Chapter 3

The power came back to the building at two that afternoon.

The air conditioning kicked on, Owen's temperature came down to 99.5, and he finally dropped into a heavy sleep.

Caleb seemed to realize he'd gone too far that morning, and he threw himself into making up for it.

He mopped the standing water, swept up the broken glass, and taped cardboard over the hole in the balcony door—a patch job, but it held.

He even went to the kitchen and made oatmeal, brought it out to me, then knelt down and carefully peeled the blood-soaked gauze off my calf so he could put fresh antiseptic on it.

"Does that hurt?" His eyes were red when he looked up at me, full of tenderness and guilt.

"I'm sorry. I honestly didn't know the glass had blown out, and I had no idea Owen had a fever. If I'd known, I never would've gone.

"I swear to you, from now on you and my son come first. I'll start putting distance between me and Brielle. Just forgive me this once. Please."

Maybe the guilt was real. So was the stupidity—the total inability to tell what mattered more, the complete absence of a line he wouldn't cross.

I was about to answer when the phone on the coffee table rang again.

Brielle's name on the screen.

Caleb's hand jerked to a stop, the cotton swab still between his fingers.

He looked at me. He looked at the phone. Two seconds of hesitation, and then he answered it right in front of me, and put it on speaker to show me he had nothing to hide.

"Cale! Cale, help me!"

Brielle's sobbing came screaming out of the phone, and behind it a little boy wailing.

"Brielle, what happened? Slow down." Caleb's voice went tight instantly.

"The water got in and the floor's so slick—Evan just went down and split his head open, there's blood everywhere! I can't carry him down the stairs by myself and I can't get a ride out here. Cale, what am I supposed to do?

"If your brother were still here, his son and I wouldn't be going through this."

Caleb shot to his feet. His face drained white and the swab dropped to the floor.

He looked at Owen in the crib, still running a low fever. Then he looked at me. Whatever guilt had been in his eyes was gone, replaced by urgency and the duty he'd assigned himself.

"Lena..." He forced it out. "Owen's fever is down, but Evan's bleeding. He's the only thing my brother left in this world. I can't just ignore that.

"I promise, I'll get them to the hospital, get him stitched up, and come straight back to you."

I watched him hurry off for his car keys, and my voice went flat.

"Caleb, it's still pouring out there and the roads are underwater. My leg is cut open. Owen's fever could spike again any minute. Are you really doing this again? Right now?"

Caleb stopped. He turned around with his brow knotted, and his voice picked up an edge of panic and irritation.

"Lena, can you not figure out what's urgent here? Can you please not do this right now? There's blood."

"Fine." I nodded and pointed at the door. "Then if you walk out that door today, don't come back."

Caleb ground his teeth, and something angry flickered across his face. "I know you're unhappy. We'll deal with us when I get back. But I owe my brother this."

Then he grabbed the keys and went out the door without looking back.

I closed my eyes, pulled in a long breath, and reached over to touch Owen's forehead. It was heating up again.

Of course. Of course you did.