The night I drove you home was the first night The first night that what?

Her mother yanked back the curtain, making the hangers rattle in the steel track. Though she was wearing a white tennis skirt and a pink trimmed sweater, her eyes were perfectly lined, her mascara unsmudged. Even her lipstick looked freshly applied.

Layne wondered how much time she’d spent getting ready to come see her daughter in the hospital.

She wondered if she’d actually been playing tennis.

“Baby? You okay?”

“I’m great,” said Layne flatly. Baby. As if her mother gave a damn. She’d spent more time on the other side of the curtain than she had in here.

“I’m going to flag down the doctor,” her mother said, her lips pursed. “Don’t they know what I do for this hospital? I’m going to give these people a piece of my ”

“No,” said Layne evenly. “There are sick people here. I can wait.”

Her mom opened her mouth to protest, but then her cell phone started ringing, and she stuck a manicured hand into a designer bag to fetch it.

Layne sighed. She was ready to go home and get a shower.

Her clothes smelled like horses and fire, the sweetness of alfalfa hay mixed with soot and ashes. She hadn’t even unzipped her jacket, knowing the turtleneck underneath was soaked with sweat.

And she needed time alone.

She needed time to think.

A nurse came around the corner wearing pink scrubs with lollipops all over them. Some papers and a clipboard were in one hand, and she glanced between Layne’s father tapping away at his iPhone and her mother, who was gushing about something to do with a celebrity polo match.

So concerned.

The nurse faltered.

Layne held out her hand. “Here. Can I just take it?”

“Your parents need to sign, sweetie.”

Layne looked at her father. “Dad. Hey. Signature.”

He put a hand out without looking up, hitting a few more keys on the phone.

Unbelievable. It reminded Layne of the day in Gabriel’s driveway, when he’d been so dismissive of Michael.

Layne looked at the nurse. “I’m sorry. They usually act like they give a crap.”

That got her dad’s attention. “Watch it. I was supposed to be in court this morning.”

Layne looked back at him in mock surprise. “I can’t believe I forgot to add this to your schedule.”

Her mom laughed into the phone and held up her hand. “Oh my goodness, that is too much. Let me step into the hallway.

There’s a lot of commotion here . . .”

Layne scooted off the stretcher. She wished Simon were here, but her father had sent him to school. “Let’s just go,” she said.

“You can get back to court, Mom can get back to ‘tennis,’ and I can get back to school.”

Her father had his head bent over the form probably reading what he was signing. “You’re not going to school. The doctor said for you to stay home and rest, make sure there aren’t any delayed effects.” His hand scribbled across the bottom of the form.

“He also said I was fine.”

“End of discussion.”

Of course it was. Layne sighed.

Her father handed the forms back to the nurse and looked at Layne. “I rearranged my schedule. I’ll stay with you until Simon gets home.”

It should have made her feel better. It didn’t.

It made her feel like an obligation.

She didn’t even say good-bye to her mother not out of any sense of spite or anger, but the woman had disappeared down some corridor to take her call, and there was no sign of her.

Maybe she’d forgotten the whole reason they were at the hospital to begin with.

Layne just folded her legs into her father’s BMW and stared out the window.

She wondered if Gabriel was all right. He’d been in that fire, too. And he hadn’t had the luxury of medical attention.

He’d run when he’d seen fire trucks. That had to imply some sort of guilt.

But the look in his eyes after the fire there’d been no guilt there. Only horror. Sadness. Regret, as he told her that some horses had been trapped.

The barn had been her sanctuary. She’d mourn its loss as much as she would the other horses. Gabriel had understood that. Respected it.

She knew he had.

My secret has to do with fire.

Layne wished she could call him. To demand answers.

But she was afraid to call him. She was afraid the truth would be more devastating than all these hypotheticals.

Her father disappeared into his study when they got home, making Layne wonder why he’d even bothered to stay with her.

He’d tried to be supportive in the car, talking about how they’d find another place for her to ride, to move her horse to another facility, all concrete, easy things that should have been reassuring but weren’t at all, really.

She stripped out of her clothes in the bathroom, clenching her eyes shut as usual, hating the sight of her na**d body. She couldn’t see, anyway; her eyes kept blurring with tears that she chased off. She kept her mind occupied by flinging her clothes into two piles by feel: keep or trash. The jacket was disgusting.

Trash. The boots were expensive and could use a good cleaning.

Keep. Turtleneck, keep. Socks, keep. Riding breeches, trash.

Then the memory of that moment in the grass hit her, full force.

Your scars aren’t all you are, Layne.

She gasped and pressed her hands to her eyes, letting her shoulders shake with emotion but refusing to let the tears fall.