The sun was rising on a chilly Saturday morning by the time the ER docs finished checking Quinn. During a facial X-ray and tests, Rae stuck by his side. The cuts and bruises on his face were many, but he’d suffered no permanent damage.
Griffin had thoughtfully tossed a blanket into the back seat of his car. They left the ER a slow-moving, exhausted trio. Griffin helped the silent youth into the back seat, then tucked the blanket around him. Quinn murmured his thanks.
Griffin steered onto the two-lane highway. “I’m sleeping on your couch,” he announced.
Rae’s eyes began to close. She forced them open. “I’m sleeping until noon.”
Behind her, the blanket rippled. Clasping the edge, Quinn pulled the fluffy material over his head.
From beneath, his muffled voice: “Can I sleep all day?”
“Sleep until Sunday, if you’d like.” Rae stifled a yawn. “Totally your call.”
“Great. I’m sleeping until Sunday.”
The idea was tempting. “Maybe I will too.” Rae let her eyes drift shut.
Griffin chuckled. “Not happening.” Bringing the car to a halt at a stoplight, he glanced behind. “Hey, sport. You’re not the only one who knows how to cook. How does roasted chicken and garlic mashed potatoes sound? I’m cooking when I wake up. The grocery delivery’s already set up for this afternoon. The bird and the spuds will be on the table by six o’clock.”
The blanket shifted. “I guess I’ll wake up then.”
Chapter 32
On Sunday afternoon, Quinn was still holed up in his room.
Rae checked the time—one o’clock. She took a last sip of her coffee. They’d all slept in ridiculously late, but she was beginning to worry. She’d expected Quinn to make an appearance by now. It seemed he planned to stay in his room like a hermit.
I have to get him moving. Whether he wanted to discuss Friday’s traumatic events or not, she needed to give him time to prepare. His special visitor would arrive soon. He was a teenager—he’d want to clean up, make himself presentable.
At the sink, Connor began stacking the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. The dog, tired of her master’s self-confinement, stuck close to Connor’s legs. If a stray bit of toast fell off the counter, Shelby wouldn’t miss it.
An hour ago, they’d left a tray outside Quinn’s bedroom. After long minutes, he slid it inside. Good thing too. If he’d declined the meal, the eager Shelby would’ve gladly chowed down on scrambled eggs, hash browns, and a double helping of sausage links.
Shutting the dishwasher, Connor shooed the dog away from his legs. “Ticktock, Rae.” He frowned at her.
“Dad, I can read a clock.”
“Plus you should give him an update,” he said, “about Mik.”
“I know.”
“He may need to talk first. About everything or nothing at all. Give him space to sort through his feelings out loud. It might take some time.”
“Dad—I know.” Rae sent a peevish glance. “This isn’t my first lap on the parenting highway.”
“Right.” Connor picked up a kitchen towel, dried his hands. His weathered brow creased. “I’ll do the man-to-man talking later this week. For now, the boy needs tender loving.”
“He does,” she agreed. Not that she was sure what to say.
Was it worth mentioning that Penny hadn’t even called? That the authorities believed she’d left town? Quinn’s had enough shocks this weekend. The news about Penny can hold until next week.
Rae doubted he’d welcome the other news. Regardless of Friday night’s events, Mik was Quinn’s father. The youth deserved an update on his condition. She wouldn’t feel right dodging that news until later.
On Mercy Hospital’s sixth floor, Mik wasn’t doing great. Under normal circumstances, the sheriff—who was the son of one of Connor’s friends on the geezer squad—wouldn’t run afoul of HIPAA rules. But with Penny missing, Quinn was next of kin. It hadn’t seemed out of place to share the details with Rae and Connor—in case Quinn wanted them.
The bullet had caused extensive damage to the bones in Mik’s right shoulder. He’d gone into surgery Friday night, within minutes of reaching the hospital. Another surgery was scheduled for tomorrow.
“Rae, what are you waiting for?” Connor speared her with a look. “You’re a mother. Go act like one.”
“Go pop a chocolate, Dad. You’re sassy when your sugar’s low.”