Page 3 of Between Regrets and Promises

This isn’t how I want to die.

This can’t be the way my life ends. The way all of our lives ends. Fear, guilt, shock—my emotions hit me in full force as I think about the Corrigan sisters and how this will destroy them. He’d kill us and then kill Sophie too if he gets the chance.

Fuck. I should’ve just let him walk away and let Lennon handle Sophie since they left the room anyway.

In my peripheral vision, I see Liam move slightly behind me, and Weston quickly points the gun at him. He aims right above Liam’s head and fires off a warning shot.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you all if you try anything,” he threatens. “All. Three. Of. You.”

“Weston, we can all walk away from this,” Liam says slowly. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Fear smothers Liam’s voice,but his actions are steady as he tries to gain control of the situation. I want to turn around and tell them both how sorry I am, how much I fucked up, and how much I love them as brothers. If these are my last moments, I’d at least want to make them count. However, I don’t want to add more fuel to the fire by talking and pissing off Weston.

“Now. What was that you were saying earlier?” Weston glares at me. “I’m gonna be dealing with you if I lay my hands on Sophie again?” His head falls back with psychotic laughter. “You don’t scare me, but by the look on your face, I scare the fuck out of you.”

“You’ve proven your point,” Hunter interjects. “Let’s just all calm down and leave.”

“Not fuckin’ happening,” Weston hisses.

I contemplate my options, which aren’t many at the moment. I could risk everything and charge him, fighting for the gun and taking him out, or it could all go horribly wrong and he could pull that fucking trigger. I’d take a bullet for Sophie if it meant keeping her safe, but if I’m going down, then so is this motherfucking bastard.

“Weston…” I start.

“You’re gonna listen tome,” he cuts me off. Weston continues running his mouth, feeding from the control and attention almost as if he’s performing for an audience. If only he was a paid actor with a fake gun sent here to play a sick prank, but he’s not. Instead, he’s a maniac with the need to feel power. That much is obvious. Weston continues to wave it round, talking shit and calling me every name under the sun. A car pulls into the parking lot, causing him to lose focus, and in that split second, I make a move and charge him with all my strength.

We fall to the ground with me on top of him, but he keeps his arm above his head, causing me to struggle to reach it as he triespushing me off. I knee him in the gut, and his arm bends just enough for me to reach his hand. He notices what I’m doing and pulls back, then points the barrel at me.

Hunter’s on the phone, begging for the cops to come as I push against him. Liam shouts at both of us to stop, and I’m literally living my worst nightmare. I’m glad they don’t intervene, though, because Weston could easily turn it on them. I manage to grasp the gun in his hand so it’s no longer pointing at me, but his strength doesn’t seem to be waning as he continues to fight for control.

Moments later, police sirens can be heard wailing in the distance, but there’s no end to this game. There will be no winner. They’ll either arrive and aim their weapons at us or Weston’s gun will go off.

We continue to wrestle on the ground, and somehow, I manage to twist the gun to face him, but he’s relentless as our hands tangle for it.

Then it happens too fast.

I hear the shot.

I feel warmth.

I see blood and skin.

Then all that can be heard is my erratic breathing. Am I shot? Did he shoot me?

Hunter and Liam pull me off him, and it’s then I see Weston’s lifeless body on the ground. I’ve never seen them so shook up in my life. Adrenaline pumps through me, but my mind can’t seem to handle the rush or the shock as I push them off me, rubbing my blood-covered hands down my chest and stomach.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I reassure them.

The three of us gaze down and see the bullet wound to his head.

Oh my God.

“Fuck!” Liam yells, running his fingers through his hair as he paces. A few people from the reception walk toward us, horror written on their faces as they screech. Hunter begins to panic as half a dozen squad cars race into the parking lot.

“Calm down,” I tell everyone, knowing shit’s about to get hectic as fuck. The cops are going to take our statements, and a team will analyze the crime scene. The people who surround us look at me like I’m a monster, like I’m a murderer. With red on my hands and clothes, I look guilty as fuck.

It was self-defense. I can claim it all day, and I have witnesses. But it doesn’t mean a man didn’t die because of me, regardless of the fucking circumstances. I didn’t like the guy, but I didn’t want things to happen this way. The emotions swirl inside my head, unable to sort them properly as the shock of this whole thing soars through me.

Several police officers whip open their car doors with their guns drawn, shouting at us to show them our hands and not to move. We lift our arms, surrendering so they know we’re not a threat. They can see Weston on the pavement, the gun next to me, and how I’m covered in his blood and confirm I’m the guy they want. The cops keep their guns pointed as one officer rushes over, shouting at me to get on my knees and put my hands behind my head.

I do as I’m told, and he forcefully cuffs my wrists behind my back.

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