himself for anything. Not for the ruin of his marriage. Not for Mitch’s death. Not for the alcohol, or leaving his kids, or the accident that killed Lilian and Trey. If something happens now, to Allie . . .
“Am I interrupting?”
In that moment, Phee looks to Braden like an angel in a flannel shirt and faded jeans, smelling of French fries and bacon, a bulging McDonald’s bag in her hand.
“They’re trying to put me in the insane asylum,” Allie says.
Tom gets to his feet. “We are having an important meeting, if you would excuse us. We won’t be much longer.”
“Phee is family,” Braden says. “She should be here.” The words don’t feel like a lie. Phee is the one person in the world who understands what is happening here. The only person he trusts to help him with this impossible choice.
“The more support Allie has, the better,” Tom says. “Come on in, then. Maybe one of the nurses could find us another chair?”
“I’ll stand.” She crosses the room and stops behind Braden’s chair, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He covers it with one of his own. “You look better,” she says to Allie.
“Well, I’m not! This is so incredibly unfair!”
“What’s unfair about it?” Tom asks. “Tell me. I want to hear it, Allie.”
“I don’t even want to die! I told you it was all Ethan’s idea.”
“But you went along with it.”
“Everything was so utterly fucked up. I didn’t see the point. And then, when it was too late . . .” The tears begin sliding down her cheeks again, and her sob destroys whatever is left of Braden’s heart. “When it was too late, I realized what I was doing was all . . . He lied to me!”
“Who? Your father?” Tom asks.
“No! Ethan. He had this whole story about death that was all a lie. He lied to get me there, because he didn’t want to die alone. He lied when he threw away my phone. He even lied about his dad killing himself. He spun this whole weird reality story that made death seem like the only option. And when I figured that out, I thought . . . I thought if I was going to die, I at least wanted my death to be true. I tried to call for help, only my fingers wouldn’t work and I dropped the phone . . .” Her voice breaks, and she buries her face in her knees and sobs.
Braden feels the tears on his own face now. Phee’s hand tightens on his shoulder. There are no words for the heartbreak and guilt and love he feels for this woman-child. She’s been hurt so much already, but she’s so incredibly strong.
“I don’t think the psych unit is the right place for her,” he says when he can get his voice under control. “Please. I’ll schedule her with a counselor. I’ll watch her.”
“You have to sleep sometime,” Tom says. “I know this is hard, but safety—”
“We’ll all watch her,” Phee says. “Her father. Me. Our friends. We’ll take it in shifts.”
Braden tips his head back to look at her. What friends? He wants to ask, but her face tells him not to ask questions, not now.
“Please,” Allie begs. “Can we just do that? Steph would come, too, I know she would, whenever she doesn’t have to be at school. I promise to stay at the house and never go anywhere ever again. Just don’t make me go to that place.”
Tom takes his time considering, his thoughtful gaze traveling from Allie’s face, to Braden’s, to Phee’s. Finally, he nods.
“All right. I’m going to get all of you to sign a safety plan that lists the responsibilities you’ve each agreed to. Okay?”
“Of course,” Phee says, her voice low and steady. “Whatever it takes.”
A few minutes later, they are all signing a document. Allie agrees to go to counseling, to refrain from self-harm, to let her father know if she’s having suicidal thoughts. For the next week, she won’t go anywhere without first saying where she’s going.
Braden agrees to lock up sharp objects and medications in the house, to take Allie to counseling, to call Tom if he has any concerns. Phee agrees to cover for Braden so that someone is always awake and available to keep an eye out for Allie. All of them will abstain from alcohol or any recreational drugs.
“It’s been lovely to meet you all,” Tom says as he packs the paperwork back into his briefcase. “But