No.
This is not happening.
I’m running and running and shooting the broken mess that was my father’s best friend, the lying bastard who just shot him with fingers dipped in his own blood. I get there first, and I shoot Leon again, in places where he’ll never recover, and it feels good, and I hate this, and I hate how good it feels to end him once and for all when I thought I already had, and I’m nothing but a monster now and I don’t care anymore.
When my clip comes up empty, I’m on the ground by my daddy. Wyatt helps me turn him over, and it’s a gut shot, and I’m crying so damn hard because I know what that means. Because I know what it meant for Jeremy and Alistair, and I know what it means in a world where 911 goes straight to voice mail.
“We have to carry him,” I say firmly, and Wyatt and Chance look at me like I’m a stupid little kid who still believes in magic and Santa Claus.
“Patsy,” Wyatt starts, and I bolt to standing and point at the empty garbage can they used to distract the Cranes from shooting me.
“Put him in there. We’ll wheel him out. There has to be a vet—”
“Patsy,” Wyatt says, even more gently. “You know how this works.”
“No!” I shout, and my voice echoes back at me. “No! We can fix this. It’ll be okay. I know I said I needed Matty, but I need him. Okay? I always needed him. I just . . .” My dad reaches for me, and I take his hand and focus on his eyes. “I need you, Daddy. Just stay awhile longer. I don’t hate you, and I’m not mad at you, and I’m sorry I didn’t do a good enough job killing Leon. Just . . . please. Please, Daddy.”
“Patsy,” he says, like it’s his favorite word in the entire world.
“I’m here, Daddy.”
He smiles, innocent sweetness, and strokes my hair, or what’s left of it. “Got to keep you away from Devil Johnny.” His eyes go unfocused, like he’s looking over my head. “Got to keep you safe.”
“You did, Daddy. You did.” I press his palm to my cheek and close my eyes. “I’m fine. I’m going to be fine.”
“Good girl,” he says fondly. “My Patsy.”
I shake my head and stand up, trying to pull my dad up by his arms. Wyatt and Chance stand to the side, and I bare my teeth at them.
“Pick him up! Pick him up now! Stupid goddamn idiot boys just can’t . . .”
“Patsy,” Wyatt says, the softest he’s ever said it.
“What?”
“He’s gone.”
I don’t look down. I don’t want it to be true. I don’t want to be holding my dad’s hands if he can’t hold mine. I just got him back, and he’s already left me again.
“Guys, the time,” Chance says, low.
“I’m sorry, Patsy,” Wyatt says, and I look up at him, completely lost.
“For what?”
He picks me up, tosses me over his shoulder, and carries me away.