The fight drained out of Devon. His sister looked wrecked—mascara smudged, shirt inside out, guilt and fear written across her face. This wasn't her fault. He knew that. But he’d needed someone to blame, and she was standing right there.
"I'm sorry," he said roughly. "I just—if anything had happened to her?”
"I know." Ashley's voice was small. “I would’ve never forgiven myself. I should've walked with her. I should've?—"
Devon's phone buzzed. Gabe's name lit up the screen.
"Yeah," Devon answered.
"I heard what happened." Gabe's voice was tight with concern. "Is Emery okay?"
"Don't know yet. Still waiting to see her."
"Jesus. Do you need anything? Want me to come down there?"
"No. We're okay for now." Devon rubbed his free hand over his face. "But thanks."
"There's something else," Gabe said. "I spoke to my dad. About everything—the federal case, Emery's father, all of it. He wants to come talk to everyone in person. Tomorrow. Says there are things we need to know."
Devon's stomach dropped. "What kind of things?"
"He wouldn't say over the phone. But he sounded serious. Said he's coming whether I want him to or not, so we might as well make it official."
"Okay. Tomorrow. We'll set something up at the house."
"Devon?" Gabe's voice softened. "She's going to be okay. Emery's tough."
"Yeah." Devon's throat was tight. "Call you tomorrow."
He hung up and sank into the chair beside Bryson. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind exhaustion and bone-deep fear.
They sat in silence, Ashley collapsing into a chair across from them. The waiting room clock ticked loudly, each second stretching into eternity.
Finally, after what felt like hours, but was probably only fifteen more minutes, a doctor in blue scrubs pushed through the doors.
"Family for Emery Tate?"
Devon was on his feet before the doctor finished the sentence. "That's me. How is she?"
"She's fine. Banged up, definitely going to be sore for a few days, but fine." The doctor—Dr. Montgomery, according to her name tag—smiled reassuringly. "The CT scan came back clear, no sign of head trauma beyond a mild concussion. No broken bones, but she's going to have some impressive bruising on her left hip and shoulder. We put eight stitches in a laceration on her forearm."
"Can I see her?"
"Absolutely. She's asking for you, actually." The doctor gestured toward the doors. "Follow me."
Devon looked back at Bryson and Ashley. "I'll text you."
"Tell her we love her," Ashley said, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
The doctor led him through a maze of hallways to a room near the end. She pushed open the door, and Devon's breath caught.
Emery sat propped up on a hospital bed, wearing a gown that swallowed her small frame. A bandage wrapped around her left forearm, and an angry bruise was already blooming across her cheek. Her hair was tangled, and she looked pale and exhausted.
But she was alive. Conscious. Looking at him with those green eyes that made his chest ache.
"Hi," she said, her voice rough.
"Hey.” Devon crossed to her in three strides, his hands hovering over her like he was afraid she'd break if he touched her. "Are you—can I?—"
