Page 16 of The Bad Brother

I catch movement in the corner of my eye and turn to see Sheriff Montgomery at the back of the room, leaning against a row of filing cabinets with an expression caught somewhere between amusement and annoyance.

Jesus Christ, you’ve got to be kidding me.

“No one is holding me here against my will,” I say it to him directly before I look at my mother again. “I’m working.”

My mother sniffs at me like I just scolded her. “I’ve been calling you, practically nonstop, for almost a week now, and you haven’t answered?—”

“Because I’m working.”

“—and your voicemail box is full?—”

“Because you’ve filled it with messages.”

“—so I got worried and decided to see for myself that you were okay.”

She didn’t get worried. She got mad because I wouldn’t answer my phone and allow her to belittle and blame me for what happened with Ethan, in real time. This isn’t a display of maternal concern. This is a full-blown tantrum thrown by a spoiled child.

“Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine,” I tell her, acutely aware that both my boss and Barrett County’s sheriff are listening and watching. “Like I said, I’ve been working.”

“You’ve been working since last Friday night. It’sThursday.” she says like I might not know what day it is. “You ran out of your own?—”

“There was an accident—ahorribleaccident,” I remind her in a hard tone. “People died. Other people weredyingwho needed my help. I’m a surgeon, Mother. I can’t just decide that I don’t want to do my job because I’d rather stay at some party.”

And considering what was happening at that engagement party, I wish I’d left sooner. Matter of fact, I wish I’d seen Ethan for who he really is months ago and called off the wedding myself.

Or better yet—never let my mother set me up with him when I moved back to Clearwater, in the first place.

“Let’s be realistic, Sloane,” my mother says, her mouth set in a thin, mutinous line while she smooths her fingertips over the hem of her Chanel skirt. “I strongly doubt your presence here made that much of a difference.”

Stiffening my neck so I don’t physically jerk back when she says it, I open my mouth, but like before, Dr. Ragnar speaks before I can get a word out. “Actually, Dr. Merrick is one of the most talented and dedicated trauma surgeons I’ve ever had the privilege of working with,” she says, her tone calm and professional while she regards my mother with a frosty glare. “Her contributions to this department and the community it serves have been immeasurable.”

Sniffing again, my mother turns away from Dr. Ragnar and completely ignores the praise she just gave me. “We need to talk,” she says, looking up at me from her perch on one of the office’s guest chairs. “About what happened and how to fix it.”

Fix it?

Ethan took a video of my best friend blowing him during our engagement party and sent it to me—and then he stole my fucking condo. I’m homeless because of him. There is nofixingit. Instead of saying all of that and embarrassing myself, I give my mother a nod like I agree with her.

“Okay, you’re right.” Rolling the candy in my mouth into the pocket of my cheek, I suck on it to revive some of its sour in hopes that it’ll keep me from screaming at her. “I’ll call you after my shift.”

“No, you won’t.” Somehow, she manages to look down on me, even though she’s sitting and I’m standing. “You’re just saying that to get me to leave.”

Even though she’s right, I shake my head, suddenly desperate to get her out of here before she says or does something that will get me into more trouble than I already am. “I’ll call—I promise.” Shifting from one foot to theother, I give her a nod that I’m hoping reads more as earnest instead of impatient. “We can meet at the club and have lunch.”

Like she’s sure I’m setting a trap, my mother narrows her eyes suspiciously. “You want to have lunch—at the club. With me?”

“No.” Knowing better than to lie, I answer her honestly. “I don’t want to have lunch at the club.” Ethan golfs there. Amy plays tennis. “But I will—for you.”

When I say it, my mother’s face softens as much as the Botox will allow before she stands, gathering her Berkin bag with a sigh. Settling its strap on her shoulder, she turns to look at me. “I just want what’s best for you, Sloane.”

“I know, Mom.” Tilting my cheek, I allow her to press hers against it, in one of her fake kisses. “I’ll call you.”

Some unknown signal must’ve passed between Dr. Ragnar and the sheriff because he pushes himself out of his lean and gives my mother a polite smile. “I’ll walk you to your car, Mrs. Barclay.”

Clearly not finished, my mother shakes her head. “But I’m?—”

“Dr. Merrick and I have some confidential hospital matters to discuss,” my boss says from behind her desk. “I’m sure you understand.”

From the look on her face, it’s obvious my mother doesn’t understand, almost as much as she doesn’t appreciate being dismissed. “If you don’t call, I’ll just have to?—”

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