Cross My Heart (43 page)

“
She
set me up!
”
Vince screams
into my ear
.

“
I set you up!
”
Parker shouts.
“
She has
nothing to do with
it, a
nd
this is only
making it worse
. Let her go. We
’
ll talk. W
e can work something out
,
”
Parker tells him,
eyeing me.
“
You have
options
.
”
T
here’s a thick edge to his voice, and for a moment I don
’
t even think he believes himself.

“
You were supposed to be my friend
!
”

“
I
’
m not anyone
’
s friend.
”

“
I don
’
t believe you
.
”
Vince squeezes, pulling my hair tighter, and suddenly my knees are buckling, and I
’
m falling, swirling, plunging forward. The bright, white paint of my freshly-washed car rushes toward my face. My head slams into the side,
body jolting as we connect. A numbness washes over me as the metal crunches beneath my skull. And the pain begins,
radiating in waves
,
moving from my forehead and scalp down my neck and spine, all the way to the nails on my toes. The entire world spins. Shimmering and black and beautiful.

I collapse, knees weak. Someone is there, lifting me to my feet. But my strength is gone and I can’t stand. A sweaty arm wraps itself around my throat. Squeezing. Tighter. Tighter. Pressing against it. I wrap my fingers around it, digging my nails into the
greasy
skin. It doesn’t budge. I force my eyes open. Trying to focus. To breathe. I blink back tears.

And I see him through the haze
,
the blur. Parker. Eyes hard. Angry. Gun
pointed directly at us. Blood—
warm
and sticky—
oozes
from my head, running down the side of my face and neck and
Vince
’
s arm,
staining my clothes.
He tightens his arm around my neck. I don’t feel the pain
anymore
. I struggle to breath
e. To satisfy
my lungs. The world sparkles,
glittering, enveloping
me
.

Breathe.

“Parker.” My l
ips move, but
no sound
comes out.

“Let her go,
” Parker
demands
.
“It’s
done
, Vince
.
And
I
will
not lose sleep over
kill
ing
you
.” He
grip
s the gun stead
il
y, aimed at the face of his target, unflinching, eyes nar
rowed. “Don’t make me
.
”

“
I dare you to try.
”
Vince
pulls me directly in front of him, and i
n one, heart-stopping moment t
here’s a click, and a cold, hard piece of metal is
jammed
into my temple.
Driving. I
wince,
head tilting,
choking
on nothing.
Parker’s jaw tightens, face ashen.

“
How does it fe
el, man?
Think I have it in me?
”
Vince laughs
. I
t
’
s short, bitter, devoid of humor.
“
G
uess what?
I do
.
”

I c
lose
my eyes tightly. Because I can’t breathe. Because there’s a gun to my head and he’s g
oing to shoot.
And I know that this is where I die. How I die. How we
both
die.
Lying in a pool of blood like some kind of ghetto Romeo and Juliet.
And I can’t help but think that neither of us should be here. Not Parker. Not me. This didn’t have to happen. We shouldn’t die. Not like this. And I think of my mom and my dad and Daniel and Phillip and
Joshy
and Sarah and Savannah and Blake
and
I wonder if I’m going to a place where I can see my grandpa and
if Parker will be there and
I’m not going to Harvard and somehow it doesn’t even matter anymore and I can’t breathe and its all disappear
ing and I feel like I’m s
lippin
g
. . .

And t
hen
, through the haze, there are
c
ars. Squealing tires. Blinding lights. They’re so fast.

And a voice from Heaven,
raucous
and garbled: “Drop your weapon
!”

Parker
shouts something as they come in, not taking his eyes off me.

Vince
loosens his grip
,
startled
by the chaos
. I
t’s just enough for me to
react
,
to
make one la
st
effort
. A
nd so I
ram my
heel
into his
shin
,
and
,
as he stumbles,
slip
beneath his arm, falling, crashing to the pavement, pressing my cheek
deep
into the gravel.

A
crackle of
gunfire
. My ears hum, ring. And everything is muffled. I open my mouth
to
scream, but I can’t tell if anything comes out. A
nother
gunshot. And the
n there’s someone on top
of me.
More shots, but they’re muted. Far away. Like the entire world is covered in a thick, wooly blanket. And my lungs won’t fill even though I can breathe and I’m panting
and coughing
. I taste blood and gun powder. Sharp and metallic and acrid.

