She sat on the bed, reading and rereading the text. He had to give up his phone. She couldn’t tell him about getting her period until he got home. Until then, she’d have to bear the disappointment alone. The lonely feeling that overtook her reminded her a lot of the years she’d spent unhappily married to Peter when she’d thought a baby might cure what ailed them. Now she knew that nothing could’ve fixed them—not when she was meant to be with Nick.

Exhausted from the lack of sleep and feeling like she was wading through quicksand, she got dressed and went to wake Scotty. He was grumpier than usual, which made for a complicated hour together before Shelby arrived.

“Ready to go, sport?” Shelby said, full of cheerful enthusiasm. Today’s pink sweater was accented with sparkly pink rhinestones. She’d yet to pick up on Sam’s cranky mood but had tuned right into Scotty’s.

Scotty put down his cereal spoon and pushed the bowl away. “I’m not feeling good. I think I should stay home.”

Sam and Shelby reached for his forehead at the same time.

Shelby smiled at Sam and withdrew her hand.

“No fever,” Sam said. “What’re your symptoms?”

“My stomach hurts. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

Sam took the seat next to his and waited until he looked right at her. “Is this because you’re afraid to see Nathan?”

He wilted under her scrutiny. “Maybe. A little.”

“It’s going to be tough to face him after what happened yesterday.”

“What happened?” Shelby asked, taking one of the other chairs.

Sam nodded to Scotty, wanting him to say it in the hope that speaking the words might help him.

“I got punched in the stomach because I defended Willie Vasquez when the other guys were calling him a loser.”

“Oh my God!” Shelby’s blue eyes flashed with fury that made her a friend forever in Sam’s world. She looked at Sam. “What’re we doing about it?”

“I took care of it.”

Shelby’s smile was full of catty satisfaction. “I’ll bet you did.”

“That’s what he’s afraid of.” Sam reached for Scotty’s hand. “Here’s what to do. If he says anything to you, give him the death stare. Do you know how to do that?”

He shook his head.

Sam narrowed her eyes and zeroed in on Scotty, making him retreat a bit in his seat.

“Wow. I hope you never do that to me for real.”

“With you there, sport,” Shelby said.

“Works wonders on guilty scumbags in the interrogation room. Now let me see you do it.”

Scotty scrunched up his face, but nothing about his stare was deadly.

“No, like this.” Sam went for her most sinister, intimidating glare. “You have to put some hate behind it.”

“Mrs. Littlefield says we don’t hate anyone.”