She lifts her head from her college textbook and then turns it toward me. "Aren't you supposed to knock before you enter?"
"Please. She needs to go," I beg.
Ava's eyes narrow into those of my protective older sister. "Why? What's she done now?"
It's another thing about Ava. She doesn't care for Hazel, nor does Hazel care much for Ava. I'd normally keep them apart, but there's no way I'm letting Hazel ride in a car with one of my brothers.
"I can't get into it, but can you take her home? Please?" I plead.
Ava's eyes widen. She puts her book on the bed and grabs her keys off her desk. "Sure. But why don't you tell me what she's done."
"I will later," I lie, knowing I can't tell her what Hazel said. Even though I hate what she's insinuating, she's still my friend. I add, "Can you take her down the back staircase and out the kitchen door?"
Ava studies me closer. "Why?"
My insides quiver harder. I lower my voice and admit, "Wyatt's outside with blood all over him."
The color in her face drains. She squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head, then sighs. "No problem."
"Thanks."
"Sure," she says, then marches past me, down the hall, and opens my bedroom door.
"Where's Willow?" Hazel snaps, but I don't bother to return to my room. My sister will handle it.
I take three steps, and Ava directs, "Get your stuff. I'm taking you home."
Hazel's muffled objections get quieter as I reach the bottom of the staircase. I step onto the wooden floor, and the front door opens.
"Dad!" Sebastian roars, pushing Wyatt inside.
My pulse throbs in my throat, as if trying to claw its way out. I grip the handrail, squeezing the oak so hard, it hurts.
Wyatt's swollen cheek hides his dimple and sharp jawline. His eye above it can barely stay open.
"Are you okay?" I fret.
"Willow, not now," Sebastian commands, then hollers, "Dad," in a rougher tone.
I lower my voice. "Wyatt?"
He slowly moves his head, peeking at me from under his cowboy hat. He strongly asserts, "I'm fine, Willow."
"You're not," I argue.
"Willow! I said not now. And go upstairs," Sebastian orders, warning me with his expression not to speak again.
"What's all the shouting for?" Dad asks, stepping into the hallway, then freezes.
A moment of tension fills the corridor. I ignore my brother's orders, trying to breathe, unable to take my gaze off Wyatt's bloody face.
Dad's words come out raw, stripped of warmth, and coated in steel. "What happened?"
"I'm fine," Wyatt declares.
"Like hell you are. Now, don't lie to me, son. What happened?" Dad demands, the weight of previous battles heavy in his question.
"Sir, I'm fine. Can I get cleaned up?" Wyatt asks, his tone begging for Dad to drop it.
