When my cell rings, I’m in bed, and the sound jolts me out of sleep. I blink in the darkness as I scrabble for my cell on the nightstand and turn the screen toward me. Unknown number.

Usually, I’d ignore a call like that, assuming it was some kind of scam, but instinct tells me to answer. It could be Connor. “Hello?”

“Miss Thorne?”

“Speaking.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. My name is Lance Collins. I’m a public defender.”

My stomach twists in nervous knots. I sit upright, reaching for my lamp and switching it on. I squint against the sudden brightness and bow my head into my hand, clutching my phone against my ear. “It’s Connor, isn’t it? Is he in trouble?”

“I’m afraid so, Miss Thorne.”

“Where are they holding him? Do you need me to pick him up? What’s he been charged with?” Probably a drunk and disorderly, or possession.

“Manslaughter.”

My breath catches in my throat, and intense panic keeps me from drawing in another. There’s a long silence before I finally say in a strangled voice, “Manslaughter?”

“From what I understand, your brother was involved in a fight with another man which resulted in the death of the other person. We’ll know more when the autopsy report comes back, but from what is known, this person was in perfect health prior to the fight.”

“Was it definitely Connor who was involved?”

“Several witnesses identified him, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Where is he now?”

“In the hospital.”

Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse. “Oh my god. Is he hurt?”

“His injuries aren’t life-threatening, but they’re keeping him under police supervision until he sobers up.”

“He was drunk.” My voice is defeated.

“Tests show he was also under the influence of narcotics. MDMA and cocaine were found in his system.”

“Jesus Christ, Connor.” I’m choking now on my tears. “I’m on my way.”

Henry meets me at the hospital entrance, and I rush into his arms. They close around me tightly, holding me warm and safe. Though I’m a sobbing mess, Henry is a solid, reassuring presence. He holds me up as I cry.

“What happened?”

“All I know is Connor got into a fight, and the other guy died.”

“Were there any weapons involved?”

“I don’t know.”

“Drugs?”

“Yes.”

Henry draws in a long breath through his teeth, then lets it out slowly. “Let’s hope it was only a fist fight. At least a lack of a weapon shows there was no intent.”

“It’s Connor being a reckless, stupid idiot again,” I say, my voice choked by hot, angry tears. “He got wasted, went out, and got into a fight as usual, except this time, he hasn’t gotten away with it. This time, he killed someone. I can’t believe he’s taken a life. My brother.”

Henry pulls me against him and holds me close. “There are two sides to every story. Let’s see what Connor has to say.”

We go to the reception desk to ask where Connor is. The way the receptionist raises her eyebrows and frowns makes me feel small. “He’s just down the hall and to the left. Room 32.”

She knows what Connor has done. “Thank you.”

We go to the room, which is guarded by two police officers, who look up when I arrive. Sitting on a seat in the hall is a man in a worn-out suit and a stained tie. He stands up when he sees me. “Miss Thorne?”

“Yes?”

He holds out his hand. “Lance Collins. “You’re only allowed to see Connor for a few minutes. They’ll be taking him into holding in the morning.”

“Then what will happen?”

“It will go to trial.”

“Will he have to stay in jail until then?”

“I’m afraid so.”

My knees grow weak. Henry holds onto me. “Can we go inside?”

“You have five minutes.”

We enter the private room. The walls are painted a horrible mint green, and the floors are off-white linoleum. It’s incredibly silent, although the smell of bleach makes my stomach turn.

Connor is sitting up in the hospital bed. His face is bloodied and bruised, his knuckles grazed. There is a wild panic in his eyes like nothing I’ve ever seen before. When he sees me, he bursts into tears.

When I see the cuff at his wrist, connected to the bar of the hospital bed, my eyes fill with tears, and I cry. I go to him and immediately wrap my arms around him. It’s instinctive. I will always love my brother, and the urge to protect him—even from the consequences of his own mistakes—is overwhelming.

He holds onto me and cries like a baby. The big, strong, tough-as-nails exterior has crumbled, and underneath is a scared little child realizing how badly he’s messed up.

“Oh, Connor,” I say. “What have you done?”

“It was just a fight,” Connor tells me, gasping for breath between sobs. “We’d been out drinking. There was a fight over some girl. He said something I didn’t like, so I threw a punch. He threw one back. The bar kicked us out, and next thing, we’re fighting on the street. We were both fighting, Lissy! It was a bar brawl, that’s all. A normal fight, like I’ve been in a hundred times before.”

“Did you have a weapon?” I ask. “A knife? A bottle?”

He shakes his head fervently. “It was a fist-fight. After he socked me in the jaw, I swung a punch at his head, and he went down like that. He never got back up.” Connor begins to shake with the effort of his sobs. He’s trembling with fear, his face starkly pale against the rusty color of the dried blood on his lips. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

I sit on the mattress beside him and cradle his head against my chest. My heart is breaking. This isn’t what I wanted for my brother.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I tell him. “I’m going to do everything I can.”

Connor wraps his arms around my neck and clings to me like a child. “I’m sorry, Lissy, for everything.”

“I know.”

I squeeze him tightly. It’s been so long since Connor has held onto me like this, and I’m filled with compassion. No matter what the rest of the world might see in him, I’ve only ever seen a scared little boy.

There’s a knock at the door, and an officer steps in. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re going to have to ask you to step outside now.”

“Just one more minute?” I beg.

“I’m sorry.”

I turn back to Connor and give him one last hug, then take him by the shoulders and catch his eyes. “I’m going to be fighting for you.”

I’m clinging onto him so tightly that Henry has to come and gently peel me away. I lean against him as we leave the room, or else I’d collapse under the weight of my own emotions.

Once we’re outside the room, I bawl in Henry’s arms.

“How can this be happening?” I cry. “It was an accident. Anyone can see he didn’t mean to kill him. What am I going to do?”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“This would never have happened if Mom was still around. I’ve failed him. I kicked him out. I—I—”

Henry gently pushes my head down to rest against his chest as my guilt begins to escalate. He kisses my forehead and sways with me gently. “You didn’t take him to that bar. You didn’t start that fight. This is not your fault.”

“I can’t let him go to jail.”

“It’s out of our hands.”

“He’s only got a public defender. I can’t afford a private attorney.” The reality of how helpless I am makes me feel weak. “They’re going to throw him under the bus to set an example. They won’t even consider what he’s been through.”

“You don’t know that. You need to trust the lawyers to do their jobs.”

“I don’t trust them. They’re going to throw him to the wolves.”

“We’ll find a way to help him somehow.”

I look up at Henry devotedly. I’m filled with endless gratitude that he’s here. Even though I know Henry doesn’t think a lot of Connor, and even though I know Henry would rather Connor wasn’t around, for my sake, he’s still there to support me—and Connor—when everything is falling apart.

Another long battle lies ahead for my brother and me—but at least this time, I’m not alone.