Now Zane’s head snapped up. “Sir, we’re going to States. We’re going to take the championship for the second year in a row. We—”

Smugness coated over the snarling. “So by your lack of responsibility, you let your school and your teammates down. No glory days for you. You’re a screw-up, Zane, always have been.”

Zane saw it, saw it clear as a sign in neon.

“Is that what this is about? You don’t want me to play, to be part of a winning team, maybe even to stand out. So you find any excuse to take it away from me. You—”

He hadn’t expected the backhand, only because he’d lost himself in his own rage.

“And there’s two weeks more.” Tossing the drink aside, Graham gripped Zane by the shirtfront, rammed him back against the door.

And in that moment Zane knew he was right. The four minutes was an excuse to take away something he loved. His hands fisted at his sides.

“Have you been drinking?”

“No.”

Graham slammed him back again. “Don’t lie to me! Drugs?”

“No.”

“You snuck off to the bushes and stuck it to that little slut, didn’t you?”

“No! Ashley’s not a slut.”

“Just another slut, and you’re too stupid to see she’s trying to get her hooks into you for my money. Don’t come in here late, half-dressed, and tell me you didn’t fuck her.”

He’d taken off his tie, his suit coat—like every other guy at the dance. “I didn’t have drugs, alcohol, or sex. I went to a school dance.”

The punch to the gut hurt and winded him, but he’d braced for it.

“Not much of a man then, are you, if you can’t get in that little Mick slut’s pants?”

“Graham!”

He didn’t so much as glance around at his wife’s frantic call. “Shut the hell up. I’m busy.”

“Britt’s sick. She’s thrown up all over the floor.”

“Deal with it!”

“Graham, she’s throwing up, she’s hysterical. Do something!”

“I’ll do something, all right.” He heaved Zane aside, charged up the steps.

He watched almost dispassionately as Graham used his fists, as Eliza shouted and tried to slap back. Let them bloody each other, he thought, like a couple of goddamn animals. He only needed to get past them to Britt.

He started up the steps, calculating, but the shouts, the fists, the curses, had Britt running out. Pale as a ghost, she covered her ears. “Stop, stop. Please. I can’t take it. I just can’t take it.”

This time it was Britt who earned that vicious backhand. As he heard his sister cry out, saw her fall, something snapped in Zane. He streaked up the steps like fury, burning. Even as Graham spun to meet the attack, Zane’s fists flew.

“See how you like it.”

The muscles he’d trained for more than a year drove his fists, and the dark pleasure of seeing the shock on Graham’s face, the blood he spilled on it, drove him.

Screaming, everyone screaming. He wouldn’t stop, couldn’t, until the man who made his life hell was down.

Somewhere, far away, he heard Britt shouting for help, shouting the address. He felt Eliza’s nails rake down his face, but he didn’t stop.

Then he was falling, flying, tumbling. His elbow hit a tread on the stairs like a hammer hits a nail. He felt something crack, break, shatter, and the pain bloomed red as his head hit another.

Dazed, he tried to stand, managed to get to his knees, lifted his shaking fists to defend himself.

But Graham didn’t rush into attack. No one stood up the stairs. And Britt had stopped screaming.

Understanding that could be worse, he pushed himself up, fell again. Something wrong with his ankle, he realized, and began to crawl.

He’d made it to the base of the steps when Graham dragged Britt out—along the floor, by her hair. He had his doctor’s bag in his other hand.

She didn’t struggle, didn’t cry, didn’t move, and Zane feared, for the first time, for her life.

“Don’t you touch her again, you son of a bitch.”

“This is your doing.” His voice flat and calm, Graham started down the stairs. “It won’t be military school now. You’ll wish for that, but it’s too late.”

He stood over Zane, angled his head as he studied him. “You take after your mother’s side, in looks, in lack of ambition, in your poor attitude. I have serious doubts you’re mine, biologically.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The kick to Zane’s gut was almost casual.

“But legally, I’m your father, and a well-respected leader of this community. Actions have consequences. You’re about to pay the consequences for your actions.”

“Fuck you and your consequences. What did you do to Britt, you bastard?”

“Oh no, son, it’s what you did.”

Sirens wailed. Zane thought, thank God, thank God. Britt had called for help. She must have called nine-one-one.

“They’re going to lock you away.”

Graham chuckled, shook his head as he set down his bag, started for the door. “No one as dull-witted as you could possibly be my blood.

“Eliza!”

“Yes. Yes, Graham.”

“Do and say exactly what I told you.”

He opened the door, took a deep breath, then ran out.

“Here! Here!” Outside, Graham waved his arms for the police cruiser. He made his voice shake, forced a few tears into his eyes.

It didn’t surprise him to see chief of police Tom Bost leap out of the cruiser. After all, he’d cultivated the man as a friend. And considered him a useful idiot.

No reason not to play it up, Graham thought, and bent over, bracing his hands on his knees as if catching his breath.

“My God, Graham. What the hell happened? Your family—”

“Tom, oh my God, Tom. We need an ambulance.”

“On the way.”

“Zane … I don’t—I can’t—He attacked his mother. He struck her, Tom, with fists. Then our little Britt. I rushed upstairs to stop him. We fought. We fought. He fell down the steps. I had to give Britt a sedative. My boy’s hurt, Tom. He’s hurt. And I think he lost his mind.”

“Hold on. Stay right here.” He signaled to one of his officers.

Yes, indeed, a nine-one-one from the Bigelows brought out the force, Graham thought as he shook his head, and limped after Tom toward the house.

“Tom, Tom.” At the top of the stairs, Eliza held a limp Britt in her arms. “We need an ambulance. My baby. My baby girl!”

“Coming now. Jesus, Zane.” Tom crouched down. “What got into you? You on drugs?”

“No. No. He was hitting her again, and then he went after Britt. I tried to stop him.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Weeping now, Eliza rocked Britt. “Graham’s never lifted a hand to me or either of the children in his life! Oh dear God, Zane, what have you done?”

Stunned, Zane could only stare. “She’s lying. She’s lying for him.”

“He came home from the school dance. I’d waited up—Britt was sick, throwing up. I was trying to take care of her, and told him I couldn’t talk to him right now. He just … he flew into a rage. He hit me.” She brought a trembling hand to her face.