Page 115 of Downpour

Someone who could wake up in the middle of the night and make sure the house was empty. Someone who could hold her when she was frightened. Someone who could protect her.

“I’ll call the police,” CJ said as he fished his phone from his pocket. He glanced at me and nodded his head towards the bedroom.

“Come on, Brooke,” I said as I took the crutch away from her and rolled back into the bedroom.

She followed, as quiet as a mouse.

“Get in bed,” I said as I hastily opened my dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

“But what about?—”

“I’ll handle it,” I said as I turned and rolled to the door. “Go to sleep.”

The lightof day made everything worse.

I hadn’t slept a wink since that fucker had broken into the house in the middle of the night.

The cops showed up an hour later and did the perfunctory rounds of taking statements, making notes of the sliding door that had been lifted off its tracks, fingerprints on the glass, and the tossed kitchen. Tire tracks were found on the service road that edged the south side of the ranch. They came and went out the back.

Nothing had been taken, but it was clear that they knew what they were going for. The cops promised to track down Brooke’s roommates, but they were probably already getting out of dodge.

Which left me with one giant loose end: Brooke.

More accurately, how I had snapped at her in the heat of the burglary. In a turn of events that I hated more than anything, she was ignoring me.

Christian had dragged my ass out of the house and into town for an impromptu therapy session after CJ snitched.

I both loved and hated how protective my brothers were of Brooke.

After being calmly and professionally bitched out by that therapist, I had been delivered back to my house like a goddamn pizza. But Brooke was nowhere to be found.

Regret left a sickening taste in my mouth. For once, I wasn’t bothered by my disability. I was disgusted with how I had acted.

I sat at the kitchen table, trying again and again to get my apology right, but it all seemed so trivial. Empty, frivolous words were a paltry offering when I knew I had inflicted deep wounds.

The pencil felt foreign in my hand, but the discomfort of trying again and again to form letters was the penance I had to pay.

When Brooke didn’t show back up by the afternoon, I went after her.

The barn was empty, except for a handful of horses and their judgmental glares. I steered the golf cart up the lane toward the ranch’s office.

Brooke’s car was still in my driveway, so she had to be on the property, right?

But what if Cass or Becks had driven her into town?

I pulled up to the office and got my wheelchair out. Voices carried through the corrugated metal frame. They silenced as I wheeled myself inside.

Christian, Cassandra, Nate, Becks, CJ, and my father stared at me in silence. Mickey was asleep on the dog bed in the corner.

“Family meeting I wasn’t told about?” I said as I wheeled in.

No one said a peep.

“Where’s Brooke?” I snapped.

Cassandra lifted an eyebrow. “Try that tone with me one more time. I dare you.”

“Do it,” Becks said. “I’d like to see what happens.”

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