Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(5)

They put a neck brace on Connor and packed him onto a gurney. Mrs. Cooper said she’d called Connor’s mom, and she’d meet him at the hospital. Colleen rode in the front of the ambulance, sobbing.

In the ER, he was told he was very lucky, and that it could’ve been so much worse. He ended up with eleven stitches in his jaw, eight under his eye. “Don’t worry about the scar,” said the hip young doctor who was doing the job. “Chicks love scars.” Another sixteen stitches in his arm, but it was the bite on his face that was the big concern. A bump on his head, road rash on his back where his shirt had ridden up. He was a mess, in other words. Everything stung, throbbed or burned.

Mom was weepy all that night. Connor was woozy from the pain meds. Colleen made him a get-well card without any insults, which made Connor think he must look worse than he realized. “You saved me,” he told her, and she burst into tears.

“I didn’t,” she said. “I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“It ran away, though.”

“Jessica threw a rock at him. Got him right in the head.”

Huh. He was too bleary to think about it further. Good aim, though.

His father was icy with fury. “Those f*cking white-trash scumbags,” he said, peering into Connor’s face, then got on the phone in his study and didn’t come out until Connor was in bed. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder. Suddenly, the dog bite felt worth it. “You were very brave, I heard.”

“It was scary.”

Crap. Wrong answer. He should’ve said something about it not being a big deal. Sure enough, the hand was withdrawn. “It could’ve been worse, though,” Connor added quickly. “At least it wasn’t Colleen.”

Because if something happened to his sister, Connor would’ve killed the dog himself. The flash of rage and terror was unexpected.

“Tomorrow we’re going to see the Dunns,” Dad said.

“Oh, Dad, no.” The memory of Jess lugging the dog into the house... There was something wrong with that image, but Connor couldn’t say what it was.

“You have to man up in situations like this,” his father said. “I’ll be with you. Don’t worry. They owe you an apology.”

The next day, sure enough, Dad made him get into the Porsche and go back to West’s Trailer Park. His face was swollen and sore under the bandages, and his arm ached. The last place he wanted to be was here.

Dad knocked on the door, hard. Jessica answered, her eyes flickering over Connor’s face. She didn’t say anything. A TV blared in the background, one of those court shows with a lot of yelling.

“Are your parents home?” Dad asked, not bothering with politeness.

“Hi, Jess,” Connor said. Dad cut him a look.

She slipped away. A second later, Mrs. Dunn was at the door. “What do you want?” she said sullenly. Connor was abruptly grateful for his own mother, who always smelled nice and, well, wore a bra and clean shirts.

“Your dog attacked my son,” Dad said, his voice hard. “I’m here to inform you that Animal Control will be here this afternoon to have him put down.”

“You don’t get to say what happens to my dog,” she said, and Connor could smell her boozy breath from the steps.

“What’s put down?” asked a little voice.

Connor flinched. Davey Dunn was peeking out from behind his mother’s legs. He was five or six, and had the longest eyelashes Connor had ever seen. Everyone knew he had something wrong with him, that skinny head and eyes so far apart, but Connor wasn’t sure what it was. The kids on the bus had a word for it, but Connor hated thinking it. Davey just wasn’t quite...normal. Cute, though. Jessica reappeared next to her brother, her hand on his head, staring at Connor, her face expressionless.

He and Jess were in the same class. He couldn’t say she was nice, exactly; they didn’t have the same friends, but she hung out with Levi Cooper, and everyone liked Levi.

And Jessica Dunn was beautiful. Connor had always known that.

“What’s going on here?” Mr. Dunn appeared in the doorway, rumpled and skinny. And suddenly, the dog was there, its big brown head, and Connor jumped back, he couldn’t help it. Dad grabbed the animal by the collar, roughly. “Put down,” he said to Davey, “means your dog has to go somewhere and never come back, because he was very bad.”

“Chico’s not bad,” Davey said, putting his thumb in his mouth. “He’s good.”

“Look at my son’s face,” Dad snapped. “That’s what your dog did. So he’s going to doggy heaven now.”

Silence fell. Davey pulled his thumb out of his mouth and blinked.

Dad could be such a dick sometimes.

“He’s gonna die?” Davey asked.

“Yes. And you’re lucky he hasn’t torn your throat out, son.”

“Don’t talk to my boy,” Mr. Dunn said belatedly.

“No!” Davey wailed. “No! No!”

“Here they are now,” Dad said, and sure enough, a van was pulling into the trailer park.

“Chico! Come on! We have to hide!” Davey sobbed, but Dad still had the dog by the collar.

“Dad,” Connor said, “maybe the dog could just be... I don’t know. Chained up or something?”