“And Lucilla?” I ask, hoping for once she puts the alcohol aside and be there for her kid.
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Texted me before all this when down saying she ‘needed space.’ She’s flying to L.A. to see her parents.” His mouth twists. “I tried calling to tell her what happen with Evie. She won’t answer my calls. She finally texted an hour ago, said Evie isn’t hurt, so she doesn’t need to come back.”
“Fucking bitch.”
“I wanted Evie to have a two-parent home,” Thomas says quietly. “Better than what Troy and I had.”
I think back to what Aria said about Evie being caught in the middle of a terrible marriage. She was right. Of course, she was. I let this go on for too long.
“When this is over, Thomas–file for divorce.”
“Yeah.” Thomas exhales, guilt bleeding through. “Sometimes I think we’re selfish. Bringing women and kids into this life.” His eyes lift to mine. “Look what it’s done to Gracie, to Aria, and to Evie.”
“Bullshit,” Collin cuts in. “Nasty shit happens every day. Regular people get destroyed too. Gracie will pull through; we’ll find Aria, and your daughter–she’ll be okay.”
“Damn right,” I say.
Thomas studies Collin, then snorts and lights a joint. He takes a long drag before passing it over to me. “Jesus, Col. Never thought you’d be the emotional voice of reason.”
Before Collin can respond, Thomas’s phone buzzes. He answers, listens for a second, then looks at me. “Gracie’s awake. She wants to speak with us. Our guy says she has information about Aria.”
I stub out the joint. “Let’s go. Now.”
I push past them, my mind collapsing into a single point, Aria. The drive to the hospital blurs into streaks of light and noise. Red lights, green lights, none of it matters. It’s the longest damn ride of my life.
The automatic doors open to Gracie’s hospital room door, antiseptic burning my lungs. Machines beep in uneven rhythms, all attached to Gracie. Wires snake across her fragile body, bandages, monitors, and a blood bag. I follow the dripline to her pale skin against white sheets. My gut twists.
Gracie’s mother sees Thomas and explodes. “I told you not to come here! Leave!” Her sharp Japanese English accent slices through the room as she steps between us and the bed. I don’t move. Not when the key to finding Aria might be lying right there.
“Gracie asked for me,” Thomas says, voice tight, controlled. He’s holding on to his temper by his teeth. “This is just like high school and college!” she snaps. “You’re a bad influence. When will my daughter finally see you for what you are?”
Her hands are in his face now. I can see Thomas takes a slight step back. He takes a deep inhale of air. “This isn’t good for Gracie,” he says. “Her friend Aria is missing. She has information and asked to talk to us.” My patience burns down to ash. Every second wasted is another second Aria stays gone.
“You’re not police!” Mrs. Hoshia shouts. “Why doesn’t she speak to the police?” A doctor rushes in, alarm flashing across his face. “What’s going on here? This is a trauma ward. The patient just came out of surgery. This yelling isn’t helping her recovery.”
“Agreed, Doc,” I say, stepping forward. “I’m Cyan MacBrady, Gracie’s friend. This shouting isn’t helping anyone. Gracie asked to speak with us. If Mrs. Hoshia would like a coffee while we talk, we’ll leave immediately after.” His eyes flicker at my name. He hesitates.
“You all need to leave.” If my girl weren’t missing, the good doctor would have earned my respect. But if he attempts to get in my way, I’ll show him why I’m calledThe Púca.
I don’t have time for this. Not today, when Aria’s life may be ticking down by the second. “ Look here Doc. I don’t want to stress Gracie either.” I crack my knuckles, tone dropping. “But we are going to speak with her. You can decide whether or not you’re conscious… when we do.”
The doctor pales. “Mr. and Mrs. Hoshia p-please. Come with me.”
Gracie’s father rises quietly. I’d almost forgotten he was there. Unlike his wife, he doesn’t shout or posture–just watches, calm and unreadable. Mrs. Hoshia looks ready to argue again, but the doctor cuts her off. “This atmosphere isn’t good for Gracie’s healing. The sooner they speak with her, the sooner she can rest.”
That does it. Her mother hesitates, then storms toward the door, shooting Thomas a glare sharp enough to peel paint. Gracie’s father follows without a word, his gaze lingering a beat too long before he turns away.
“That woman hates you,” Collin mutters, deadpan.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Thomas replies as we approach Gracie’s bedside.
“Gracie,” I say, trying to sound lighter than I feel. “Your mom’s still an unbending force.”
She manages a faint smile. “Yeah...” She swallows. I can see the center of her eyes crinkle with pain, but she fights through it and continues speaking, “but it comes from love. I scared her.”
“I’m sorry this happened to you.”
She blinks. “I’m a big girl, Cyan. No one dragged me into the elevator. No one made that bitch shoot me.” Her voice rasps. “Just return the favor when you catch her.”
