“She agreed with Meredith and didn’t call them yesterday. They’re flying home as we speak. We’ll tell them everything after they get home.”
“Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. Your mom is going to...” Bronwyn didn’t want to think about it.
“To be fair, the original plan was to make sure I didn’t have a concussion before calling, but then we realized they were on a plane. Their first flight was delayed due to weather, and the trickle effect has them hopping all over the place to get back home. There’s nothing they can do, so there’s no need to worry them.”
“Call them.” Bronwyn sat up and reached for the phone on the coffee table. “Call them right now. Leave them a message if they’re in the air.”
“Bron—”
“Mo, please. Lead with the fact that you’re okay, but don’t keep this from them.”
“They can’t do anything about it. They couldn’t have gotten home any earlier.”
“It doesn’t matter. Please, Mo. Please.” She couldn’t explain why it was so important. Her own family was in shambles. Not that it had ever been whole. But his? She hadn’t been joking when she said they were the only family she had. She wouldn’t be party to any breach of trust with Doug and Jacque. She couldn’t.
Mo took the phone and said, “Hey, Siri. Call Dad.”
The phone rang four times before Doug Quinn’s voice came through the line. “Mo! You just caught us. We’re boarding in ten minutes. Can’t wait to see everyone.”
“Hi, Dad. And Mom, if you’re sitting there.”
“Mo. Oh baby, it’s so good to hear your voice. We’ve missed you.” Jacque’s soft Southern voice turned each one-syllable word into at least two, and an argument could be made for three.
“Mom, Dad, listen. I need to tell you something.” The silence on the line was ominous.
Bronwyn pinched him, and he yelped. “Ow!”
“Don’t leave them hanging. What is wrong with you? I had no idea you’d be so terrible at this.” She directed her voice to his phone. “He’s fine. He meant to lead with that.”
“Why is he fine?” Doug asked.
“Bronwyn?” Jacque asked.
“Bronwyn?” Doug repeated.
“Yes, that’s not why he’s calling.” Bronwyn pinched him again. “Talk to your parents.”
“I will if you’ll stop pinching me.”
“Why are you—?”
“What’s going on?”
Doug and Jacque were firing questions at them so fast, she couldn’t tell who was talking or what they were asking.
“Mom, Dad, I love you, and I need to tell you something before your flight takes off.”
“Okay. We’re listening.”
“Last night, when we were headed back to my house. Long story. Bronwyn’s got a creep at The Haven, and we agreed she should not be on the premises. Anyway, we stopped at the grocery store for ice cream. And while I was waiting, there was a drive-by shooting, and I was shot.” A long pause.
Bronwyn didn’t pinch him this time, but she did nudge him.
“Twice. Technically.”
“Son, there’s really no other way to get shot. You get shot or you don’t. How did youtechnicallyget shot?” Doug Quinn was clearly holding on by the narrowest of margins.
“He took the bullets for me.” Bronwyn cleared her throat. She would not start crying again. “One hit his arm and made a little ditch in it. The other went through his calf. And he hit his head pretty hard, and his face is bruised up pretty bad. But Aunt Carol sent us to Asheville, and her plastic surgeon friend did all the stitches and says there will be very little scarring. And they did a CT scan, and he doesn’t have a concussion.”
