"And the ball."
Another nod. "Yes."
"How did you know?—"
The question dies on my lips. Something inside me stops it before it fully forms. A quiet little voice in the back of my mind whispers that I have enough to deal with right now. That whatever explanation Gabriel D'Amato might give me will only add more confusion to a world that already feels like it's falling apart. I lean back into the pillows and run a hand over my face. My skin still hurts where I was hit. My lips sting.
"Pete." The name echoes through my chest like a hollow bell.
"Yeah," Gabriel mutters quietly. "I'm sorry about that."
His voice is low. Flat. I glance at him briefly. He doesn't sound very sorry. But I'm too exhausted to care. Too tired to pick that fight. Too tired for anything. I push myself upright again, forcing my brain to keep moving.
Something else enters my head, and I sit up. "The cops." My voice sounds rough. "I probably need to talk to the cops."
"My lawyer is handling that," Gabe replies calmly.
I blink at him. "Your lawyer?"
The room tilts slightly. I fall back against the pillows again. This is just too much. All of it. My head throbs. I need another Xanax. Too many thoughts. Too many memories trying to push their way back into my head. There are things I need to do.Things I don't yet understand. My fingers tighten around the water bottle.
Pete is dead. He was killed. Shot in front of me. No matter what this man says, I need to talk to the cops. Make sure the bald guy isn't the only one… shit, Mom.
"My mother," I press out, already swinging my legs over the bed. I need to get my mother.
"She's fine. Safe." Gabe assures me. "She's just in the other room."
"Safe? Here?" I bury my face in my hands, rub hard like that can get the remaining fog out. My mom is here?
Gabe holds out his hand. "You want to see her?"
I nod numbly. Without thinking, I put my hand in his and let him pull me to a stand. Realizing too late that I'm wearing… my favorite sweatpants and shirt. Yesterday, when… when they took me, I was still in scrubs. I stare at Gabe.
"Here, can you walk?" He seems so… courteous.
Did Mom put me in these clothes?
He leads me out of the bedroom. The hallway alone tells me this place is enormous. Soft lighting glows from recessed panels in the ceiling. Dark wood floors stretch beneath our feet, covered in thick rugs that swallow every step. When we step into the main living area, I stop. The room is… breathtaking.
Leather couches the size of small cars sit around a low glass table. The walls are mostly windows—floor to ceiling—and the city spreads out below like a sea of glittering lights. My stomach flips. We're high up. Really high up. A casino, maybe? One of the big ones on the Strip.
"Audra!"
My mother's voice cuts through the room. She jumps up from the couch and rushes toward me. "I was so worried, sweetheart! I've been all alone here, imagining the worst. My heart's been fluttering all day."
Before I can even answer, she continues breathlessly, "Did you hear?" she blurts out, grabbing my arms. "Pete is dead. He was killed."
The words hit me again like a punch to the chest. I want to collapse into her arms. I want to bury my face against her shoulder and cry like a child. But before I can, Mom breaks down.
"Oh, my poor, poor Pete!" Her thin body shakes with sobs. "What is happening?"
Up close, she feels so fragile. All bones and trembling hands. I swallow hard and guide her gently back to the couch.
"Mom," I murmur.
I help her sit down. She clutches my hand as tears keep spilling down her face. "Oh, Pete," she cries. "My poor Pete."
Then she looks up at me. Really looks at me. Her eyes fill with even more tears.
