19

Mark’s Point of View

We sat in the back lot of the field, far from the noise of the school, the loud buzz of the game still echoing faintly behind us.

I had never seen her like this quiet, still, and yet carrying so much weight in her little frame.

She didn’t speak after the hug. Just sat on the bench, hugging her knees like she used to when we were kids.

Like she was holding herself together.

And me? I was a fucking mess inside.

She finally looked up, eyes red but waiting. “Tell me what happened that night.”

I looked down at my hands, then up at the sky. The stars were barely out, but I needed something to focus on to keep the burn in my chest from turning into tears.

“You remember the party?” I started.

She nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Of course you do.”

I exhaled. “You and I weren’t even supposed to be there. But I wanted to check out the scene, and you didn’t want me going alone. Like always.”

A smile tugged at my lips, then disappeared.

“It was loud. Music, people everywhere, red solo cups, smoke.I knew it wasn’t safe the moment we stepped in. But I didn’t listen to my gut. That was my first mistake.”

Missy hugged her knees tighter.

“Then it happened,” I whispered.

Her breathing caught. Mine did too.

“Gunshots. First one, then three more. People screaming. I grabbed your wrist and we ran.”

The memory flashed so hard I could feel it again.

Her small hand in mine.

The thudding music turning into chaos.

People pushing, shoving, stepping on others to escape.

“I pulled you through the back alley, screaming at you to run. I told you not to look back because I saw them.”

“Who?” she asked softly.

“Men. Dressed in black. Not from the party. Not drunk teenagers. Real threats. They were there for someone.”

I swallowed. “But they mistook me for him. For Dad’s enemy’s son.”

Her head jerked up, eyes wide.

“I was wearing his jacket. His fucking jacket. That was my second mistake.”

Tears pooled in my eyes now. “They shot at me. I hit the ground. Blood… everywhere. But I wasn’t dead. Not yet.”

Missy was shaking. Her lips trembled. But she said nothing.

“Karel found me. Pulled me into his car. Called in a favor from one of his dad’s men. They got me out. Quietly. No hospitals. Just some dirty backroom with a guy who owed Karel’s dad his life.”

“I wanted to come back for you,” I choked. “But I didn’t know if they were still watching. If they thought I died, that meant you were safe. If I showed my face, they’d know the truth.”

“And Mom?” she whispered.

“I told her to say I died. I begged her. She didn’t want to. But we both knew it was the only way.”

She shook her head, tears falling freely now.

“I thought I lost you,” she whispered.

“I thought I lost you, Missy,” I said back. “Every night. I’d close my eyes and wonder if they came for you. If I’d see your face on the news, or if you hated me for leaving you alone.”

“I never hated you,” she whispered.

I reached forward and held her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

The wind moved through the trees above us, and for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe again.