The call ends, and Darcy feels short of breath. Ames’ story can’t be true. If it is, Jennifer is alone with a disturbed, dangerous ex-cop who worked for criminals. Darcy reviews her memory and recalls Bronson’s sudden mood swings. She barely knows the man.
Returning to the waiting room, Darcy texts a message to Jennifer.
Are you still awake?
It doesn’t take long for her daughter to respond.
Can’t sleep. How’s Hunter?
He’s resting now. Doctor says he’s doing better. Will do more tests in morning.
Can he come home then?
Yes. Where is Bronson?
Jennifer doesn’t reply for a minute. Is she checking on him?
Sorry. Chatting with Kaitlyn. Bronson is asleep on the couch. Why?
Just wondering. He’s been under a lot of stress. Try not to bother him, okay?
Why would I?
No reason. Just let him rest.
Darcy taps her thumb against the screen after Jennifer signs off. She doesn’t trust her neighbors to look in on Jennifer. If it wasn’t in the middle of the night, she’d suggest Jennifer spend the night at Kaitlyn’s.
She puts the phone away and picks up another magazine. Then her eyes pop open, and she jolts awake, realizing she fell asleep. Light pours through the window as Darcy stretches her back and glances around the room. The woman left, but the corridor is alive and bursting with staff.
The doctor gives her good news. Another scan shows the bleed stopped. Hunter will take anti-seizure medication as a precaution, but he can go home soon. As she leaves Hunter’s room, a pretty girl steps from the elevator and stops at the nurse’s station.
Bethany. Aaron’s sister.
This is the first Darcy has seen of Hunter’s supposed girlfriend. Why hasn’t she visited until now?
Darcy wipes her face clean of resentment when Bethany spins away from the station and angles toward Hunter’s room. The girl pulls up when she sees Darcy between her and the door.
“Ms. Gellar, how is Hunter?”
“Better now. It was a long night.”
Bethany’s smooth demeanor cracks, and the tears burst forth like a dam break. It’s not an act, and realizing what the girl must be going through slams Darcy back on her heels.
“I don’t know why Aaron did it,” Bethany says between sobs as Darcy holds her. “He said it was to protect me, like I need protection from Hunter, but I don’t believe him.”
“Why did your brother attack Hunter?”
Bethany shakes her head and swipes a tissue across her nose.
“There’s something wrong with him. He’s been so…angry. Like my parents caught him drinking with Sam over the summer and took his car away, and Aaron punched a hole in the wall. And last month, after he had a bad practice and coach told Aaron he wasn’t starting the next game, Aaron came home and started screaming at Mom and Dad like it was their fault. Then he slammed the door and took off, and nobody could find him until he returned in the morning. None of us wanted to go near Aaron, because it looked like he might explode again or…”
“Go on,” Darcy says, thinking Aaron’s violent tendencies fit the killer’s profile.
“I don’t think he would harm us, but he needs help, and my parents won’t accept that he’s getting worse. And now he’s in so much trouble. What’s happening to my family?”
Over Bethany’s shoulder, Darcy watches a nurse approach with a concerned expression.
Darcy mouths, “She’ll be okay,” and the nurse nods and returns to her station.
“Maybe now Aaron will get the help he needs,” Darcy says, her arm over Bethany’s shoulder as she leads her to a pair of chairs.
Bethany hitches and coughs into her hand.
“I keep picturing my brother in jail and worrying someone will hurt him.”
“He’s not in prison, Bethany. Hunter will be fine, and Aaron will get better with counseling.”
Except Darcy knows some kids never get better. Michael Rivers didn’t.
Bethany stays with Darcy until the doctor releases Hunter. Darcy gives them space while Bethany clings to Hunter, and more tears fall before she obeys her parents’ edict to come home.
The ride home is funereal. Hunter turns away and rests his head against the seat, his legs drawn up and his shoulders slumped, defeated. Jennifer isn’t responding to messages. Darcy repeats the mantra that her daughter is asleep, yet she remembers what Hensel told her. Who is Bronson, and is Jennifer safe with him in the house?
The music on the radio fails to calm her nerves. She silences the volume and opens the window.
“The lawyer will make sure Aaron and the other boys get the punishment they deserve.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Hunter says, staring out the window at the shops.
“It matters. If they let Aaron get away with hurting you, he’ll go after someone else.”
“No, I mean it doesn’t freaking matter. You never listen. It will never stop, and Bethany’s parents will make her break up with me. You think they want a loser dating their daughter?”
“You’re not a loser.”
“To them I always will be. To Coach Morgan and everyone at school. Why did you make us move? Neither of us wanted to come here.”
“Jennifer is adjusting, and if you give it time—”
“No, Mom. I won’t adjust to everyone hating me because I didn’t grow up in Genoa Cove and don’t wear the same stupid designer clothes they buy.”
He bites off a curse and slams the side of his fist against the seat back.
“You wish you were still in Virginia.”
“I wish I were high, to be honest.”
Darcy swings the car to the curb and glares at Hunter.
“Why did you say that?”
“Because it’s true. Wouldn’t you want to get high if everyone said you were a loser and wanted to beat you up?”
“That boy I saw you with at school. Squiggs.”
“Stop it, Mom. He’s not the school pusher. That’s just another rumor some asshole started because Squiggs is an outcast like me.”
She walks on a razor’s edge. Saying the wrong thing will push Hunter away, and she’ll lose him again. But in his own way, he’s opening up to Darcy, and she wants to grab his hand before he plunges back into the dark chasm he’s so reliant on.
“When I was your age, I used to sneak behind the garage with Aunt Vivian and get high.”
Hunter twists his head toward her. It’s plain on his face he doesn’t believe her.
“You and Aunt Vivian. Got high. Right.”
“I know it’s impossible for you to accept, but your mom used to be a teenager, even if that was back in the dark ages.”
“Before electricity.” A hint of a grin curls one side of his face.
“Prehistoric times, yes. Kids drink, and you can’t go to a party without someone passing a joint around. And I’m a total hypocrite for telling you not to party like I did, but it’s not worth the risk, Hunter. Especially now that you’ve had a traumatic brain injury.”
“Concussion.”
Darcy checks the mirror and pulls the car into traffic.
“A concussion is a traumatic brain injury. Take care of yourself, and you’ll be fine in a month or two. Keep taking chances, and you risk permanent damage.”