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Matt sighed. “He roughed her up a bit, then Luca kicked down the hotel door and?—”
“Luca kicked down the door? Why was he there?” Between exhaustion and anxiety, Conor was struggling to wrap his head around anything.
“I don’t know the answer to that. Luca subdued the manager until the cops arrived. Harper has a split lip, a few stitches, some bruises, and a minor concussion. They kept her in the hospital last night for observation.”
Suddenly, there was a ping as Conor’s phone came to life. Walking over, he looked at the screen, his heart thudding. There were twenty-two missed texts and a dozen voicemails, all from Luca.
She’d been attacked. Luca had saved her. Taken her to the hospital.
They’d needed him, and instead of going to them, he’d been here, falling apart.
No good to them.
No good to anyone.
“What’s going on, Conor?” Matt asked. “You’re worrying the fuck out of me.”
Conor put the phone down, returning to the chair, bowing his head, uncertain how to respond.
He was too strung-out to come up with a lie.
Fuck.
He didn’t want to come up with one.
When he lifted his face, he saw matching expressions of worry on his brothers’ faces. For too many years after their parents’ deaths, the three of them had been estranged, more colleagues than brothers. Lately that had changed, but not because of anything he’d done. He hadn’t been the one to reach out. They had.
“I had a panic attack.”
Gage’s eyes softened as he shrugged. “Everybody gets those.”
Conor could have left it there, grabbed the out his brother just handed him, but the way Matt remained silent, looking at him…
“It wasn’t the first time I’ve had one,” Conor said. “I actually have them…a lot.”
Matt frowned. “What’s a lot?”
Conor shrugged. “It depends on what’s going on at work or in my life. When I was younger, I had them more frequently…five or six bad ones a month. But I’ve learned how to manage them better, so sometimes I can make it a month or two without one.”
“Younger?” Gage muttered. “How young?”
Conor rubbed the back of his neck wearily, trying to work out the kinks. “I had the first one when I was twelve.”
Gage’s eyes widened, while Matt looked resigned, sad even.
“What triggered the first one?” Matt asked.
“I failed a science test. It was the first F I ever got, and the teacher called Dad, all concerned. He blew a gasket because…”
“Russos never fail,” Gage said bitterly.
Matt frowned. “You were a straight-A student, Conor. What happened with that test?”
Conor swallowed heavily. He was shit at sharing personal stuff, and he was afraid some of what he had to say would hurt Gage.
“Mom always helped me study,” he said quietly.
“Why didn’t she—” Gage stopped suddenly, understanding dawning.