Someone rolls me over
a
nd Parker is there.
The fog crowds my vision.
Sunlight blinding my eyes.
His mouth is moving but I can’t understand what he’s saying.
He
’
s searching, checking,
lips form
ing
the same words. Over and over and ov
er again.
Fingers
w
iping the blood off my face.

The sound is
slowly
coming b
ack. I close my eyes. There are new
voices. But I’m underw
ater. Drowning. The pain pressing
in on all sides.
I hear
Parker,
voice shaking,
violent and anxious,
and my heart hurts listening to him.

“Are you okay?” someone shouts
.

My eyes flutter open, and I see him.
Mouth set with concern.
Pulling off his leather jacket, and
unstrapping
. . . some
thing
. It snaps apart. 

“I’m fine!” Parker say
s. “Just g
ive me yo
ur keys!
” He pulls the black vest over his head
,
off his chest.
There’s a tear in it
. F
rayed edges.
It’s like . . . something.
My eyes narrow, squinting
.

Nothing
makes any sense
anymore
.

I close my eyes.

“Jade? Jaden can you hear me?” he asks. I open my mouth to speak, but my throat burns, flaming. I can’t.

“You’re going to be fine,
okay? You have to stay with me,
”
he urges.

The voices grow
louder
. The ringing—the humming—the fog—it’s all dissipating, like I’m breaking the surfac
e.

In the next moment Parker’s arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground. Carrying me. I move into him, burying my face in his neck. 

The world is coming back and I’m gasping for air, and I’m crying.
I didn’t even realize.
My shoulders heave. Coughing. Desperate.

“I’m sorry.
I a
m so
sorry.” Parker s
peaks
into my ear, over and over and over.

He pulls open
the door of a squad car and sets me down in the passenger’s seat. He moves my hair out of my face, and his bloody fingers wipe beneath my eyes. Smearing my hot tears. 

“Shit,” he mutters, examining my forehead.
He pulls his shirt over his
head, and I see the bruises
again
. The newest one.
Violent and flowering across his stomach.
He bunches up the fa
bric and presses it against my hairline
. It stings
,
the searing pain
ripping, spreading
.
I feel it everywhere. 

“Hold this.” I place my palm against it. It’s shaking. Unsteady.
I shiver, freezing.

Parker reaches
around and buckles my seatbelt, fumbling, like he can
’
t move fast enough
,
face
drained
and dirty, and sweat bead
ing
along his
brow
. He keeps trying to swallow
, forcing
something back, and swipes at his eye
s
with the
back
of his hand. They
’
re
glassy and
wet
, red around the rims
.

I lean back and close my eyes, head throbbing. Listening to the sirens blaring. The police scanner.
Parker, speaking into the
radio.
Reports g
oing back and forth.
A
rrest
s
. Letters. Numbers. Codes I can’t even begin
to process.

I
open my eyes and turn toward
the window
as w
e pull away. Tony, Blake—they
’
re both handcuffed. And Vince—
lying
by my car
,
edged in a puddle
of blood.

“I’ve never seen a patient so well-guarded,” the nurse sa
ys, smiling. I know she means well
, but I struggle to find the humor in the dozen or so cops swarming the hallway outside my room. She wipes my forehead with ant
iseptic, and it stings
.

The room is cold and sterile. The hos
pital bed is hard and it makes
squishy noise
s whenever I shift. Everything
smells like hand soap and bleach and flowers.

The nurse
and the doctor on call worked quickly, cleaning the wound and stitching the laceration on my forehead closed. She’s
re-
bandaging the site when I hear it: heavy footsteps
thudding against the tile floor
. A loud, angry voice.

“What the hell did you do to her?”

The nurse pulls open the door. Three of the officers are holding Daniel back, and the others have moved in front of Parker, protecting him. If I had more energy, I’d roll my eyes. I should’ve known he would be the first to show up.

“Daniel.”

I don’t know
how he hears me, but he
shoves the cops aside. “Get out of my way.”

“I’ll leave you alone for a minute,” the nurse says, heading into the hallway.

“They’re going to arrest you,” I warn him
as h
e closes the door.

“Jaden, what
happened
to you?” he asks, eyeing my forehead. I’m thankful I’m cleaned up and in a hospital gown. Minus the bandage and a few scrapes, I lo
ok okay. I got
a glimpse
of my reflection in the mirror on the way in
. My face and hair streaked with blood, my shirt stained a rusty brown. If he would’ve seen me like that. . . .