The hospital bed moves as Mom jumps to her feet. “They shot at you?”

Ah, hell.

“Who were you with when you were separated from Violet?” Pigpen asks.

Mom throws her arms out to her sides. “Did anyone else hear what he said?”

But they already know. “Skull.”

Pigpen studies me with narrowed eyes. “What did you two talk about?”

“Get out,” Mom roars as she rounds on Pigpen. “Get out now!”

Pigpen and Cyrus both look at me for approval and I nod. That one act causes Mom to mash her lips together. “He’s my son and he’s a minor. I’m the one still making the decisions here. Not him and not you!”

Cyrus raises an eyebrow. An unspoken reminder that I’m weeks away from eighteen.

Pigpen pushes off the wall. “Won’t be far.” Which means he’ll be outside the door, standing guard.

Cyrus rounds the bed and gives me a brief but strong hug. “I’ll find out about Violet and your discharge.”

“I’ll find out about discharge,” Mom snaps.

“Fine with me, but he’s coming home with us.” Cyrus leaves and my mother goes from exhausted gray to red.

“I hate that man.”

She’s never said that aloud before, but I have no doubt she’s thought it a million times throughout the years. Any other circumstances, I’d be giving Mom a hard time, but it’s been a tough day all around.

I lie back in the bed and close my eyes. “I think we should do it.”

There’s a dip on my bed as Mom sits, followed by a deep sigh. Cyrus wants Violet and me to stay at his place until the club and the police can figure out the fallout from the kidnapping.

“I’ve never been welcomed at Cyrus’s,” she says.

Not sure if it’s true or not. My earliest memories have always been a separation between Mom and the club. “He told me you could stay, too.”

“I sleep during the day and work at night. It’ll be off from everyone else.”

“I don’t want you at the condo by yourself.” I open my eyes and my heart rips at the wetness in hers.

Mom glances away and wipes her face with the back of her hand. “You’re staying with him, aren’t you?”

It’s what he and the board asked of me and I don’t know how to say no. Their logic makes sense, but I don’t want her alone either. Not until I know the Riot are no longer a problem. Until I can protect Mom on my own again, I’ll ask the club for a favor and ask them to keep it silent. To watch over my mother until I can.

“He’s my family,” I say. “Same as you.”

“You need to cut them out of your life.”

But that would be like cutting off parts of myself. An arm. A leg. “I’m okay, Mom.”

Her head tilts in an effort for composure, but a single tear falls from the corner of her eye regardless. She reaches out, palm up, and I take her hand again. We sit like that, in silence, holding on to one another.

Violet

SILENCE.

It’s weird how I crave it, and I can’t seem to find it.

There’s a thrumming. Like a strange background music. It’s persistent and annoying and I can’t figure out where it’s coming from. None of the others who rotate in and out of my room seem to hear it. I don’t ask, but I can tell. They don’t appear as if they’re ready to peel their skin off their bones.

My mother’s here, beside me. Chair as close to the hospital bed as it can go and she won’t stop talking. Mom talks when she’s nervous. She talks when she’s not nervous. Mom talks. Most of it nothing of importance. Just words so she can fill the quiet I so deeply desire.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I cleaned your room while you were gone. Thought it would be nice if you came home and found it clean. I changed the sheets and the comforter. I used a new fabric softener. Smells like lilacs. I know you like lilacs. At least I think you do.”

Never really thought of lilacs one way or another.

Mom braids her blond hair. It’s a habit she has when she’s anxious. Mom lives in a constant state of distress. It’s been worse since Dad died. I can’t imagine what the past twenty-four hours have been like for her. Possibly the same fear and soul-crushing agony as when I sat next to her waiting to hear why Dad hadn’t returned home.

Because of that I let her talk. It’s what makes her feel better.

I’m not in pain anymore. There’s an IV and there’s a drip and the nurse said whatever was in the drip would take all the aches away. She was right, but it also made my head light, my body numb and my nose itch.

“Brandon and I made you cookies. Chocolate chip ones with oatmeal in them. You loved those when you were younger. We thought you would like them when you came home.”

I haven’t seen Brandon yet and that makes me frown. There’s no reason for them to lie to me, so I’m assuming he’s okay, but I’ll feel better once I see him, hug him, confirm in real life he’s fine.

Fine.

My heart squeezes. Chevy. I need to know if he’s okay. I strip off the sheet and go to slide out of the bed. Mom’s face falls, her fingers freeze on the locks of hair she was braiding, then unbraiding for the umpteenth time. “Please stop trying to get out of bed. The doctor doesn’t want you placing pressure on your knee.”

Evidently, I’ve tried this before. Time and words seem like running water.