“No!” My mind was racing. They could charge Shay. They could do worse than that. He could go to prison.

“There’s talk that they’ll throw out Shay’s attack if they throw out Carruthers’s first attack on you, when he lunged at you after the football game.”

“Really?” It worked like that?

“They had legal jargon. I talked to a lawyer, but Shay’s a big fucking deal. The football coaches got involved. I wouldn’t be surprised if the college Dean did, too. Carruthers agreed. He’s only going to be charged on the attack outside the library if Shay can walk.”

“He went for that?” I wasn’t thinking about Shay going Terminator on me. I’d process that later.

Gage shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. “My guess is that they threw some big intimidation his way for him to do that. I don’t get it, either, but Shay isn’t going to be charged.”

“That’s unbelievable.”

“Yeah, but it means that Shay’s banned from the hospital. He can’t see you until you leave.”

Shay did all of that for me.

I couldn’t—I still couldn’t process it all.

A different thought came to me. “Where is everyone? Mom, Blake, Kristina?”

“Your merry band of friends were here all day, but they went back to the dorm. Same thing for Mom and Blake. They were here during the day. They drove all day and night to get here, but they went to a hotel to get some sleep. It’s my shift. I was gone for classes today, and I wanted to hear what was being said on campus about the whole thing.”

A different feeling of dread slithered around me. I didn’t want to hear that, either, not yet. “What day is it?”

“It’s Wednesday morning.” He turned the television on, and I saw the time.

Two in the morning.

I was attacked Monday after midnight, so early Tuesday.

I lost an entire day.

All that happened over a twenty-four hour period.

I was going to pass out again.

Gage softened his voice. “It’s all over campus that Shay went after Carruthers. The rumors were rampant, and those were the ones people were telling me. I can’t imagine what people are saying that I haven’t heard.”

“Oh, my God.”

I could. My last year at high school flashed before my eyes, but Shay defended me. That was…

I felt the walls closing in. The room shrank in size.

What was going on?

Was the oxygen cut off, too? There wasn’t any left.

“Kenz.” Gage stood up, leaning over me. His eyes filled with concern. “Hey. What’s happening?”

I couldn’t talk. Why couldn’t I…

The room was tipping over now.

I heard muffled voices.

Then it was all black again.

I fainted.

In the grand scheme of things, it was embarrassing, but survivable.

My mom swooped in when she got to my room later that afternoon. Her arms opened wide and an afghan draped around her back and arms. She pulled me in for a hug, rocking me gently.

“Oh, honey,” she crooned, smoothing a hand down my hair like I was a pet. “You scared me so much. I didn’t know what happened. I didn’t know if you were alive, if it was just you, if Gage got attacked, too. An uninformed mother’s mind is not a good place.” She pulled back, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout as she continued to smooth down my hair. “You’re just as beautiful to me as you were the day you were born. The whole moldy pickle look is in.”

“Mom!” My face looked like a moldy pickle?

A low chuckle sounded behind her, and then my older brother stepped to the side. He looked normal, an inch taller than Gage and myself. His head was still shaved, and he looked like he’d been lifting weights a bit more. But the normal part was his clothes. He was dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, and he had a Styrofoam cup in his hand.

I could smell the coffee, and my mouth was instantly watering. “Is that what I think it is?”

He laughed, setting it on the table stand beside me. “I wasn’t sure if you could have it yet. Thought I might check with the nurse first.” He moved in to hug me, and it felt good to fold into his arms.

Gage was my brother in the real sense of the word.

We fought, wrestled, yelled at each other, but we’re also friends. Blake was four years older than me, and he’d been the father figure since ours died from cancer when we were little. He was dark coloring, dark hair, and dark eyes, like Gage and myself, but he had a slightly rounder face. He was bigger in build, too. More muscular, a bit gruffer, and slightly rougher around the edges, Blake had a temperament to match.

He was exactly what I needed.

He held me a second longer, and I brushed away a tear. “Hi. You guys drove here?”

His eyes were so sad. He smoothed some of my hair from my forehead. “You know Mom. She hates flying. Family emergency.”

He grimaced, his eyes lingering over the side of my face. “I heard your boy packed quite a punch back at those assholes.”

My boy.

“Oh.” I ducked my head, feeling my hands grow clammy. “Yes. That’s what I heard, too.”

He stepped back, and I focused on our mother again. The afghan was still there, half covering a pair of blue scrubs and fur-lined clogs. Her dark hair was pulled up into a high bun, and she even had a pair of glasses hanging from a beaded string around her neck. Red lipstick, yellow eye shadow, and an extra amount of blush was spread on her cheeks.

“What are you doing? You’re not a nurse.” I pointed at her clothes.

“I know.” She looked down, so pleased with herself. “Isn’t it fabulous? I dressed like this for two reasons.” She migrated closer, taking my hand, and including Blake in the conversation. He drifted over to where Gage had slept, but hoisted himself up so he was sitting on the windowsill, his feet resting on Gage’s chair.

He shook his head. “Don’t talk to me. You look crazy. I don’t want to be included.”

She batted her eyelashes at me. “It’s a fashion-forward trend. No one’s thought of this before. I brought everything so I’m prepared. I’m blending in. I’m dressing the part. I’m going to take care of you, so what better outfit to wear than someone who does it for a profession? Isn’t this fabulous? And I’m comfortable. Nurses are so comfortable. It’s like going to work in your pajamas. I’m kind of jealous. Maybe I should be a nurse?”

Blake had pulled his phone out, but he waved a hand toward me. “Tell her the other reason. The real reason you’re dressed like that.”

“Oh.” Her hand splayed out on her chest. “Yes. If I need to sneak anywhere, I have a better chance looking like I belong. You know? They have all sorts of weird rooms in hospitals. You never know where you might have to go and where you’re not supposed to be.”

I agreed with Blake. “You’re a lunatic.”

She laughed, waving her hand in the air. “My children are so funny.” She turned around as she spoke, and a nurse was entering the room. She stopped, frowning at our mother before shaking her head and approaching the bed.

She explained what I already knew—I was being discharged. The doctor had come through earlier, and I was given a clean bill of health. I wasn’t supposed to drive for the next two weeks, and I had to “keep it easy” for the same time period because that was how long it would take for the concussion to go away.

Until then, foggy thoughts, slurred speech, feeling nauseous, dizzy, off-balance, and a whole list of other criteria were to be expected. I shouldn’t be alarmed if I couldn’t do simple math anymore. That’d go away, but I had to be careful so I didn’t reinjure my head. That happened, apparently.

When I left, Blake was the one to wheel me out in the wheelchair, and I had no clue what Mom was doing. She was talking to everyone as we went down a hallway, acting as if we were in a parade. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d been doing the elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, wrist wave to them. She was laughing, telling everyone how blessed we were, how scared she’d been as a mother, and I had had enough by the time we got to the front door.