Page 61 of Luck of the Draw

And based on everything Brennan recalled, it was.

Constance placed her hand on his forehead. “How are you feeling, honey?”

“Uhm… Fine.” Braving the blinding light, he peeled his eyes open again and sat up. A tidal wave of dizziness washed over him, and he fell back on his elbows.

“Don’t try to sit up. Just be still.”

“I’m really okay, Mama.” Nevertheless, he complied becausefuck. He was sick to his stomach, and his head was splitting. He managed to get his eyelids fully open and blinked repeatedly to force his eyes to adjust to the light.

Brennan wasn’t at all surprised to find himself in a buzzing, chirping, frenetic emergency room, but was positively appalled at how awful he felt.

“Oh man,” he mumbled, clutching his head.

“Just try to relax, sugar. You’ve got a bad bump on your head.” Constance stroked his forehead again. “You got a couple of stitches back there, too. They said you’ve got a concussion, and that might make you sick.”

“They also said your blood alcohol was almost twice the legal limit,” Orson suddenly piped up, and a whole different type of nausea gripped Brennan’s stomach. “So I’m sure you feel plumb terrible.”

“I wasn’t driving,” Brennan offered, blinking at the ceiling before chancing a look at his parents.

“How very responsible of you, Brennan,” Orson said flatly and wearing a severe expression. “They also told us they picked you up in the middle of Canal Street right outside of Harrah’s with a naked woman they can’t identify. Care to offer an explanation for all that?”

Brennan’s eyelids stretched wide open, and he shot up in the bed without any regard for the throbbing pain in his head. “We were attacked. We were trying to leave, and someone ambushed—”

“I really don’t want to hear it, Brennan. You’re chock-full of excuses and did exactly what I forbid you from doing not even two days after we had this conversation.” Orson grabbed Brennan’s collar. “What in the hell were you thinking? Everyone in New Orleans is going to hear about this, and how is that going to reflect upon our entire family? You getting picked up drunk and passed out on the street with a random woman? Who is she? Are you hiring escorts now, too?”

“Holy shit, Dad, no,” Brennan insisted. “It wasn’t like that at all. Someone knocked me out and tried to kidnap her and then threw her out of a speeding car. If anything is going to reflect on our entire family, it’s that anyone is vulnerable to the crime in this city.”

“The only people who are vulnerable to the crime in this city are people traipsing around in places at times they shouldn’t be. Maybe if you had your act together like I’ve been telling you for the better part of a decade, you would’ve been asleep at home, and this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Orson, can we please not go through all that right now?” Constance stroked Brennan’s cheek and held his hand as concern pulled her features tight. “He could’ve been killed.”

“And he would’ve been killed out of sheer stupidity,” Orson snapped. “Leave it to my idiot son to skate through the deserts of Afghanistan unscathed, only to come home and get taken out by common thugs.” He pitched forward to growl at Brennan. “You’re gunning for a Darwin Award, boy.”

Brennan shoved off the bed. “I really don’t care about any of that right now because I’ve got a serious problem that I need to deal with.”

“Yes, you do,” Orson barked, marching after him. “Your life is a hot mess, and I’m not cleaning up after you anymore.”

Brennan threw a hand in the air and let it fall hard at his side. “Fine. Go home. I can take care of myself.”

Orson scoffed. “Right, and you’ve done a fine job of that so far.”

A nurse, who was clearly uncomfortable, waited near the nurses’ station, clutching a clipboard. “Brennan, I’d encourage you to take it easy for a couple more hours. You have a head injury. You could fall. Maybe go lie back down.”

“I need to see the woman I was brought in with,” he said. “Where is she?”

The nurse looked at him blankly for a second and then turned to the desk, sitting down at a computer. She clicked and scrolled, and then looked back up at him. “She’s in the trauma center.”

Trauma center.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled, wiping his hand over his mouth. “Can I see her?”

The nurse stood up. “Sure, I’ll take you there now. But she’s not awake yet.”

Anxiety clamped down on his heart. “What does that mean?”

“She was severely injured,” the nurse said gently.

“Who is this woman?” Orson rumbled, suddenly right in Brennan’s face. Constance stood close by, hand to her cheek and brows gathered. “I’m going to be getting questions about this, and I need answers.”

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