Page 121 of Threaded Lies

It’s the blood you share that matters, and the years of history you cling to.

And in this moment when I breathe in my mom’s signature scent of magnolias, I forget how angry I am at her for shoving a wedding down my throat and how furious I’ve been at my dad for handing over the company and family trust to Rhett without regard for me.

So. Many. Things. All are pushed aside, are trivialized, as I look up to see the tears streaming down her cheeks and gauge the worry in her eyes.

“The car ran a red light. Broadsided him. I just, I don’t understand why you’d be driving that fast. He hadn’t even put his seat belt on yet.” She talks in clipped sentences almost as if she’s trying to relay everything she’s been told. “His head. And a cut to his femur. Internal bleeding. Huge blood loss. And some broken ribs. In surgery now.”

“Okay. That’s good,” I say. “That means he’s stable enough for surgery.” But I know I could be wrong. I know he could be in there because they have no other option than to open him up. “He’ll be okay, Mom. He has to be. He doesn’t have a choice. He has to be.”

The thought is on repeat as she hugs me, while at the same time footsteps squeak down the hall. Florence says, “Please tell me he’s going to be all right.”

I didn’t even realize she was here. I glance around at the huddle of people, my family, the Williamses, a few others, and struggle to catch my breath.

I step back from my mom’s embrace and let Florence pull her in for a hug so that she can be the comforted instead of feeling like she has to be the comforter.

Plus, I’m not going to lie, this is the first time I’ve faced her since The Vine, and while this is not the time nor the place, it still looms over my head.

“Where’s Rhett?” I ask, realizing he needs to be here. Has to be here.

“He’s here. He and Chad are getting coffee while we wait for the doctors to update us,” my mom says.

I nod, arms crossed over my chest, and begin to walk slowly back and forth in the small waiting room. My phone buzzes nonstop in my pocket, but I don’t pick it up, I don’t look at it. I don’t even care.

No doubt all of Westmore knows and is reaching out to be the first to get the inside scoop. I refuse to give it to them.

Seconds stretch into minutes.

My brother comes back and meets my eyes across the distance, giving me a gentle nod that says he’s still livid with me but right now that anger is suspended.

Chad is right behind him. He begins to give me a hug and then stops when we both raise our arms to the same levels so they bump into each other. It’s an awkward dance of a hug that ends up with us patting each other on the back. I stiffen at the kiss he lands on my cheek and when he steps back, everyone suddenly averts their eyes.

Christ. Even in the midst of all this, I’m being watched.

Minutes stretch into an hour.

“He’s doing great. The doctors are repairing the damage—a lacerated liver, a damaged spleen—but he’s losing a lot of blood,” the nurse updates us. “The blood bank is running low. Are there any family members willing to donate blood just in case it’s needed?”

We all volunteer, but it’s Rhett who insists, since I was drinking and our mom is on blood thinners.

One hour melds into the next.

My pacing continues as I move past the nurses’ station, where two nurses are going over charts. Each time I pass by, I get a different snippet.

“It’s not possible. He’s type AB,” the blond nurse says in hushed tones.

I move to the other end of the room.

“There has to be a mistake,” says the one with auburn hair.

“But it’s right here on the printout. The blood type. That means he can’t be—”

“Joanie,” the auburn-haired nurse says, elbowing her when she sees me. She smiles wide to mask surprised eyes. “Hi. Rothschild, right? Can I help you with anything?”

“No. Thank you.” Shit. They know I was listening in. “I’m just wandering while I wait for news on my dad.”

“Oh. Yes.” A quick glance over to her counterpart and an expression I can’t read. “Um, he’s still in surgery. We were, uh—waiting on blood from the blood bank to come in.”

“My brother just donated for him.”