Twenty-five
Cody
I flew into Mr. Watson’s house. Emergency call Mr. Watson had said when he found me.
“Cody, you come home right now. Cassie's in trouble.” Willa Mae’s voice was frantic.
“What happened?”
“You need to get down here and fast.”
When I arrived at the house, I tore out of the truck in a panic. Willa Mae was sitting on the front steps of our house, a hand pressed to her chest, panting.
“What happened, Willa Mae? Are you okay?”
“I tried . . . I was . . . too slow.”
“Tried what? What did you—” I eyed the shotgun leaning against the stairs.
“Cassie!” I flew into the house. “Cassie, where are . . . oh my god, Cassie!”
There were two times in my life that were so horrific they left a hole in my chest, scarring me forever. The first was when my father had died. For a while,
