Jameson. Crumpled on the pavement.

I drop to my knees, grabbing his hand in both of mine and squeeze hard. He doesn’t squeeze back. His eyes are closed. Blood seeps from his nose, his ears. His skin looks too pale, scraped raw in spots. His leg is bent wrong.

The world shrinks into a ringing silence. Something inside me cracks wide open- hollow and endless.

The screen door slams open behind me. Mom runs toward us, her face drained of color.

“Jameson! No!” she screams, falling beside him. Her hands fly over his face, his chest, his neck—touching everywhere, desperate.