Peter looked so white, his blood pooling in his lap. “Listen,” I said, adjusting his coat with my red fingers so I couldn’t see the wreckage of his chest. “Your legs look okay, and your arms. You have a cut above your eye. I think your chest is crushed. In about a week you can take me dancing.”

“Out,” he whispered. “Get out and blow up the truck. Damn it, I can’t even die right. I didn’t want to burn.” He started crying, the tears making a clear track down his bloodied face. “I didn’t want to have to burn….”

I didn’t think he was going to survive this even if the ambulance got to him in time. “I’m not going to burn you. I promise.” I’m going to be sick. That’s all there is to it.

“I’m scared,” he whimpered, his breath gurgling from his lungs filling with blood. I prayed he wouldn’t start coughing.

Broken chips of safety glass sliding, I pulled myself closer, gently holding his shattered body to me. “The sun is shining,” I said, eyes clenching shut as memories of my dad flooded back. “Just like you wanted. Can you feel it? It won’t be long. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” he said, the words terrifyingly liquid. “Thank you for trying to turn the lights on. That makes me feel as if I was worth saving.”

My throat closed. “You are worth saving,” I said, tears spilling over as I rocked him gently. He tried to breathe, the sound ugly. It was pain given a voice, and it struck through me. His body shuddered, and I held him closer though I was sure it hurt him. Tears fell, hot as they landed on my arm. There was noise all around us, but no one could touch us. We were forever set apart.

His body suddenly realized it was dying, and with an adrenaline-induced strength, it struggled to remain alive. Clutching his head to my chest, I held him firmly against the massive tremor I knew was coming. I sobbed when it shook him as if he were trying to dislodge his body from his soul. I hated this. I hated it. I had lived it before. Why did I have to live it again?

Peter stopped moving and went still.

Rocking him now for me, not him, I shook with sobs that hurt my ribs. Please, please let this have been the right thing to do.

But it didn’t feel right.

Thirty-Four

“Rachel!” Jenks cried, and I realized he was with me. His hands were warm and clean, not sticky like mine—and after struggling with the door to the truck, he reached inside the window to unlatch it. I let my grip on Peter loosen as it opened. My leg, twisted behind me, felt kind of cold, and I looked at, going woozy. There was a dark, wet stain on my jeans, and my brand-new running shoe now had a red stripe. Maybe my leg was hurt more than I thought?