There was no other way to explain it. A small part of him had known it could happen and that coming here would lead to the inevitable conclusion where everything went to shit. And it had. His hand shook, and the only thing supporting his arm was his bent knee. He had a gun turned on one of his oldest friends. And worst of all, he didn’t drop it. Justin just stared as the pain made his breath hitch. Something wasn’t right inside. He shouldn’t be feeling like that now the bullet was gone. Gabe stared at him, his mouth open, his eyes wide, shaking his head in disbelief. So far he hadn’t said a thing. “You said your name was Tom,” Sam said. He didn’t sound accusing, more stating a fact. “Are you…?” Sam stopped. Justin knew what he wanted to ask: was he that Justin? He didn’t have to answer because Gabe replied for him, only his voice was dead. “Justin. Allens. Ethan’s brother. Marcus’s youngest son. My friend.” Gabe said all that staccato, like every syllable was hard to get out.
