Lark had always been more into family stuff than me.

She was the kid who looked forward to 'back to school' nights where parents got to mingle with teachers and new classmates during the first week of the academic year. She also made sure that we hosted every major holiday-Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas, included-squeezing friends and extended family into our tiny house for home cooked feasts. And once, she even signed Mom, Dad, and me up for her team at the neighborhood family olympics without asking.

We won the 'name that country' geography quiz, but the Hoffmeyers took first place even though I'm pretty sure the 'balloon pop' was rigged in their favor.

So while my sister was enthusiastic about accepting Spencer's invitation to family dinner, I'm surprised she doesn't start interrogating him about his mother. It's actually one of the few times that I'd be glad for her usual intrusive questioning because I suddenly have so many things I want to know. But as we pull to a stop in front of Ward Manor, there's only one question that I feel comfortable enough to ask.

"Are you sure your mother would want to come over now?" I look at the clock on the dashboard, hoping that our arrival is late enough for Mrs. Ward to have declined the invite. "It's nearly ten thirty."

"It's not a problem," Spencer answers as he turns off the car and opens the driver's side door. "She lives here."

He's out of the SUV before I can even react although my initial instinct is to think that I misheard him. Surely Clayton would have mentioned sharing the house with his mother during one of the several times I've been here. Otherwise, leaving out that small, but significant fact could only have been deliberate.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that the others have already gone ahead and by now are scaling the steps to the entry door. I hurry after them, catching up just in time to step inside right after Lark. Mrs. Adelaide is already approaching Clayton.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we weren't expecting guests. We did the best we could-"

"I'm sure everything will be fine," he says, not allowing her to continue to apologize. "You know we aren't picky."

"Speak for yourself," Spencer says with a laugh as he goes around his older brother and heads deeper inside the house. "I've eaten okra stew once in my life and it was one time too many."

Clayton ignores this and addresses the housekeeper once again. "Is she still up?"

Mrs. Adelaide nods, her high bun bobbing on top of her head. "Yes, sir. Of course. Shall I bring her down?"

"Please," he says before turning to me and Lark. "Ladies."

We follow him into the dining room where the table is set for five, as requested. Lark sits down next to Spencer, but I stop at the entrance, keenly aware of the dirt, dried blood, and bits of broken glass covering various parts of my body.

"Is there somewhere I can freshen up?" I touch Clayton's elbow before he can also disappear.

He takes me farther down the corridor and opens the door to a small powder room. But instead of leaving me to it, he steadies himself against the doorframe.

"I know that you don't want to be here-"

"It's fine," I cut him off, not wanting to start arguing like earlier.

"Well, it is what it is," he says, raking his fingers through his hair, and hearing that he wants me here even less than I do puts a knot in the pit of my stomach. "I just want to warn you. My mother isn't well. Don't expect too much from her."

The revelation comes out of nowhere and I blink rapidly as I consider what it all means.

So his mother is sick. But why does he need to warn me? Is it that bad? Is she dying? If so, why is she having dinner with us at ten on a Saturday when she should be resting. And if she's been here all this time, why has Clayton kept it a secret from me?

My list of questions just keeps growing. But this was some heavy information to process on what I thought was just a quick trip to the bathroom so I'm still struggling to find the right response when Mrs. Adelaide shows up again.

"Dr. Ward, Carlos is here," she says to Clayton as though I'm not even here.

He nods to her before looking back at me with a wry smile. "See you back in the dining room?"

"Yeah," I say, stifling a yawn. What other choice do I have?

I take a few minutes to get myself to look and feel halfway human, washing the dried blood off my face and combing my hair with my fingers. Focusing my eyesight is still nearly impossible and there's a two-inch cut above my brow, but it's the best I can do so I head back to the dining room.

A waiter is pouring water from a fancy bottle into glasses, but it's the woman sitting at the head of the table who gets my full attention.

With shoulder-length brown hair that's streaked with gray and listless eyes circled with dark bags, she's not a prominent family's matriarch in her early fifties that I had expected. Not even by a longshot. But even with her gaunt frame and sagging shoulders, I can tell that she was once a beauty.

Staring straight ahead, she looks disinterested at best and my stomach drops.

If Clayton and Spencer's mother doesn't want to even be here, then this was a bigger mistake than I thought. Still, we're here now, so I might as well make the most of it.

"Hi, Mrs. Ward. It's so nice to meet you," I say with forced enthusiasm as I approach her, shaky hand extended. "I'm Dr. Barlow Milligan."

I throw my title in there in an attempt at making a better impression, but she doesn't react. Like, at all.

"Don't bother," Spencer says, taking a sip of his sparkling water. "We're not sure what's going on in there, but she's been like this for years. It's not personal."

The smile drops from my face and I back up a step. "What?"

Spencer motions toward the chair across from him, leaving an empty seat for Clayton next to his mother. "Sit down, Barlow. Please."

I feel like his request is more of an ask for me to stop my line of questioning, but he's the one who wanted me here, so I think he owes me an explanation.

"Can she hear us?" I ask in a whisper, leaning in to the table.

The waiter now appears with a large bowl and begins serving Lark, ladling creamy tomato soup into her plate.

