“Are you ready, brother?” I bark into the cell phone pressed to my ear. I have Will strapped across the back seat of my truck, held down with all three sets of seatbelts, but every time I turn the wheel – one-handed – he lets out a dull moan of pain.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” I call over my shoulder. “We’re nearly there. Just hang on.”

“We’re ready when you get here,” Kieran’s voice crackles down the line.

“Two minutes out,” I say. I drop the phone, not bothering to hang up, and it clatters down into the footwell. Will’s breaths are getting shallower and shallower every second, and I’m gripped with fear that he’s about to bleed out and die on me.

“Come on, come on,” I groan, as I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, ducking and weaving through the early afternoon suburban traffic as fast as I can.

“Please,” Will whispers over the rattle of the engine. “Help… I’m sorry…”

I glance over my shoulder and see my injured soldier’s eyes flicker open, searching the back seat of my truck for any sign of where he is.

“Hospital…” He groans.

“I can’t take you to a hospital, buddy. If I do, they’ll lock you up for God knows how long. I’m getting you help. Just hold tight, Will. Hold tight.”

I swing around one last corner, and the family house is in sight. I gun the engine one last time, ignoring its squeal of protest as it gives every last ounce of effort that it’s got left. I’m storming through Dorchester twice as fast as the speed limit allows, but it’s not like the cops spend much time patrolling in this neighborhood. They know better.

Cars, houses, and trees flash past; families walking their dogs, women out jogging complete the silent film.

Then there’s a girl with red hair. Time seems to slow even as my truck speeds by, and I turn my head to stare. All I can think is that she’s Casey –

But she’s not.

Ma’s house is lit up like Christmas, and Kieran’s outside, waiting. I head straight for him, and the second he sees the truck barreling through the neighborhood, I see his hand rap against the front door. Men pour out.

I stick the truck in reverse and back it right up against the porch. Even before the truck stops moving, the back doors are open, and hands reach for Will’s bleeding body. It’s hardly the first time we’ve done this. It gets easier every time; but it’s never easy.

“Pressure! I need pressure on the wounds. You, and … you!” A portly man cries, barking out orders: of course it’s Doctor O’Leary. Kieran did well.

My twin ignores the madness and makes a beeline straight for me. Everyone’s got their jobs. I feel like there’s something I should be doing, but I know it’s better to stay out of the way.

“What the hell happened?” He asks, pulling open the driver door. “Jesus, Dec. Let’s get you inside ‘fore someone sees ya like this.”

My hands are still stuck fast to the steering wheel, covered in blood from carrying Will into my truck. “No,” I growl, leaping from my seat and wiping the sticky, congealing lifeblood onto my already soaked jeans. I head straight for the doctor.

“O’Leary –?”

He turns, and I’m taken aback by the reddish tint on his nose and cheeks. “How long will it be until you can get him awake?” I hiss. I’m half-mad with worry. All that I can think about is where Casey is right now, and what they are doing to her. “I need answers.”

Doctor O’Leary takes a step forward towards me. “The only answers you’ll get, young man,” he shrugs back to me, completely unruffled by the anger radiating off me, “are the answers the undertakers will give you when you ask how much it’s going to cost to bury the poor boy.”

“Unless… Of course,” he says, punctuating his words by stabbing my chest with his forefinger, “you let me do my goddamn job?”

I grimace, clenching my fists into impotent balls of rage, but I don’t say a word. I know he’s right.

Apparently satisfied that he’s made his point, O’Leary turns and follows Will’s bleeding body into the house.

Kieran pulls me back, worried I’m about to lay the good doctor out, but there’s no need. I know what’s right, no matter how bad every fiber in my body’s screaming at me to ignore every value that ‘da ever drilled into us as kids.

“Fuck,” I swear. I lash out, kicking the wing mirror off my truck, and ignoring the howl of the alarm siren that begins the peel.

By the time I kill it and follow the doctor into the house, someone’s already cleared the dining room table and laid Will’s body onto it. Two men whose names I should remember our standing on either side of him, holding bloodied towels against his gunshot wounds. O’Leary’s standing to one side, pulling a pair of blue latex gloves over his fingers.

“Whiskey,” he grunts, holding out his remaining uncovered hand. For a man whose face indicates exactly how much he loves the drink, his hands are steady as a rock.

Someone passes him a half-empty bottle of Jameson, and he unscrews the lid and takes a hefty gulp.

“That’s better…” He sighs. “Now – let’s get to work.”

Kieran grabs my arm and jerks his head toward the hallway. “Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s get out of the way. We’re no good here.”

I follow him, my head spinning. This whole time, ever since I found Will bleeding out next to his truck, I’ve kept moving: just running on adrenaline. Now it’s gone, and my body is cold. I can’t tell if it’s shock, or just a crushing realization that Casey’s out of my life for good.

“She’s going to die, Kieran,” I say, sitting next to my brother on the hallway staircase. “She’s going to die thinking she never meant anything to me.”

Kieran stays silent, but I didn’t even realize it. I’m too busy thinking of Casey’s pinks, and those deep green eyes of hers.

“Sure,” he growls. “If you just sit on your ass and do nothing about it, she sure is.”

“The FUCK are you saying?” I spit back, firing daggers from my eyes.

“You know.”

I clench my fist and bash it against the wall. “You’re right. Micky fuckin’ Morello: Where is he? He’s a dead man walking.”