“Aaron, are you okay?” I called out.

Nothing.

“Aaron, say something.”

A moan met my ears. I stumbled down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. Glass crunched beneath my feet. Aaron’s form slumped on the floor. Without a light, it was impossible to tell where he’d been hurt. I bent, not knowing where to touch or how to help.

“My side and leg. I let them know we’re armed.”

I stole a glimpse at the outside through a broken window. Only darkness and silence greeted me. But the shooters could be ready to pull the trigger.

“One jerk got away. But I know I hit the other one, and he’s still out there.” He groaned. “Get the first aid kit in the bathroom. Towel too.”

I hurried back down the hall and felt my way into the bathroom for the items. In seconds I returned to Aaron. I knelt by his side and flipped open the kit, but in the darkness I couldn’t see much. Dare I turn on a light?

My lungs fought for air.

“Use the flashlight on my phone.” He managed to reach into his pocket, anguish sounding through each excruciating move.

I shone the light on him, a mass of blood and mangled flesh. I pressed a towel onto his right side and leg. How did he stay conscious?

“Call Ike.”

Isaac’s name was the last number he’d called, and I pressed it in. “This is Shelby. Aaron’s been shot. He needs an ambulance.”

“How bad?”

Aaron’s eyes were closed, and when I spoke his name, he didn’t respond. “He’s unconscious. I don’t think it hit his femoral artery, but I’m applying pressure.”

“And you?”

“Struggling for air.”

“Take his gun. Use it if necessary.”

“I don’t know how,” I whispered through painful wheezing. I couldn’t pass out and leave Aaron to bleed out.

“Better get over that real fast if you want to live.”

37

Time dragged like a ball and chain while I fretted over every outside sound and Aaron’s wounds. He hadn’t regained consciousness, which worried me. With both hands, I applied steady pressure over the gunshots using a bloody towel. He’d lost a tremendous amount of blood, too much in my estimation. My strength dwindled, while my lungs strained to give me life.

I fought for him. I fought for myself.

If the shooter had survived, he’d have broken in and finished Aaron and me off by now. Not that I wouldn’t have given him a good fight. The truck had sped away, but what was the likelihood of him or them returning to finish the job?

The day had punched me with one crisis after another. Seeing Mom and telling her goodbye. Facing Dad’s hatred. Feeling pity for Marissa and her plight in raising a daughter alone. But someone had learned exactly where I’d been tucked away. Now a good man bled out because of an effort to keep me safe, a man who should be spending his days playing golf or fishing.