Discovering You. Brenda Novak

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      Rod glanced at his swollen hand. He’d been driving with his left; it hurt too much to use his right. But at least he’d found his phone, way off, under a bush. The fact that it had traveled so far from the point of impact showed how hard he’d come down, which made him angry all over again. “I think I’ll give it a few days. See how it feels.”

      Mack frowned at him from the passenger seat. He, too, had been telling Rod to stop by the hospital—and now that Dylan was starting in on him, Rod wasn’t sure he’d be able to refuse. He loved and respected his oldest brother more than anyone in the world. Dylan was more of a father to him than their own father had ever been.

      “I’d rather you got to a doctor right away,” Dylan said.

      Mack, who could hear everything, since Rod’s Bluetooth worked as a speakerphone, smirked at him. He knew how hard it was to say no to Dylan. They all had the same problem—except maybe Aaron. Although Aaron and Dylan got along now, they’d fought like crazy over the years, probably because they were closest in age and too damn much alike.

      “What will it hurt to wait?” Rod asked.

      “I need you at the shop,” Dylan replied. “If it’s broken, let’s get it fixed so you can use it as soon as possible.”

      Rod rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

      When Mack laughed to see him crumble so easily, Rod sent his younger brother a look that said he’d better not provoke him any further, and Mack, of course, ignored that and slugged Rod in the arm.

      “Want me to meet you over there?” That came from Dylan before Rod could slug Mack in return, an interruption that was well-timed. Since he couldn’t use his right hand, it would’ve been too awkward to reach across his body with his left.

      “You kidding?” Rod said. “It’s Saturday. You’re needed at the shop. Besides, I’m a big boy. I can handle seeing a doctor on my own. I’ll drop Mack off first, so you’ll at least have his help.”

      “Thanks.”

      “I’ll check on Liam while I’m at the hospital,” Rod went on. “See how bad off he is.” As angry as he was that this guy wouldn’t leave Natasha alone at the bar, not to mention everything the bastard had done afterward, Rod didn’t want to be responsible for seriously injuring anyone. It wasn’t as if he lived for violence. He also didn’t want this incident to escalate. He knew he’d probably get the worst of any repercussions. Although Liam had started the fight, he’d been hurt worse, so it meant Rod looked like the bad guy.

      “No need,” Dylan said. “I’ve already called over there. Liam Crockett has a broken jaw, a broken nose and a concussion.”

      “Damn!” Mack said. “You busted him up good.”

      “What’d you do?” Dylan asked. “Slam his head into the pavement?”

      Rod wasn’t even sure. It’d all happened so fast—and when someone pushed him that far, he fought to win. “I honestly don’t remember. After I went flying from my bike, I got up, saw him charging toward me and...unleashed. But it wouldn’t have been like that if he hadn’t asked for it.”

      “Might be a few days before we find out what he has to say,” Dylan informed him. “I talked to Chief Bennett this morning, too. Called him as soon as Grady filled me in. He’s not even going to take Liam’s statement until the guy gets out of the hospital.”

      “When will that be?” Rod asked.

      “Tuesday or Wednesday,” Dylan replied. “At least, that’s what his sister told me, who’s with him.”

      Rod scratched his neck. “Stupid bastard shouldn’t have run me off the road.”

      “I doubt he’ll ever make that mistake again,” Dylan said wryly. “Call me after your X-ray.”

      Dylan had his own son to worry about these days. Little Kellan was nearly eighteen months old. Dylan doted on him, but Rod figured he’d never stop taking care of his brothers, too. Their father was out of prison and living at the house with his wife and her daughter, yet J.T. hadn’t replaced Dylan. Dylan had been there for them too many years to suddenly stop playing that role.

      Rod considered it a blessing that Dylan retained some interest in them. Their father was more of a liability than an asset, even now.

      “Okay,” Rod said grudgingly. “But it might be a while before you hear from me. You know how long the hospital takes.”

      “Cheyenne can bring Kellan over and sit with you, if you like,” Dylan offered.

      “Kellan doesn’t need to be in a hospital waiting room,” Rod said.

      “They can keep you company, help you pass the time.”

      Mack cut in, raising his voice so Dylan could hear. “Hey, Dyl, I can always send some toy trucks with Rod, if you think that’ll make the wait any easier.”

      Rod shot Mack another warning glance for being such a smart-ass but spoke to Dylan. “You’re getting soft in your old age, big brother. You know that? You’re treating us more like little girls every day.”

      “Just get yourself back to work,” Dylan snapped.

      “That’s better,” Rod teased and hung up.

      “So you’ll go to the hospital if Dylan asks you to but not if I do?”

      “I’d walk through fire if Dylan asked me to, and so would you,” he replied. As far as Rod was concerned, Dylan had earned it.

      * * *

      India had tried to reach Detective Flores three times and received his voice mail every time. She wanted to talk to him. But when she saw his number flash across her screen, she drew a deep breath. There was so much she needed him to say, so much he never seemed able to say. Her disappointment in the criminal justice system and the lack of information and closure she received from the police could be crippling. Sometimes it took days to recover.

      “India, Detective Flores,” he said when she answered. “How are you?”

      He always sounded so warm and friendly. But she didn’t trust the encouragement and hope his tone offered. His voice had the same inflection the day he’d told her that the crime scene analysts hadn’t found any of Sebastian’s DNA in her house—and on the day he’d told her that Sebastian’s wife, despite the way he’d treated her, was providing him with an alibi.

      “I’m good. Better.” To a point, that was true. She had some bright moments, usually when she was working or feeling grateful to still have her daughter in her life. At other times the memories flooded back or she missed Charlie so much she could scarcely breathe. Then the questions would start. Could she have saved him if she’d called 911? Or would Sebastian have shot her, like he’d said he would?

      “I’ve moved to Whiskey Creek and set up my pottery workshop in a lovely screened-in porch overlooking a small river,” she told him. “So that’s nice.”

      “Sounds like you’ll be able to open your studio soon.”

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