I drove her home, helped her settle onto the couch, and signed her cast with a black marker. I even drew a little motorcycle because she always teased me about wanting one.
She laughed at the drawing.
I laughed with her.
And I never asked another question.
Not one.
Now I stood in a hospital hallway looking at evidence that my little sister had been hurt badly enough to need emergency treatment, and I had accepted her explanation without looking any deeper.
A wave of rage rose through my chest.
I turned toward the stairwell.
I knew exactly where Tyler would be standing.
I knew exactly what I wanted to do to him.
But before I could take another step, Deacon moved in front of me and gripped both my shoulders.
“Listen to me,” he said.
I tried to pull away.
“Get out of my way.”
“No.”
“He’s going to pay for what he did.”
