Finnegan
Forty-eight hours ago my brother shot me in the fucking arm. The family curse was complete now, wasn't it? I thought to myself, watching the nurse patch up my wound.
Perhaps I should be thankful Devin had been so unhinged he couldn't see straight, because the bullet only grazed my shoulder.
Gramps had made it through emergency surgery. He'd had a cardiac arrest. The poor old man had been through a lot of trauma and already had failing health before this.
He was under constant monitoring. Meemaw hadn't left his side except when nurses forced her to let them change her IV.
And Abigail had been running on adrenaline and terror for forty-eight hours straight, going back and forth between my ward and her grandparents'. In just two days, her eyes had gone bloodshot, and she'd grown leaner. It irked me down to my bones.
