Page 103 of Double Standards
But before we reach the door, Axel’s phone rings, sharp and sudden in the quiet.
He glances at the screen, frowning. “Hunter,” he mutters, jaw tightening. Without another word, he steps away to answer, his tone clipped as he lifts the phone to his ear.
I stay behind at the top of the steps, arms wrapped tightly around myself, the cold gnawing at my skin. A strange heaviness settles in my chest, as if the air itself hasthickened. The wind stills. Even the street seems to hold its breath.
A prickling sensation crawls along the back of my neck.
I turn my head slowly, scanning the quiet street, the empty sidewalk, the windows staring back at me like hollow eyes. There's no one—no movement, no sound beyond Axel’s low voice just out of earshot.
But I feel it.
That unmistakable sensation—like I’m being watched. Hunted.
The hairs on my arms rise. My heartbeat quickens, thudding louder in my ears than it should.
And then?—
BANG.
The crack of the gunshot splits the silence like lightning, echoing off the brick and snow and bone.
Time freezes.
Axel’s phone hits the pavement.
And then…he falls.
“Axel!” I scream, rushing down the steps. My knees scrape the concrete, burying beneath the snow as I collapse beside him. His eyes are wide, dazed, pain etched into every line of his face. Blood pours through his fingers where he clutches his stomach.
“No, no, no,” I cry, panic rising in my throat like a tide I can’t hold back. I press my hands over the wound, trying to stop the impossible rush of blood. It’s everywhere; soaking into my skin, into the snow, into him. “Stay with me, please. Stay with me!”
His voice is barely more than a ghost, a shiver of sound. “Get…inside…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I sob, cradling his face in shaking hands. My fingers tremble as they brush over his jaw, trying to memorize the shape of him in case—no, I can’t think that. I won’t.
The phone is still lit in the snow, glowing like a lifeline. Ifumble for it, fingers slick and clumsy with blood, slipping over the screen until I finally hear the voice I need.
“Cassie? Cassie, what happened?”
“Hunter,” I gasp, barely able to get the words out. My chest feels like it’s caving in. “He’s been shot. There’s so much blood—what do I do? Do I call?—?”
“Cassie. Listen to me.” Hunter’s voice is a rock in a storm, calm but unyielding. “Cover the wound. Stem the bleeding. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I sob, stripping off my coat with shaking hands. The cold stings, but I don’t really feel it. I only feel Axel slipping away. I press the fabric hard against the wound, and he groans in pain, his body jolting. One blood-slick hand finds my face, his touch both grounding and terrifyingly weak.
“I haven’t got you anything,” I whisper through the flood of tears, desperate, wrecked. My heart is fracturing with every second, every ragged breath he takes. “I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”
“You did,” he breathes, and his eyes—those wild, stormy eyes—look into mine with something like peace. “You stayed.”
I nod, fiercely, tears pouring down my cheeks. “I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.”
I can see it in them, clear as day: the worry, the desperation, the unspoken question of whether this is the end. He would’ve masked it better under normal circumstances; he’s built for control, for keeping others at bay. But right now, all of that is unraveling. His resolve is bleeding out of him, seeping into the snow beneath us like the blood soaking my knees, my hands, my soul.
Then his eyes flutter closed.
“Axel!” I shout, my voice cracking as I press my forehead to his. I feel his blood against my skin, warm and terrifying. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me. Please!”
The world narrows down to this moment, his heartbeatunder my hands, the snow falling around us, the scent of blood and iron. The fear. The unbearable weight of what I stand to lose.
