The Departed

the boy and then blanched as Brendan grabbed something from the top of the desk near him. It glinted silver.
    Dez braced herself when she saw the knife. It wasn’t the kind that would be balanced for throwing, she knew. But luck wasn’t running on their side today. “Put it down or I’m shooting,” she warned.
    “No!” Joshua reached out a hand.
    “Pussy.” Brendan gave the man a look of complete disgust, complete loathing. He threw the guitar down, shifted the knife to his right hand as he moved toward the door. “If I stab you with this, you still going to stand there and whimper and cry about her shooting me?”
    “You’re my son, damn it,” Joshua said, his voice hoarse. Broken.
    “So the fuck what?” He’d cleared the door and shot a quick glance toward the stairs.
    “You’re my son. I love you.” Joshua shook his head. “And I should have seen how messed up you are. But if you leave this house, don’t think that’s the end of it. I’ll have every cop I can find looking for you. You’ll be arrested. I’ll have you in the nearest—”
    “Fuck you!” Brendan screamed. He threw the knife, but either luck smiled on them or Brendan’s rage had cost him. The knife went wide, landing by the window. The boy didn’t wait to see. He took off running.
    Dez took off after him—
    There are times when every second takes a lifetime. Even as she burst through the door, she knew, deep in her gut, it was too late. Too late for what, she didn’t know.
    Those seconds slowed to a crawl—Dez heard a scream. A woman’s? Then there was a crash. Then another scream—Brendan’s—and it carried through the house, ending all too abruptly.
    With her heart in her throat, she ran for the stairs. There was a gaping hole in the middle of the railing along the landing, the wood ragged and broken. She didn’t even remember getting down the steps, just that she’d been up on the second floor, then she was kneeling by Brendan’s side.
    He was breathing—barely.
    “Oh, God…”
     

CHAPTER NINETEEN
    “HIS spinal cord is damaged,” Taylor said quietly as he settled into the seat next to Dez.
    She closed her eyes. “Is he going to live?”
    “Spinal cord injury.” Taylor sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Hard to say. It’s a lower break—in the thoracic area. Had it been higher…well, who knows? His dad and stepmother are with him now. The doctors have him mostly stabilized.”
    “Stabilized.” The sound of his scream kept echoing through her mind. “What in the hell does that mean, anyway? They…” She swallowed. “They’re sure it’s a break, right? Not just damaged or whatever?”
    “It’s broken. He landed on a table, hit it in just the worst possible way. Although if he’d hit a little bit higher, it would have been his neck that snapped.” Taylor stared straight ahead, his face blank, voice flat. “He’s got movement in his hands and arms, can feel about through his midchest. That’s it.” He shifted his gaze and stared at her. “They’re still with him, and I guess anything’s possible, but I’m not looking for any medical miracles here.”
    Dez shifted her gaze away.
    “He can’t stay here, though. They’ll have to move him to a better facility, Bloomington or maybe New Albany or Louisville. He’ll need further treatment and rehab.”
    Dez opened her eyes and looked at him. “This is my fault,” she said quietly. “I had to know if that journal was there, but…”
    “We both carry some blame here. We need to remember one thing, though. Nobody made him do what he did and nobody made him run. You gave him every reason not to run.” He reached over and covered her hand with his. “He didn’t need to run. He didn’t need to try and attack his father.”
    He grimaced and looked down at his casted forearm. “And he didn’t need to break my damn arm, either. Went my entire life without getting a broken bone.”
    “Well, no.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “You have a broken bone now—two actually.”
    “Smart-ass.” He closed his eyes. “Dez, this entire thing is a mess. All of it.”
    “Yeah.” She didn’t mention that it wasn’t even done. There was no need. He knew. Her gut was still in knots over the task before them, the heartbreak they still needed to face. And the guilt—
    Fuck, the guilt.
    “God, what have I done?” She dropped her head into her hands and blew out a breath. “What in the hell have I done?”
    Taylor rested