Turns out, dying takes forever.

He wasn’t wrong about the agonizing pain part. I should have kept berating him until he shot me again. At least it would have been over and done with and I wouldn’t have spent the last who-knows-how-long replaying last-minute fantasies in my head about being saved.

Maybe Anna will come back for one last kiss.

The door opens.

“Milo?” she says, the faintest gasp on her breath.

I look up and she’s there in the doorway. She covers her mouth with a shocked hand and rushes over, falling to her knees beside me.

“Oh, my god! Milo?”

She cradles my head. Her face blurs.

“Mi— Jake! Hold on!”

Her hands are red, covered in blood.

“I love you, Jake.”

I force my eyes open and look around my empty living room. I’m still breathing. Still bleeding. Still here.

My tongue tastes like pennies. My fingers tingle. I wish my heart would just stop already. I wish the pain would end. I wish she really would come back for that last kiss.

The door opens wide. There’s a shape of a man in the frame. Cruel tricks of a dying mind, I suppose.

He steps forward and stands above me.

“Milo.”

He’s loud yet calm, like he’s seen this shit before.

I squint, trying to keep my sight together but his face refuses to cooperate.

“Milo, wake up.”

I lick my dry lips. This is no mind trick. He’s really here.

“Help,” I say.

The man sighs. He turns around and stomps into my kitchen. The distance helps make out more of him. Thick, broad shoulders. Short, dark hair. The faint smell of artificial vanilla extract.

“Vincent?” I ask.

He returns with a dish towel and a glass of water. “Milo…” He kneels and lifts my shirt. “Who shot you?”

“Uh…”

Water splashes me in the face. I jolt, instantly more alert, but that might be more annoyance than anything else.

“Who shot you?” he repeats.

“Partner,” I get out. “Anna’s…”

He frowns. “Trevor Rhys?”

I nod, pointing a weak finger. Vincent takes hold of my arm and moves me like a ragdoll, sitting me up. He runs a hand along my back and nods, though he won’t say why.

“Lean back,” he says.

I try to but he does most of the work, sliding me out of the pool of blood to rest my back against the wall.

“Ouch,” I say.

Vincent folds the towel and presses it into my wounds. “Hold this,” he says, forcing my hand. “Put pressure on it.”

I tap into whatever strength I have in me and do as he says. I might not die here, after all.

I clear my throat. “Don’t think I’m not grateful, Vincent, but what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you,” he says, chill as ice.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Milo, when it comes to my family, I can be very, very scary.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Also, we’re all on this neat family plan that lets me log in and see where everyone is whenever I want.”

I nod. “That’s handy.”

“And last night, my sister lied to my face, left her daughter with me, and came here. Until dawn.”

He glares at me with that protective brother frown.

“Okay, yeah,” I say, coughing. “She did.”

His nostrils flare. “I have issues with you, Milo,” he says. “Anna’s not the family screw-up. I am. Then, she meets you and suddenly, she’s abetting a criminal. I don’t like it.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried once already to get out of her life for good. I don’t want this for her.” I catch my breath. “I sure as hell don’t want it for Charlotte.”

Vincent nods. “Get up.”

I flex my hands, just to see if I still can. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but… I’ve been shot.”

“A man of your height and build should be able to walk a half-mile with a wound like that before the nerves in his legs give out.”

I scoff. “How would you know?”

He lifts his shirt revealing a deep white scar along his left side.

“Oh,” I say. “Hey, Vincent, is there anybody in your family that’s not a total badass?”

“Not really.” He drops his shirt and holds out his hand. “Now, get up,” he says again, “and tell me why Trevor shot you.”