Chapter 4

My phone buzzed again, insistently, from my jeans pocket.

Brooke stood over me, the riding crop still in her hand, her chest heaving.

John looked horrified. "Miss Brooke!"

With a shaking hand, I pulled out my phone. Unknown number.

I swiped to answer.

"Mr. Ethan Harrison?" A gruff, official-sounding voice.

"Yes?" My voice was a raw whisper.

"This is Sergeant Miller, Travis County Sheriff's Office. We're at your residence, 2400 Barton Creek Drive. We found your mother, Eleanor Harrison. She's alive, but she's lost a lot of blood. EMS is transporting her to St. David's Medical Center now. Sir, her condition is critical."

The world tilted.

Brooke's face, frozen in anger a moment before, crumpled.

The color drained from her cheeks. "No..." she whispered.

"The intruders?" I managed to ask, my throat tight.

"One apprehended trying to flee the scene. At least one other got away. We're securing the property."

I let the phone clatter to the porch floor.

Silence.

Then Brooke let out a choked sob. "Oh my God, Ethan... I... I didn't..."

I stared at her, the pain in my leg a dull throb compared to the icy emptiness spreading through my chest.

She dropped the crop as if it burned her.

"John, get the truck!" she screamed, her voice shrill. "We need to get him to the hospital! Now!"

She knelt beside me, her hands fluttering, afraid to touch me.

"Ethan, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I believed her. I..."

I pushed her hand away when she tried to help me up.

"Don't touch me," I said, my voice flat, devoid of all emotion.

John helped me to my feet, his strong arm supporting me.

The ride to St. David's was a blur of flashing lights and Brooke's frantic, tearful apologies.

I didn't say a word.

I just stared out the window, watching the city lights streak by.

Mom. Critical.

Because of Savannah. Because of Cody. Because of Brooke's blind stupidity.

In the emergency room, the harsh fluorescent lights hummed. The air smelled of antiseptic and fear.

Brooke hovered, wringing her hands, trying to talk to me.

I turned my back on her.

A doctor finally came out. A woman, her face grim.

"Mr. Harrison? I'm Dr. Ramirez."

"My mother?"

"She's in surgery. It was a deep stab wound. She lost a significant amount of blood. We're doing everything we can."

Everything we can. The words echoed in the sterile corridor.

Brooke made a small, wounded sound behind me.

I wanted to hit something. Someone.

I wanted Savannah here, so I could see her face when she realized what she'd done.

The waiting room chairs were hard, uncomfortable. Hours passed.

Brooke tried to offer me coffee, water. I ignored her.

Eventually, she sank into a chair across from me, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Good. Let her suffer.

It was nothing compared to what Mom was going through.

Nothing compared to what I felt.

A cold, hard knot of rage was solidifying in my gut.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.