“Lucky?” I choke out, my voice broken. I rattle my left hand against the manacle. “Lucky?”
She flinches at the ear-splitting clang. “That was a poor choice of words. I only meant—”
“Get out.” My eyes press closed. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“Archer, I think—”
“Go away.”
I hear the sound of retreating footsteps. The door clicks closed a second later, leaving me alone for the first time since I regained consciousness.
In solitude, I’m finally able to process the gravity of my situation.
Even with physical therapy, you may never regain the exact level of control or throwing power you had before.
I want to scream.
I want to rage.
I want to cry.
I want to curse.
I want to wrap my hands around my brother’s neck and squeeze until he stops breathing.
I want to hug my parents for five minutes straight, like a little kid after a bad dream.
I want to crawl into Jo’s warm embrace and reassure myself that there are still things in this world worth living for.
But I can only lie here — a prisoner of my own choices. A victim of circumstances beyond my control. Breathing through the pain that radiates from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.
I am broken.
In more ways than one.
* * *
When my doorswings open the next morning, I assume it’s the police back for another round of questioning. I sit up straighter in bed as the last people I ever expected to see walk into my hospital room.
Blair and Vincent Valentine.
“Mr. and Mrs. Valentine, what are you doing here?” I crane my neck, trying to see around them. “Is Jo with you?”
“Josephine is at Cormorant House.”
“Oh.” My hope deflates. “Maybe next time.”
There’s a long silence. Neither of them seems to know where to start. They stare at me with eerie, emotionless gazes.
“I asked for my phone so I could call her and explain what happened… but they won’t let me have it. They only let me speak to my parents for a few moments last night.” I clear my throat. “I’m surprised they let you in, to be honest.”
“The State Police Superintendent is an old friend,” Vincent informs me.
“Right. Of course.” I suck in a sharp breath. “Maybe you could pass along a message to Jo for me. Tell her that I’m sor—”
“Oh, no.” Blair cuts me off. Her eyes are locked on my handcuffs. “I’m afraid that simply won’t be possible, Archer. Josephine is not to be told about any of this…mess.”
My brows lift. “What?”