Lock You Down (Rivers Brothers 2)

"I love you," she told me, voice deep with emotion.

"I love you too. And we both love some fancy sushi. Our place? Seven?"

I hadn't waited for an answer because I never needed one before. There was never a time one of us suggested our place, and the other one said they had other plans. Never.

I had pressed a kiss to her temple before gathering my purse and the file.

"I'll see you later, k? Love you!" I said, already out the door.

At least I could comfort myself with the knowledge that the last words I said to her were love. That was a small sort of consolation.

I sat at our table in our restaurant for an hour before I decided to call her. Sammy liked to spend time in front of the mirror, trying on pieces of her massive wardrobe until she found what was just right. It was expected, so I thought nothing of her being an hour late.

When one hour stretched to two, I remember being annoyed. It was one thing for a date to stand you up, it was a complete other for one of your siblings to do so.

I paid my bill and went home, wondering if maybe she had passed out and forgotten to set an alarm, if she had suddenly been struck down with one of the skull-splitting migraines she'd been afflicted with since her high school years.

I felt a surge of remorse for having been annoyed as I moved through my house, looking for her in the living room, in the guest room, in my room.

I called.

I texted.

I went to bed with a knot of concern in my stomach.

When the phone rang at three a.m., panic didn't grip my system.

Luis had a tendency to call me tipsy from wherever he was in the world, which often meant we were in different timezones. I never bothered to be annoyed about it. It was just part of our dynamic.

"Luis, I need to get some sleep," I answered even though I was ready to listen to his escapades about which heiress he'd bedded that night, which pop star he had partied with.

"Reagan..." That was my mother's voice.

It was right then that the panic set in, making my nerves skitter around my skin, making my belly feel wobbly.

No call from your parent at 3 a.m. was good.

But my mother's voice cracked.

It cracked.

"Is Dad okay?" I asked, sitting up straight, swinging my legs off the side of the bed, already digging for pants in my dresser, ready to hop in my car and head to the hospital to be there for him, for her. "Mom?" I asked when she just broke off on a hysterical sob.

"Reagan," my dad's voice, loud, booming as ever, but sounding winded, met my ear, giving me a wave of relief.

Not Dad.

"Dad. What's going on?" I asked, placing the pants back down on the open drawer, sucking in a steadying breath, willing my heartbeat to settle back down.

"It's Sammy," he said. And his voice cracked too. This was the strongest, most stoic man I had ever met in my life. I'd never heard him angry or frustrated or impatient. I'd never heard him sad. And his voice cracked.

"What's the matter? Was she in some kind of accident?" I asked, my nerves picking up again, my stomach flipping over.

"Sammy killed herself tonight, Reagan," he told me.

I don't remember if he said anything else.

I don't remember if his voice hitched when he told me.

All I remembered was my phone smashing to the floor, scattering shards everywhere as my knees met the hardwood when my legs gave out.

I remembered the noise that escaped me then. Loud, primal, the shriek of a dying animal. Because that was what I felt like right then. Like someone had stuck a knife in my belly and pulled up, like they had yanked out all my insides, like there was nothing left.

I couldn't say how long I sat there wailing, but a neighbor must have thought the worst, because cops stormed in, tried to talk to me, tried to get me off the floor, tried to get me to answer questions.

In the end, finding me completely inconsolable, they drove me to the hospital, they left me in the care of people who specialized in breaks.

Because that was what it was.

A break.

A fracture so deep there was no way to fuse it back together again.

Luis had been the first one to show up, fresh off a flight from New York, eyes red-rimmed, face sunken, slipping into the bed beside me.

We sobbed together for hours, finding a bottomless well of misery inside, constantly surging up to the surface and pouring outward.

At some point, my father came, giving permission to the staff to sedate me, to hold me temporarily.

Because he didn't want to lose two daughters in one night. And I honestly couldn't give him any promises about having a will left to live.