Page 16

"Have we?" One of them pulls his arm back and something flies through the air, a bottle, spinning toward the railing beside me.

The bottle smashes against the railing, exploding in a shower of glass and noise. I feel the sharp sting above my eyebrow before I register what's happened—a moment of burning shock, then warmth trickling down my temple. People around me surge forward; the corridor contracting around chaos and voices.

Security charges into the fray, their shirts bright in the artificial light. Hostility collapses under official hands, the three men restrained and hurried away before anyone can comprehend the gravity of what they've done.

I watch through the chaos, through the sticky heat of what I assume is blood running down my face as Claudia gathers Savannah into her arms, shielding the little girl from the chaos. Sofie kneels by Lucy, whispering reassurances, Noelle on the other side of her.

"Anna!" Hildy yells for me from somewhere.

I peer up at her through my hair as Noelle wipes against the thin red line on her cheek, steady hands guiding her head. Her voice is unfaltering, “Keep pressure. It'll stop."

Oh God, she was hurt.

A hand rests on my shoulder, then pulls away when I flinch. Lucy tries to smile. "You're going to be okay, Aunt Anna."

"I'm fine, sweet girl," I mutter, attempting to hide the blood turning the white fabric of my jersey a crimson red.

I wince, trying to focus through the pounding in my head, the world slightly askew.

"Of course you are," Lucy's little voice tries to stay steady, but she can’t.

Paul Bronski appears with the driver, Scotti. "You should all go with Paul and Scotti. I'll be along shortly."

"No, absolutely not," Hildy says, getting in my face. "Don’t fall asleep. You and I are going to the hospital."

"The hospital?" Lucy’s little voice finally breaks.

"No, I just need a band-aid," I smile, an assurance that physically pains me.

“Scotti, you take them. The rest of us can pile in the Fairfax car. We’ll head to your house.” Noelle lifts Lucy. “We’ll order Thai, and by the time they get done finding those band-aids, the food will be there and waiting, okay?"

We're ushered into the car, Hildy's hand still reassuringly over mine—the air cool against my skin, the hum of the engine more soothing than the silence that surrounded us after those vile men attacked.

“You okay?” I ask, still hiding my face.

She gently touches her cheek. "They barely got me. It's you I'm worried about."

"Well," I take a breath, the pounding in my skull oddly grounding, "I think I'll have a killer headache."

She reaches over, pushes my hair away, and gives me a small half-smile. “Leave it to you to get the fancy injury.” Her voice breaks a bit.

“That’s me, always the center of attention."

The car is gentle beneath us, Scotti weaving us through city veins, the blood rushing through it all seeming to detour through my pounding head as we move toward Methodist Hospital. Headlights slice through the night ahead; the only sound is the vibration of Hildy’s phone as she no doubt sends and receives messages to the girls.

The emergency room lights hurt. Everything is too bright and too sharp, the edges of my vision fuzzy at the same time. A nurse guides me through the double doors with one hand hovering near my elbow while another asks Hildy questions I should probably be answering myself.

“Anna Winterfield,” Hildy says. “Twenty-six. No allergies. She was hit by glass from a thrown bottle.”

“I can talk,” I manage.

The nurse glances at me over her tablet. She's young, with dark curls tucked beneath a blue scrub cap and a small silver hoop in one ear. Her expression is patient, but her attention keeps returning to the blood at my temple.

“Then you can tell me what day it is.”

“December 29th.”

“Do you know where you are?”