“Right.” I dig into my purse and pray my phone is there, and then pray it’s still charged. When I see it is, I call Brie to let her know I’m being released, and Frank tells me where she should meet me. When I hang up with her, I go to the bathroom, taking the plastic bag with me.

I change quickly, ignoring the fact that the shirt smells like what I imagine Cobi would smell like—mysterious and masculine. I also ignore the fact that both the shirt and sweats are huge on me, meaning they possibly belong to him. It’s odd enough that he sent something for me to wear; I don’t think I could handle knowing they actually belong to him. After I’m dressed, I sit with Frank, who records my statement while writing it down in a spiral notebook that he pulls from his back pocket. When we’re done, just like what was promised, I’m escorted through the hospital and out a back door to where Brie is waiting for me.

“Have your parents called?”

At Brie’s question, I finish buckling my seat belt then look at her. “No.” And they haven’t. I got a couple of messages from people both Brie and I work with, but nothing from my parents. It’s not surprising. My mom and dad either don’t know what’s going on, or are so high and drunk they don’t care about what happened.

“Seriously?” she asks, putting her car in reverse and backing out of her parking spot right next to the door I just exited through.

“They never call me unless they need something,” I remind her, and her face tightens in anger.

“Your face is all over the news, along with the fact that you were shot at. Ken has been calling me all day asking if I’ve heard from you. He’s worried, and you know he never worries about anything.” She’s wrong; Kenyon, her fiancé, worries all the time. Maybe not about day-to-day crap, but he’s protective of the people he cares about, and because I’ve been best friends with Brie since forever and have known him since they started dating when we were freshmen in college, he’s protective of me too.

“Kenyon also cares about me. My parents don’t and they never have.”

“You’re their daughter, their daughter who could have died last night.” She hits the steering wheel in frustration.

“My parents aren’t like your mom and dad were, Brie. You know that.”

“Have I told you how much I hate them?”

“Not long ago, you went off on an hour-long rant about how much you hate them. So yeah, you’ve told me,” I mumble, and she glances at me and frowns.

“I do not rant. What is with you and Ken saying I rant all the time?”

I don’t reply, because I seriously am not in the mood for her to start ranting right now. “Um, where are we going?” I ask when we miss the turn for my street.

“I’m taking you home with me. Ken and I want you to stay with us until we know you’re good to be on your own.”

“I’m not staying at your place.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Brie, I love you to death. You are the sister I never had. But there is no way in hell I’m staying with you and Kenyon. You only have one bedroom, and a couch that was made to look at, not made to lounge on.”

“Our couch is comfortable,” she argues, knowing that’s an out-and-out lie. It’s a beautiful, white leather couch, but it’s hard as a rock and seriously uncomfortable to even sit on.

“No, babe, it’s not. Remember a few months ago, when we got drunk and I passed out at your place? I ended up sleeping on the floor, because it was better than your couch.”

“You told Ken you must have drunkenly rolled off the couch when he found you on the floor the next morning.”

“I lied. I didn’t want to tell him that your couch sucks.”

“So you’re telling me my couch sucks now?”

“Well, yeah, since I really do not want to sleep on your couch or on your floor. I want to sleep in my own bed tonight.” Or at least lie in my own bed tonight, I think but don’t say.

“Ken is not going to like this,” she mutters, turning on a road I know will lead to my place.

“He’ll be fine.”

“He going to want to see you, want to see for himself that you’re okay.”

“You guys can come over when he gets off work. I just want to be home tonight.”

“Fine.” She turns onto my street then pulls in and parks in my driveway.

“Don’t be mad,” I say as she shuts off the car and unhooks her belt.

“I’m not mad,” she huffs, opening her door. “I’m worried about you.” She gets out, grabbing my bouquet of flowers before slamming her door. I do the same, but instead of slamming the door, I let out a sigh as I shut mine then follow her to the front door, where I use my key to let us both inside. I listen to her continue to rant, hoping it won’t last forever as I drop my purse and kick off my shoes. “You didn’t even tell me you were in the hospital. I had to see that on the news this morning when I was getting ready for work.”

“I’m sorry. I was out of it, but you’re right. I should have called as soon as I was able to reach the phone.”

“You should have,” she agrees, going to the kitchen, where she deposits the flowers before opening the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, and handing it to me. “Drink that.” I don’t argue with her. I open the bottle and take a drink. “I really don’t like that you want to stay here alone.”

“Brie, the guy who chased me through the woods with a gun last night is dead. Very dead. He’s not a threat.” Bile slides up the back of my throat as an image of Hofstadter with a hole in his head and the life blinking out of his eyes fills my mind. “I’m safe.”

“I know, which is the only reason I’m being cool about you staying here alone,” she murmurs, studying me with tears filling her eyes.

“Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not going to cry,” she lies, and I roll my eyes then go to her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “I’m okay.”

“I can’t lose you, Hadley. You’re the only family I have left.”

My stomach knots and pain shoots through my chest. Five years ago, Brie lost her mom, and two years ago, she lost her dad. She’s not close with anyone else in her family. For her, it’s only Kenyon and me, and for me, it’s only the two of them.

“You’re not going to lose me,” I whisper, and her arms tighten.

“I can’t.”

“You won’t.” I give her a squeeze then let her go when her arms drop away.

“You promise you’re okay?”

“I promise,” I say, and she studies me for a long moment before pulling in a breath and looking away. “You should go home and wait for Kenyon to get off work.”

Her eyes slice back to me. “You know I hate that you always act like everything is fricking hunky-dory when it’s not.”

“I need a shower,” I tell her, not wanting to start another conversation that will have her ranting again. “If you want to hang here while I do that, you know you’re more than welcome to. But I’m sure Kenyon would like you to be home when he gets there, and I wouldn’t mind at all if you brought me pizza when you come back with him.”

“So you’re telling me you want me gone.” I don’t answer. She knows me, knows I like my space and my time alone. Some people feed off others’ energy and need it to thrive. Me? I need time to myself and silence to reenergize. “All right,” she gives in. “I’ll be back with Kenyon and pizza.”

“Thank you.” I feel my body relax. “I love you.”

“I know.” She shakes her head then starts to the front door. “Please rest, and if anything—anything—happens, call me.”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

My throat burns along with my chest. “I love you too.” I give her another hug before she opens the door, and then watch her walk to her car, get in, and back out of my driveway. I scan the street then shut my door and head for my bathroom, where I take a hot shower that does nothing to help me relax.