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Drey stormed to the bar, phone in hand. “They—shit—it’s Mom.”
I hopped off the stool, my gut clenching. She’d had almost two months of sobriety. “What?”
“I visited her today, but—” He slid his phone into his pocket. “Edith just called me.”
“Edith? From the nursery? Your mom’s in the hospital?” I plucked my coat off the neighboring stool. “Let’s go. We can—”
“Shit!” Drey slapped the bar.
Bill barged around the bar and grabbed Drey’s elbow. “Sarah, come with us. Sam, man the bar. Close down if we need to for lack of help. Call Hunter.”
I followed Bill and Drey outside to Bill’s SUV. “Start talking.”
“Left AMA from treatment.” He dragged in a deep breath.
“She….used?” I asked as Bill steered the car around the corner tight enough the tires went nuts.
“Edith told me to get down there.” Drey slouched in his seat. “Eight weeks clean. Damn it. We saw her today. This morning.”
“And she was doing good,” I said. “Son of a bitch!”
Five minutes later we bolted from the car and darted through the emergency room entrance.
Edith met us there with wide eyes. “Drey!”
“What’s going on, Edith?”
“Honey, come here.”
Drey reached for my hand and thanked Bill for the ride, then we followed Edith.
“I’ll be right here, kid.”
Edith hurried onward. “Dr. Patterson is right around the corner here. Hey, Doc.”
“Drey.” Dr. Patterson’s voice was monotone, his eyes even more blank.Shit.This wasn’t going to be good. “I’m so sorry. Follow me.”
My chest pounded, suffocating beneath the fifty-pound weight on it. Fifty-pound weight of fear. I’d felt this before, too. Right before my world irrevocably turned upside down.
We stepped into a consultation room and Dr. Patterson turned around. “I’m sorry, Drey. Your mother…she came in this morning. Dead on arrival.”
“What?” Drey yelled. “I— What?”
“Appears she suffered a heart attack. So many years using, getting clean, then today, she used. It wasn’t overdose levels, but her heart couldn’t take it.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “How…what happened?”
“Damon. Drey, your brother…he called it in.”
“Where is he? Where’s Damon?” Drey yelled at the doctor, and I squeezed his hand.
I could feel the fear and anger radiating from him so thickly it churned my stomach.
“We admitted him. Drey…I’m sorry, but he’s in rough shape.”
“What the hell?” Drey rammed his fist into the wall. “What happened?”
“He’s not woken up yet, but Drey, it’s bad. Head injuries. He…called it in, but they found him a block away, worked over pretty good.”
