“Brooke?”

It was Win.

“I get it,” he said. “You’re angry.”

“Man, you’re perceptive.”

“But more than that, you’re trying to motivate me,” Win said. “There is no need. You know that too.”

Their eyes met. If someone passed a hand between those eyes, it would probably have been chopped off via laser.

Her phone rang.

“Find him, Win.”

“I will.”

They both blinked. Brooke took out her phone and put it to her ear. “Hello?” She hung up a few seconds later. “That was the police.”

“What did they want?”

“It’s Patrick. He’s awake.”

Chapter 10

Win didn’t come with them to the hospital. For now, he felt that it would be best to keep his distance from anything involving law enforcement. They considered having Myron stay away too—the cops had been less than thrilled with Myron’s explanation for the violence at AdventureLand—but in the end, they decided that he should be nearby in case he was somehow needed.

Brooke stayed busy on her phone during the taxi ride. She called her husband, Chick, and told him to meet her at the hospital. She made more calls and grew more agitated.

“What’s wrong?” Myron asked.

“They are saying we can’t see Patrick yet.”

“Who?”

“The police.”

Myron thought about that. “Is it their decision?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, who decides that you can’t see him? Is it up to the police? Can’t the parents overrule them?”

“I still don’t know if Nancy and Hunter have legal standing.”

“I assume you have their numbers?”

“Only Nancy’s.”

“Try it.”

She did. No answer. She sent a text. No reply.

When they pulled up to the front of the hospital, Chick was smoking and pacing. Chick threw the cigarette down hard on the pavement and made a production out of stamping it out. He opened the taxi door with a scowl on his face. Brooke got out. Myron followed.

Chick’s scowl grew when he saw Myron.

“You’re Win’s friend. The basketball player. What are you doing here?”

Win didn’t like Chick, which told Myron all he needed to know about him.

Chick looked at Brooke. “What’s he doing here?”

“He was the one who rescued Patrick.”

Chick turned the scowl back toward Myron. “You were there?”

“Yes.”

“So how come you didn’t save my kid?”

My kid, Myron noted. Not ours.

“He tried, Chick,” Brooke said.

“What, he can’t answer for himself?”

“I tried, Chick.”

Chick stepped toward him. The scowl was still there. Myron started to wonder whether it was indeed a scowl or just his default expression. “You being a wiseass with me? Huh?”

Myron didn’t step back. He didn’t make a fist, but man, he wanted to. Despite the rushed call from his wife, Chick wore a shiny silk suit with a tie so perfectly knotted it looked fake. His shoes had an almost supernatural shine, like they were somehow more than new, and his hair was black with just the right amount of gray, slicked back and a little too long. His skin had the waxy glow of a recent facial or some sort of high-end cosmetics, and the word “manscaped” was encompassed in every move Chick made.