The Anti-hero (The Goode Brothers)

She’s taking too long.

As my brother drones on and on about his latest course load, I can’t focus. I’m still staring into the dark night, waiting for Sage to round the corner with a smile.

Caleb mentioned he saw our dad heading toward the valet at the front, but I’m too nervous to believe it.

The very thought of him finding her chills me to the bone. He wouldn’t hurt her, would he? He may be a liar and a hypocrite, but is he really a monster?

“Where’s your date?” my brother asks, taking another sip of his drink.

“She’s in the bathroom,” I reply. “But she’s been in there a while. I should go see what’s taking her so long.”

“While you’re back there, check on your father,” my mother calls from beside my brother. “He said he was going too, and I’m ready to get home.”

I’m frozen, staring at her in confusion. I assumed my father went home without my mother and she would get the driver to come back for her, but knowing he’s still here, possibly threatening or bullying Sage, my Sage has my blood as cold as ice.

Without warning, I take off in a run toward the place where I just left her. My mother calls after me, the entire group of them probably alarmed to see me sprinting in such a panic for no reason.

I know she’s fine. It’s ridiculous to think he would actually hurt her, but I’ve been fooled by that man before, and every ounce of instinct inside me is telling me that she needs me.

As I turn the corner behind the main building, noticing movement on the ground in the distance, I stop. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust, and when they do, all I see is red.

My father is hovering over her, his hands around her throat and her hands weakly fighting against his grip.

Everything starts to blur, and it’s like something in me snaps. It’s the same feeling I had the night I attacked Brett.

All of the good inside me turns black, and in its place is only rage.

I don’t register charging toward him, and I don’t recall dragging him off of her. The only thing I know is I’m holding him by the collar, a drunken mess of a man sobbing for forgiveness as I hold my fisted hand in the air, ready to kill him.

“You’re…a monster,” I growl, my nostrils flared and my mind sick with madness. I imagine myself watching him die, bleeding out on the concrete path. I picture it with gross satisfaction.

“I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’m sorry, Adam.”

My fist shakes, ready to strike again.

I remember how good it felt to hit Brett. How I promised her I’d make anyone who hurt her pay, and it’s an easy bargain to make. No longer worried about my soul, I’m free to inflict my vengeance with pleasure.

“I lost control,” he sobs, drunk and hysterical. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

His hands are held in front of his face to defend himself from my fist, but if I kill him right here, what does that make me? Vindicated?

If he is a monster, and it’s his blood running through my veins, then what does that make me? I’m not better than him. The best I can do for her now is to rid her world of this vile man and seal my fate. She’s worth it. I’d gladly burn in hell for her, so going to prison is a simple sacrifice.

To be the hero in her story, I would.

My fist shakes in anticipation, and I’m ready to break it all over again, this time on his face.

But then I hear a sound that pulls me from the twisted ramblings of my mind.

She coughs. It’s a painful, desperate, wheezing sound that makes me pause.

Turning my head, I see her rolling to her stomach, coughing desperately into the ground as she gasps for air.

I drop my howling father onto the ground, relax my fist, and rush to her side.

“Adam,” she says, but her voice sounds shattered into a million pieces.

“I’m here,” I reply, scooping her from the ground and holding her in my arms. Her hands clench my suit tight in her fists as she continues to fight for each breath, letting out a painful-sounding cough every time she does. Her throat is already swollen, and I’m starting to panic.

When I take off with her toward the crowd, I look up to find my mother standing under the white lights, watching this unfold with horror. Her hand is resting over her mouth and I send her an expression of anguish.

“Call 9-1-1,” I cry out. “Please.”

She scrambles for the phone in her purse, quickly pulling it out and dialing the number as I rush toward her, carrying Sage in my arms. When my eyes meet my mother’s, she starts crying hysterically into the phone, giving the person on the other end everything they need to know.

Her hand reaches out, taking Sage’s as she calls for help.

Soon, my brothers and others from the party are there, but I don’t focus on them. I’m only staring down at Sage, watching her struggle for each breath, tears streaming down her face as I carry her toward the road where the ambulance will meet us.

Behind me, I hear my father cry out for his wife and his sons, but no one goes to help him.

By the time I reach the road, where the valet driver let us out of my car, the red and white lights of the ambulance flash through the sky. Sage stares up into my eyes, each of her inhales sounding more and more like wheezes than breaths. Her lips are an unnatural shade of blue, and I just stare at her and pray.

Please let her be okay. Please don’t take her from me.

What if he crushed her throat so bad it swells on the way to the hospital and I lose her?

It would be all my fault. I let that man roam free because I was too scared to reveal what a devil he truly is. I let her die because I’m a coward. Because I showed up too late. Because I left her alone in the first place.

Her face twists in pain and I pray to God to take it from her and give it to me.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, kissing her head. The ambulance parks on the curb and the paramedics jump out, but at the last moment, just before they take her from my aching arms, I press my lips to her ear. “I love you.”

Then, my arms are empty and they’re strapping an oxygen mask on her face, taking her vitals. I stand helpless on the curb as they treat her on the stretcher in the back of the ambulance. I’m hit with earth-shattering satisfaction as her chest starts moving with the intake of her breath.

I keep my eyes on her for as long as I can. Distantly, I feel a warm hand clutching my arm, and when they finally slam the doors closed, it’s like a punch to my heart.

And suddenly, I feel all the pain I expected to feel from being in love. The fear of losing her. The regret of letting her down. The guilt of knowing she’s in pain because of me.

So, as the ambulance drives away and the police pull up, I make a silent promise to myself and to her. If I’m given the chance to make this right, I’m going to take it.

Starting now.