In the forty seconds it took for Nate to get from the bedroom to the kitchen, he died a thousand times expecting to find the love of his life lying dead in a pool of blood.
He raced down the stairs and rounded the corner, expecting to see Brandon. Instead, he saw a trail of blood leading from the kitchen to the mudroom. He snagged the cordless phone from the counter and dialed as he ran.
He found Brandon leaning against the door jam, clutching his bloody right shoulder. Only when he got closer did he see the handle of the knife sticking out of Brandon’s skin.
“Oh, God, Brandon. Here, sit down.”
Brandon grimaced, but made no move to sit. “The son-of-a-b***h got away. I fired off a shot after he stabbed me, but I don’t think I hit him.”
Nate heard sirens in the distance. “Brandon, plea
