My head wobbles a bit; I feel woozy.
“I don’t feel very good.”
“Did you hit your head?” Cooper asks.
I nod, but then I touch my side and feel warmth. Pulling my hand away and putting it in front of my face, I see blood.
Cooper yells at me. “Are you bleeding?”
As my vision blurs, I have a fleeting memory of a bullet hitting my side.
“Keatyn. Keatyn! Wake up!”
When I open my eyes, I see Damian. His eyes are red and teary.
I shouldn’t have fought Vincent. I should have let him get me a long time ago.
I may have my life back, but how many lives did I ruin in the process?
Brooklyn’s. Damian’s. His family’s.
And mine.
I don’t have anyone to go home to.
Tears fill my eyes.
“Did you not notice you were bleeding?” Cooper asks me.
“They’re okay!” Damian blurts out.
I sit up quickly but then feel dizzy again.
Damian pulls me into a hug.
“Who’s okay?”
“Your family.”
I start crying with relief. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Garrett messaged Cooper while you were passed out. The bomb was inside a package that was delivered to your mom. The nanny was opening it on the kitchen island when it exploded. The nanny, unfortunately, is dead. Your mom was standing, looking in the fridge when the blast occurred. The heavy door shielded her. She has a concussion and some cuts, but she’s fine.”
“And the girls?”
“They were outside playing with James. They're all fine.”
“And my grandparents?”
“They were outside too.”
“Oh, thank god.”
“It's gonna be okay,” Damian says.
“But the nanny. And your dad and Tommy. And Brooklyn. I didn’t win, Damian. I lost. I lost them.”
“You lost quite a bit of blood, Keatyn. Try to stay calm.”
“We’re about to land,” Damian says.
I reach down and touch my side, not far above my chaos tattoo, and feel a bandage. “I think I got shot.”
“You did,” Cooper says. “Fortunately, it just nicked you. I stopped the bleeding but you probably need a few stitches.”
“How’s your chest?”
“I’m gonna have a hell of a bruise, but that's better than the alternative.”
As soon as the wheels hit the ground, I call James.
“How is Mom?”
“We heard Vincent’s dead. That you were in an accident and a gun fight? How are you?”
“It just grazed me. I’m fine. Can Mom talk?”
“Of course. Hang on.”
“Keatyn!” Mom says. I can tell she’s crying. “Sweetie, are you really okay?”
I lose it and start bawling. “I’m so sorry about Tommy and the nanny. I'm so sorry. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.”
“Honey, Tommy and Matt aren't dead. Tommy just called me. They weren't in the trailer when the bomb went off.”
“They weren’t?”
“No. You know those two. They made everyone think they were in there discussing business when they had really snuck out to smoke a cigar.”
“Ohmigawd! Damian! Your dad and Tommy are fine! They weren't in the trailer!”
I hug Damian while my mom says, “Honey, I have to go. The doctor is here, and I need a few stitches. As soon as I’m allowed, we’re coming home.”
“To Malibu?”
“Yes. As soon as possible.”
“I can't wait to see you. I love you.”
“I love you too. And I heard about Brooklyn. Keatyn, none of this is your fault.”
Cooper herds Damian and me into a car when we land.
“Cooper, we have to go to Vincent’s grandmother’s house. We have to.”
Damian nods in agreement.
Cooper calls Garrett, who advises us against it, but gives us the address.
We’re all quiet on the ride there. Somber.
I feel like I’m going to a funeral.
It’s easy to know when we’re close.
The air is dark and smells of fire.
We get out where the street is blocked off and walk up the hill.
The police have the area cordoned off, but Cooper says, “We’re looking for Garrett Smith.”
The policeman lets us through and points us in his direction.
I get my first glimpse of what's left of the mansion.
Which isn’t much.
Just four brick fireplaces standing at attention and a side portion of the home, the wood black and charred. Water is rushing down the street and there are numerous choppers flying overhead.
Garrett points at the burned trees.
“The fire was very hot, and they were worried it would spread. The firemen couldn't even get inside because it was so hot.” My face takes on a pained expression as I think of the horror of Brooklyn burning to death. Garrett stops talking and puts his hand on my shoulder. “If he was in there, he didn’t suffer. He would have died when the bomb went off, not in the secondary fire.”
I nod gratefully. At least there’s that, I guess.
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You were in a car accident and got shot.”
“I’m fine. Um, I just need a minute.”
I move away from the group and walk closer to the house, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.
And use my heart as a guide.