Loving Mr. Daniels
Page 2

“It isn’t too deep,” he said, pressing the palm of his hand on it. I pulled out a pocket knife, ripped one of the towels, and pressed it against his wound. Jace glanced at the blade and closed his eyes. “Dad gave you his knife?”
I stared at the metal in my grip and closed it, sliding it back into my pocket. “Borrowed it.”
“Dad wouldn’t let me touch the thing.”
My eyes fell to his cut. “I wonder why.”
Before he could reply, a shriek was heard from near the dock. “What the hell…” I muttered before rushing outside with a limping Jace following close behind. “Mom!” I shouted, seeing her being pulled by a stranger in a red hoodie with a gun pointed toward her back.
“How did they find us?” Jace muttered to himself.
I looked back to my brother, confused. “You know him?!” I asked, disgusted.
And pissed off.
And scared.
Mostly scared.
The stranger glared up to see Jace and me, and I could’ve sworn he smirked.
He smirked before the gun was fired.
And he ran as Mom fell down.
Jace’s voice rocketed through the sky. His sounds were thick, filled with anger and fear as he charged to Mom’s side, but I beat him there.
“Mom, mom. You’re okay.” I turned to my brother and shoved him hard. “Call 911.”
He stood over us, tears streaming down his face from his bloodshot eyes. “Danny, she’s not… She’s not…” His words were fumbling, and I hated him for thinking exactly what I was thinking.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and shoved it into his hands. “Call!” I ordered, holding Mom in my arms.
I looked up toward the house and saw Dad’s face the moment he realized what had happened. The moment he realized that he had, in fact, heard a gun and that his wife was, in fact, lying motionless. His body was pretty broken down from his health, but he was running our way.
“Yes, hi. Our mom… She’s been shot!” Just hearing the words fly from Jace’s lips made my own tears shed.
My fingers ran through Mom’s hair and I hugged her body as Dad rushed over to us. “No…no…no…” he muttered, falling to the ground.
I held on tighter. Holding on to both him and her. She looked at me with her blue eyes, begging for answers to the unknown questions. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” I whispered against Mom’s ear.
I was lying to her, and I was lying to myself. I knew that she wasn’t going to make it. Something inside me kept telling me that it was too late and there was no hope. Yet I couldn’t stop saying it, I couldn’t stop thinking it. And I couldn’t stop crying.
You’re okay.
Chapter 1
~ Present Day ~
Death isn’t frightening, it isn’t a curse.
I just f**king wish that it would’ve taken me first.
~ Romeo’s Quest
I sat on the pew in the far back. I hated funerals, but then again, I believed it would be weird if I loved them. I wondered if there were people who did love those kinds of things. People who showed up just to breathe in all of the sadness as a sick form of entertainment. You know what they say—you can’t spell funeral without fun.
I’m okay.
Whenever people walked by me, they took that breath of hesitation, thinking that they were, in fact, staring at Gabby. “I’m not her,” I whispered to them before they would frown and keep moving. “I’m not her,” I muttered to myself, shifting around on the wooden pew.
I was sick when I was younger, in and out of the hospital from ages four to six. I guess there was a hole in my heart. After too many surgeries and too many prayers, I was able to go on to live a normal life. Mom had thought I was going to die back then, and I couldn’t help but think that she was disappointed that Gabby was the one gone now, not me.
She’d started drinking again after she found out Gabby was sick. She had done her best to hide it, but one time I’d checked on her in her bedroom. She was crying and shaking in her bed. When I climbed next to her to hold her, I smelled the whiskey on her breath.
Mom had never been good with hard situations, and alcohol was always the way she dealt with her issues. It hadn’t made for the best outcome when Gabby and I had to go stay with our grandpa during her rehab visits. After her last one, she’d promised to put the bottle down forever.
Mom sat in the front row with her boyfriend, Jeremy—the only person who was able to make sure she was getting dressed every day. We hadn’t spoken much since Gabby went all selfish—dying and stuff. She’d always liked Gabby more. It wasn’t a secret. Gabby had been into the things Mom was into, like makeup and reality television. They’d always laughed with each other and would have a ton of fun while I sat in the room on the couch reading my books.
I knew parents always said they didn’t have favorites, but how could they not? Sometimes they got a kid who was so much like them that they swore God had made them in his own image. That’s what Gabby had been to mom. But other times, you got a kid who read the dictionary for fun because, “Words are cool.”
Guess who that was?
She loved me enough, but she sure as hell didn’t like me. I was okay with it, because I loved her enough for both of us.
Jeremy was a decent man, and I secretly wondered if he would ever be able to bring back the mom I had before Gabby had been ill. The mom who used to smile. The mom who could stomach to look my way. The mom who loved me but didn’t very much like me. I really missed that mom.
Chipping away at the black nail polish on my fingers, I sighed. The priest kept talking about Gabby as if he’d known her. He hadn’t known her. We’d never gone to church, so the fact that we were in one right now was a bit dramatic. Mom always said that the church was inside us and that you could find God through anything, so there was no reason to go to a building every Sunday. I thought that was just her way of saying, “I’m sleeping in on Sundays.”
There was no way I could stay inside the church for a second longer. For a place of prayer and faith, it sure held a feeling of suffocation.
I turned my head to the church doors as my ears were hit with another hymn. Ohmygosh. How many hymns are there?! Pushing myself up from the pew, I walked outside, feeling the summer heat slap my skin. It was hotter than the previous years. A few specks of sweat started rolling from my forehead before I even reached the steps. Tugging on the black dress I was obligated to wear, I tried not to teeter around on the unfamiliar height of my heels.