He swallows the water, and a corner of his mouth twitches. “I might have tried for something less painful.”
He manages a few more drinks of water, but not much time passes before he’s asleep again.
Taylor returns, her phone pressed to her ear. “I got Piper on the phone.” She moves to my side, putting the phone on speaker.
“Hey, Piper. We’ve been trying to reach you,” I say.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice is low and quavering. “Taylor told me what’s going on. I wish I could be there.”
“You can be here. It’s not like you can’t afford a plane ticket,” Mindy says.
“Leave her alone,” Taylor murmurs.
Mindy shoots her a glare. “She can stand up for herself.”
I groan. “Sorry, Piper. As you can see, you aren’t missing a whole lot.”
Mindy winces, tossing me an apologetic glance.
A deep voice rumbles in the background. “Who are you talking to?”
Ben.
“Hold on a sec,” Piper says. “My little brother was in an accident. I need to go home.” Her voice is muffled as if she’s covered the receiver with her hand, but her words are still audible.
Ben’s response is hazier. The tightness in the pitch of his voice is the only thing that’s apparent from this side of the line. He speaks for a while, a minute or more, and I strain to make out the words.
Once he’s finished, Piper’s response is a low, “Okay.” She comes back on the phone, the volume clearer but the tone laced in strain. “I can’t come now. It’s not a good time.”
The sick feeling in my gut is mirrored on the stricken faces of Taylor and Mindy in front of me.
I guess this is one thing we can all agree on.
I lean closer to the phone, lowering my voice. “Piper, do you need a rutabaga?”
We wait in heavy silence for her response.
“I have to go.”
The line goes dead.
“Well, fuck.” Mindy blows out a breath.
“My thoughts exactly.” Taylor shakes her head, then she frowns at me. “What’s up with rutabaga?”
ChapterTwenty-Three
Finley
Ihad intended to talk to Jacob about the consequences of his crash by myself, but my sisters won’t hear of it.
“You promised you’d let me help,” Mindy tells me when we step into the hall to talk.
“You have to work tomorrow morning,” I remind her.
“So? I can stay until nine or ten at the very least. I can survive on a few hours of sleep. It’s not a big deal.”
“She’s right,” Taylor says. “This is a conversation you shouldn’t have alone.”