Saint:
Pain. That was the first thing I felt. A deep, burning ache in my chest that made every breath feel like dragging razor blades through my ribs. My body felt heavy, weighed down by something unseen. My head was cloudy, my mouth dry as sandpaper.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. The room was quiet, save for the steady beeping of the machines around me. The smell of antiseptic and stale air filled my nose. Hospital. Great.
Memories rushed back all at once—the motel, the gun, the shot. Shay.
My heart pounded painfully against my ribs as I turned my head, searching, needing to see her. And then I did.
Curled up on the couch across the room, wrapped in a thin hospital blanket, her blonde hair spilling over the pillow. Shay.
Relief hit me
