He disconnects his call and walks stiffly over to stand by the doctor. “This is still on Callum Royal’s dime, correct?”

Callum Royal’s dime? My eyes widen. Why would Mr. Royal be paying for my hospital bills?

Doc’s eyebrows go up. “I have no idea. You’ll have to talk to Billing about that.”

“How do you not know?” Dad demands. “This is how you earn your money.”

I didn’t die from the injuries from the car crash, but embarrassment might do me in. Doc senses my unease. He winks at me and tries to lighten the mood. “I’m in charge of making sure your girl gets better. Another night should do it.” He grabs my big toe and wiggles it. “You like it here at Bayview General, don’t you? New sheets every day and lots of one-on-one attention.”

If I never see another nurse in my entire life, I’ll be thrilled.

“The food’s great, too,” I add wryly.

“We aim to please.” He hangs the chart back on my hospital bed.

He nods at both my parents as he walks out. Mom barely waits for the door to shut before rushing over to my bed and pulling on the sheets. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go where?” I ask in confusion.

“We’re leaving. You are not spending another night here. Do you know what this room costs?” She pulls the finger monitor off and tosses it to the side. “A small car. That’s how much a private room is for one night here at Bayview.”

She tugs me to my feet and hands me a small bag I hadn’t realized she was carrying.

“John, go and talk to the nurse and find out how to get her discharged. We’ll take her regardless.”

“I’m calling the billing office,” Dad grouses.

“There’s no point. I received the call this morning that the Royals were refusing to pay Hartley’s medical bills because they believe she is at fault for the accident.” Mom turns to me in anger. “I can’t believe you hurt a Royal! Do you know what this is going to do to us? We’re ruined. Ruined! What are you doing? Get dressed!” she snaps, a feral look in her eyes.

I can’t move, though. The news that Mom just blurted out has frozen me in place. Mr. Critical is one of the Royal boys? Easton’s brother? No. That can’t be. Why would Easton come into my room and hold my hand if I’d hurt his brother?

“Would you go!” Mom screeches.

I jump up from the bed and nearly vomit when pain crashes over me. Mom grabs my arm and shoves me toward the bathroom. I brace myself on the sink and lean over the toilet to spit up the five bites of oatmeal I’d managed to swallow for breakfast.

Oblivious to my condition, Mom continues to rant. “When you go to school tomorrow, you need to make sure that you’re nice to everyone. Do not cause any drama. Do not get into any conflict. If you do, you could ruin this family. Your dad could lose his job. We could lose the house. Parker’s husband could leave her. You and your sister would have to be sent to MawMaw’s home and not that fancy boarding school up north.”

MawMaw? That old crone? She beats people with a spoon. I turn on the faucet and wet a paper towel. Mom’s overreacting, I decide as I wipe down my face. She has a tendency to do this. If someone spills punch on the floor, even if it’s on tile, Mom’s crying about how she’s never going to get the stain out and her floor is ruined. Or if the turkey is slightly overdone at Thanksgiving, the entire bird is inedible. She always uses the threat of sending us away to keep us in line and she’s never followed through—I pause, holding the towel against my lips as the last thing she said finally registers.

And not that fancy boarding school up north.

Chapter 8

Hartley

Mom doesn’t make me go to school the next day as she threatened. Doc Joshi released me with the promise that I’d stay home for a week. I didn’t expect my parents to follow his instructions, but they did.

The last six days haven’t been a boatload of fun. My physical injuries are healing fine. It doesn’t hurt to breathe anymore. I can walk around. But although my health is getting better, I feel like things in my house are getting worse. I don’t understand what’s going on. My dad barely looks at me. My mom is always criticizing me. My little sister Dylan hardly speaks to me. And my older sister Parker hasn’t even come to see me. I was in the hospital for a week, recovering for more than that, and Parker can’t be bothered to visit?

Tomorrow I go back to school, and I don’t even want to know what kind of response I’ll get there, if I’m to go by my family’s not so warm welcome.

It’s Sunday night, and I’m spending it wandering around my house, which is both familiar and foreign at the same time. My room smells stale—as if it had been closed up for the entire three years I was at boarding school. The bedspread looks unfamiliar, as does the white laminate desk in the corner, along with the small collection of uniforms, shirts, and sweaters in the closet.

The stark white walls are bare. The only splashes of color are the purple-and-blue ombre bedspread and the matching curtains that still have creases in them from the cardboard inserts they were folded around.

I push the hangers on the closet rod from one side to the other. I have a tiny amount of clothes. Two expensive dark wool blazers with a red, white, and gold patch sewn over the breast hang in the middle. There’s a balled-up Kleenex in one of the blazer’s front patch pockets. To the left is a row of white button-down dress shirts: three long-sleeved, two short-sleeved. A zip hoodie and a navy sweater hang beside them. On the floor are a pair of bright white tennis shoes that look—and smell—brand new, and a pair of scuffed black loafers.