The doctor nodded. “He will. It’s a matter of how much damage—if any—was done to his tendons, nerves, and muscles. I estimate he’s facing at least one skin graft surgery and rehabilitation. The burn specialist, Dr. O’Connell, will do a thorough assessment tomorrow morning.”
“How is Jack?” I asked in a small voice.
“He’s sedated and resting with painkillers.” Dr. Baker turned to my dad. “I have to tell you, sir, his blood alcohol content was .15 percent, which is extremely high and extraordinarily dangerous.”
My father’s lips made a thin line. “So he fell. He fell into the fire like a drunkard.”
I started to protest. “That’s not—”
“Accidents like this happen when one is that careless,” he snapped.
Dr. Baker’s eyes went between us, and he cleared his throat. “Yes, well, we have him on antibiotics to prevent infection, but I think he has a long road ahead of him.”
“Fine, thank you. Let’s go, Emery.”
I stared. “We’releaving?”
“You heard the doctor. We can’t see him right now. He’s unconscious or sleeping it off. We’ll come back in the morning at a reasonable hour.”
I stared helplessly at Dr. Baker, who shot me sympathetic look. “He’s sedated,” he told me gently. “He’ll be better suited for visitors tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I said, because he was giving me permission to leave without being eaten alive by guilt.
I followed my dad to the parking lot. Colin held open the door to the sedan, and we climbed inside.
“Daddy,” I said into the quiet before Colin started the car. “I heard that maybe…maybe it wasn’t an accident. He didn’t fall. I thinkJack…” I swallowed hard, my voice shaky. “I think he needs help. Since Grant died, he needs—”
“We do not speak of that,” my father replied. “But yes, I agree. Your brother needs help. Perhaps at a rehab facility or boarding school or military academy, where he can get his head on straight.”
“No, Daddy. I meant—”
“Be silent, Emery. I’ve had enough for one evening.”
I snapped my mouth shut, anger flaring.He’shad enough? He didn’t see Jack’s charred hand. He didn’t smell the burnt flesh or…
I squeezed my eyes shut and vowed to be at the hospital first thing in the morning, with or without my dad.
My phone buzzed with a text; it had been buzzing all night. I had at least twenty missed messages. Each was more disgusting than the last—just people eager for gossip and drama.
Except for one. Xander.
You don’t have to answer, but I hope Jack is okay. And that you are too.
I smiled and turned away from my father, toward the window, where the night was as black as ever, and typed a reply.
It’s not good. Probably needs skin grafts. We’ll know more tomorrow.
Xander’s follow-up text was instant.How can I help?
I smiled.You just did. Just being there helps.
Do you want to talk?
I glanced at my dad.Can’t now. But thank you.
The rolling dots came and went. Then again. Xander was wrestling with what to say. Finally, a new text popped up.
I wish I’d been there for you tonight.
