Brendan and I had met only two hours before the Jason Aldean concert in Las Vegas—the very night the shooting happened. I had left my friends so we could move closer to the front, hoping to catch the final songs up close and enjoy the night together.
At first, we were just dancing and laughing, completely caught up in the music and excitement. Then, suddenly, loud noises erupted. At first, they sounded like fireworks, but there were no flashes of light—something just didn’t feel right.
It paused briefly, and Jason Aldean continued performing. But then the sounds came again, and this time it was clear: gunshots. The singer ran off the stage, and chaos erupted around us.
Before I even knew what was happening, Brendan tackled me to the ground, shielding me with his body from the hail of bullets. The noise subsided for a moment, and he looked around to assess the danger—but it didn’t stop. The shooting continued.
He turned to me with urgency in his eyes and said, “We have to get out of here. We can’t stay. It’s not safe.” Then, with steady determination, he helped me up, pulling me out of the crushing crowds. We had no idea who was injured, who was safe, or who had been hit. All we knew was we had to move.
As we ran, Brendan kept reassuring me. “It’s going to be okay. Keep running. We’ll get out of here safe.” At one point, he even handed me his phone so I could text my sister, letting her know I was alive—a small thread of connection in the middle of chaos.
The entire night, he didn’t leave my side. Through the fear, confusion, and terror, Brendan was my protector, my anchor, and my lifeline.
