I failed her. My heart pounds hard and the sharp ache creates an edginess. I shut my eyes, wishing I could leave.

“West.”

I turn to the sound of my mother’s voice. Tears have dug grooves into her makeup and her black mascara smudges in clumps near her eyes.

Nausea slams into my gut. “Is it Rachel?”

“We talked to the hospital’s specialist. The damage to her legs is severe and—” Mom chokes on her words, then clamps a hand over her mouth. She exhales and regains composure. “It was unexpected news.”

I harden into a statue, yet her words sink in past my shock. More surgeries. More time in the hospital. “Is she going to walk again?”

“I don’t know.”

I rub my eyes to readjust my equilibrium. This is my fault. If I had found another way to handle things, Rachel wouldn’t be in this hospital. She wouldn’t be fighting for her life.

Mom’s heels click across the wooden floor toward me. When she raises her hand, I tilt my head away. I don’t deserve Mom’s forgiveness or her comfort. Persistent, Mom gently lays her hand on my jaw and moves her thumb as if her touch could erase the bruises. “Why do you do this to yourself? Why must you always fight?”

“I don’t know.” I step back, forcing her to drop her hand.

Mom puts distance between us and pours herself a cup of coffee. “Have you visited with Rachel?”

“No.” A sweep of the room confirms the guy with the dying wife vacated. No wonder Mom’s being open about family business.

A gruff clearing of a throat draws our attention to the doorway. Dad stretches to his full six feet and sets his pissed-off dark eyes on me.

“Miriam.” He softens his tone when he addresses Mom. “The nurses need you.”

Mom nods, and as she hurries out, Dad gently wraps his fingers around her wrist. She lifts her gaze to his and he bends down to kiss her lips. They do this. My parents love each other. Dad worships her, and it’s why he’s a control freak with us. If everything isn’t about business, it’s about Mom’s happiness.

When Dad releases her, she leaves. Not once peeking in my direction.

I stand taller when Dad enters, as if preparing for a physical fight. We’ve yet to come to blows during an argument, but the fire in his eyes says that day will happen. Sooner now than later, and I hate it. When I was a kid, Dad and I used to be close.

“You didn’t come here last night like I asked.”

I stay silent. The truth won’t help my case. I’ve been in detention more than any kid at my school and have been suspended more days than we’ve had off. Dad, in his own way, takes my shit, but he made it clear months ago that he’d be done with me at expulsion.

“Did you go home or did you pass out at a party?” he asks.

“Does it matter?” I’ve seen that expression before. He’s already made up his mind on me.

“No,” he answers. “They’ve expelled you.”

I utter something I’ve never said to him. “I’m sorry.” I am. For Rachel. For the fight at school. For making this horrible situation more complicated.

His face remains emotionless. “I don’t care.”

I blink and my shoulders fall a half inch. “I mean it. I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to the principal, to the guy I hurt, his family, whatever. I screwed up this time.”

He points at me. “Damn right you screwed up. But not just this time. This is one of many mistakes, and I’m done with it. I told you months ago that I drew the line at expulsion. All you had to do was stay out of fights and stay out of trouble until you graduate and you couldn’t even do that. What’s worse is that you chose to cross this line with your sister in the hospital. What is this? A cry for attention? You don’t think that your mother has enough to deal with?”

“Fine. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

“Your sister is in agony and from what I understand you had a hand in this nightmare.”

My eyes snap to his. “I tried to keep her from Isaiah.” That’s where I failed, and I don’t care for the reminder.

“You never bothered telling me she was seeing him in the first place! I’m her father, not you. I’m the one who makes those decisions.”

I throw my arms out to my sides. “That would have required you to be home and not on your goddamn phone!”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. I drew blood and I don’t f**king care.

“Care to tell me about the money you took from your sister?” I don’t like the way his eyes slice through me, as if he shoved a blade into my chest and he’s enjoying watching me bleed.

“I told Rachel I’d pay her back.”

“Tell me about the money you took from your sister.”

“I told you already. Gavin owed money to a bookie and I came up with the amount needed.”

“You never told me you stole that money from Rachel.”

“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it.” Without her prior knowledge or consent, but I swear I promised to pay her back.

This is old news from days before Rachel’s accident. Not knowing I had the situation under control, Jack broke down and told Dad everything: how Ethan, Jack and I had been covering up Gavin’s gambling issues because Mom couldn’t handle the truth that her firstborn son was a gambling addict.

But when Jack cried to Daddy, he neglected to bring up how Gavin tried to discuss his problems with Dad on three separate occasions and how each time Dad blew him off over a business meeting or Mom. So when Dad wouldn’t give him the time of day, Gavin did what needed to be done: he came to me.