in uniform.

Ella.

Ella is in my arms weeping, and I hold her back because I don't know what else to hold on to. Her cracked words bleed into my ears as she apologizes, tries to explain.

"The bluffs…the fall… McKay…attacked me… I'm sorry… Jonah…"

I can't process it.

All I register are the external sounds. More beeping, a blur of uniforms, a slew of useless words, and a beat of harrowing silence.

And then…

A time of death.

For all of us.