"Probably, but she definitely won't respond," Spencer says, eyeing the red puree steaming in Lark's bowl next to him.

A pained scream rings out from a nearby room, echoing through the house. It makes both me and my sister jump in our seats, but Spencer waves it off. "Sounds like Carlos is working his magic on Clayton's shoulder."

When he sees the look of concern that is surely spread all over my face, he adds, "Don't worry. He was a combat medic in Afghanistan. He knows what he's doing."

Happy that the screaming doesn't last, I pause my questioning while the waiter finishes serving all of us. He even fills Clayton's bowl with soup before disappearing, then Spencer lifts a domed, silver cover off a plate to reveal stacked grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Bon appetite," he says before taking one of the sandwiches and passing the plate around.

"Oh my gosh, this is my favorite," Lark squeals in delight, and I have to admit, our unexpected dinner is also one of my comfort foods, too to I take a quick nibble of the corner.

"Mine, too," says Clayton as he re-appears in the doorway. He's changed his shirt and he isn't holding his shoulder any more.

Quickly chewing the bite, I wipe a crumb off my lip as he sits next to me. "Are you okay?"

He smiles at me. "You heard the scream, huh? Sorry about that. I've had my shoulder put back into place before, but I guess I've forgotten how much it can hurt."

I'm glad he's back and that he's no longer in pain, so I smile back.

"Would you like to eat, Miss Larissa?" The question comes from Mrs. Adelaide who must have come in right after Clayton. She's now standing next to his mother, trying to hand her a spoon.

Based on Spencer's earlier dismissal, I don't expect any type of answer, but Mrs. Ward slowly takes the spoon before dipping it into the soup. Then she begins to eat.

"Wonderful," says Mrs. Adelaide in a warm tone that I also wouldn't have expected from her. "I'll be back in a bit to see if you need anything else."

After she leaves, I turn to Clayton. "Can I ask . . . what happened to her?"

He eats a few bites before answering. "My father's death was . . . sudden. She didn't take it well at all and ultimately had a total nervous breakdown. Her current state is due more to her medications than anything else, but believe it or not, it's the best option we have."

The pain has returned to his voice, but now it's due to his mother's condition and not his own physical injuries. It breaks my heart, but it also brings up more questions. Those, though, I'll save for another time. I don't think either of us could handle any more trauma-ours or anyone else's-for tonight.

So instead, I turn to the soup, but after a few spoonful, I can't continue with that, either.

"Is something the matter?" Clayton notices that I put my spoon down and sip my water.

"I don't have much of an appetite. I think I'd better go home," I say, carefully setting the glass down before rising to my feet. But as soon as I stand, the room begins to spin.

"Barlow!" I hear Lark yell before I feel Clayton's hands steadying me.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," I mumble as he helps me sit again.

"The hell you are," he says. "And there's no way you're spending the night alone in this state."

"I can stay with her," Lark says, now from beside me. She and Spencer had both rushed over to help, but while they all argue above my head about whether or not I need to go to the ER, all I can think about is wanting to sleep.

"It's probably best if she doesn't go far," Clayton says, briefly angering me for making decisions for me before I realize that staying means that I get to sleep even sooner, which makes me happy.

"I have plenty of room, and both Carlos and Mrs. Adelaide can nurse a mild concussion," he adds before finally looking down at me. "Sound good?"

"Uh-huh," I mutter as Clayton and Spencer help me up.

Lark then gives me a quick hug. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" she says with a squeeze.

"Okay," I croak. This must be what it feels like to have the adrenaline from earlier wear off.

Clayton helps me out of the room and up the stairs. We turn down a hallway and then stop in front of a closed door.

"Do you want me to help you inside?" he asks, twisting the handle and pushing the door open.

I peek in. It's a large bedroom with a four-poster bed, wardrobe, chandelier, the works.

"I think I can make it," I say, forcing a smile. "Thank you . . . for taking care of me."

Only after the words leave my lips do I realize that I wouldn't be in this state were it not for him. So I'm basically thanking him for putting me in this mess.

Sheesh. Hitting my head must have really done a number on my logic.

"My pleasure," Clayton says softly, his arm still protectively encircling my waist.

His presence-his nearness-is comforting and in spite of everything, I don't want it to come to an end. But that's just my brain injury talking, so I need to tamp it down before it gets me into trouble.

"I'm sorry about your mother," I whisper as my thoughts bounce from one topic to another before landing on one that I'd considered important earlier. "But that doesn't change my feelings about you."

I'm hoping that the declaration sounds believable enough, but Clayton doesn't make any attempt to move away. In fact, he gets closer, gently forcing my back to the wall.

"I always enjoyed a challenge," he says softly right into my ear as his warm breath grazes my neck. With my eyes closed, I let out an unintentional little whimper of satisfaction before he suddenly pulls away and turns.

"Sleep well," Clayton says as he walks away.

Sleep well. Hah. As if I could do anything else, but mentally replay the last ten seconds for the rest of the night, I think, fearing that breaking my resolve of continuing to dislike him may not pose as much of a challenge to him as we both had previously thought.