“Wh-what?” Frank stammered; his voice hoarse as he felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. He stared at his father incredulously.  “What are you talking about?”

Another sigh as Fenton opened his eyes and looked into the stark-white face of his older son.  His dark eyes were sad.  “Joe tried to take his own life.”

“When?  How?  What?  Where was I?”   the teen blurted out, increasingly agitated, as he quickly sifted through his memories – positive that that was something he wouldn’t forget – and couldn’t remember anything like that!

“Easy son,” the detective tried to console as he placed a comforting hand on the teen’s shoulder, “it happened four days after Hero was lost; you and your Mom had driven out to Gresham to check the local shelters again and Joe was home with me. I was working on this case and he didn’t want to go with you; he’d become rather sullen and withdrawn…” Fenton paused, and glanced away for a moment.

Frank remembered and repressed a slight shudder. It was scary to see Joe like that – so closed to everyone, including him. The younger boy had even taken to locking both doors to his room at night, refusing comfort from anyone!

His father exhaled loudly, and continued, his gaze firmly fixed ahead of him, “Joe had been moping around the house all morning so I wasn’t surprised at lunchtime that he was still up in his room. I fixed us some sandwiches and took them up – I felt bad about being so occupied all morning and thought a little bedroom picnic might be nice. Damn,” Fenton hissed, berating his distraction, “no case was worth what this one almost cost me.”

Frank watched his father, his own mouth having gone dry as he waited for the older man to continue.  After a moment, Fenton did.

“Joe was ‘asleep’ on his bed when I went into the room so I put the sandwiches down on the desk and tried to rouse him – nothing.  He didn’t wake up; but he did feel a bit warm so I went into the bathroom to get a cold cloth – figuring that would work – and that’s when I saw the empty vial of sleeping pills—”

“Pills!”  Frank interrupted – stunned – his mind refusing to process what he was hearing.  His nine-year-old brother had tried to kill himself!  “He took pills?”

His father nodded.  “If you remember, your aunt was staying with us at the time, and Joe had somehow gotten her prescription and taken them all.”

“Ohmygod,” the teen muttered, laying his head back against the seat, “He was only a kid.”

Fenton nodded.  “Once I realized that he’d taken an overdose, I called an ambulance and then your mother—”

“She dropped me off at Chet’s to play;” Frank interrupted, remembering some of that day now, “Mom said it would be a nice distraction for me….” He looked at his father accusingly.  “Some distraction.”

“I’m sorry son,” Fenton apologized sincerely, “but you were only ten, yourself, and right then – to be honest – we could barely deal with this ourselves, let alone trying to help you deal with it as well.”

Frank scowled but didn’t say anything and an uneasy silence settled over them.  After another long moment, the teen demanded, “So what happened then?”

“Well…they pumped your brother’s stomach, put him on IV’s to try and counter whatever had gotten into his bloodstream, and then we had to wait,” his father explained.  “We wouldn’t know for sure what type of damage – if any – there would be until Joe regained consciousness…if he ever did.”

“Which he did,” Frank stated the obvious.

“Which he did,” his father agreed, “and that’s when we noticed an immediate change—”  Frank looked sharply at the older man who ignored him and continued, “He was Joe again – the old Joe. Not at first, of course.  At first he was confused, but once he realized where he was, he began insisting that he wanted to go home – and that he wanted to see you.”

Frank sucked in a sharp breath as his father squeezed his shoulder – that was hard to hear.  His brother had been in enough pain that he tried to take his life, and then when he regained consciousness he wanted Frank – but Frank wasn’t there and knew nothing about it!

“I stayed at Chet’s that night,” Frank finally said blandly, “We had a lot of fun.” He looked at his father, his dark eyes liquid with a guilt that wasn’t his. “I never knew,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t your fault, Frank,” Fenton said, reaching out to touch his son’s pale face.  “You were a child and we kept it from you. Both Dr. Bates and a counselor spoke at length with Joe and us – me and your mom,” he qualified, “and they both said the same thing – grief.” He paused and then added, ”You know how intense your brother can be…”

“Intensity is a long way from a suicide attempt,” the teen managed; his throat almost too tight with emotion to even speak.

His father seemed to consider that for a moment and then sighed, “And the counselor seemed to feel it was a cry for attention – my attention….So I – I dropped the case,” Fenton finished softly.

* * *

Fenton watched a myriad of emotions flicker across his son’s face as he heard the confession.  He knew Frank was hurt that they had kept this from him.  Since they had been very young, the older boy had been protective of his younger sibling – a ferocity fueled at the age of six when Joe had gone missing from a carnival fun house – and to only find out now about this, would be difficult.  He and Laura had debated long and hard about informing Frank, if for no other reason than to help keep an eye on his brother, but in the end, they decided against it.

But now as Fenton watched Frank struggle through the revelation, he wondered if they had been wrong. Maybe he should have been told....

Finally Frank just said, “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“You were just a child—”

“I still should have been told – I could have helped!” the older boy persisted, cutting his father off as his dark eyes flashed angrily.  “He is my brother, damnit—”

“Frank—” Fenton tried to explain, but his son shook his head, too upset to listen.

“No, Dad,” the eighteen-year-old continued, “This isn’t a ‘nothing,’ ‘no-big-deal’ situation; Joe tried to end his life – to kill himself!  You should have told me! You had no right keeping this from me!”

Fenton’s own temper rose, not enjoying Frank rebuking his and Laura’s parental decision about what was in the best interest of their children.  “Why, Frank? So you could worry yourself sick about him? Watch him like a hawk? Scrutinize his every move? No son, we made a decision that was in both your best interests and I stand by it.”

“How can you say that, Dad?” Frank countered, his eyes going wide, “What if he had tried again?  What if this time, he—”

Fenton cut him off before he could finish his terrifying thought.  “He wasn’t going to, son!  It was just a cry for attention…Joe was feeling lost – lonely…scared after Hero disappeared and he did something stupid and extreme.  You know how dramatic your brother can be!  It was just something to get my attention because I was more interested in solving this damn case and tracking Tex down, than I was in my grieving son!  But it was only a dog – Frank – just a dog!”

“Hero was more than a dog to Joe and you know that!” the teen shot back, an unforeseen amount of acrimony in his voice.  His father ignored it and tried to explain:

“I understand that – but at the time that was my rationale; I was too wrapped up in this to let myself consider it in any other way!  So I downplayed what your brother was – what you were all going through, in order to justify my seeming indifference.”  Fenton’s guilt twisted in his stomach, again reminding him full-force of why he had dropped this case.  “I messed up – big time – but don’t sit here and try to tell me I should have told my ten-year-old son about this. That was your mother’s and my decision to make – whether you like it or not.  And son, if Joe did want you to know, he would have told you, in time…when he was ready.”

Frank glared at his father but didn’t say anything, and after a moment Fenton undid his seat belt and opened the door, wincing when he used his right hand – out of habit.  He turned and looked at his son.  “Son, we spoke to the counselor at length about you and Joe and whether or not we should tell you.  His suggestion was not to, that telling you would be unfair, as that would be asking you to assume a responsibility – a burden – that you shouldn’t have to.  Frank—” he paused and looked at his son, “we did what we felt was in the best interest of both our sons.”

Frank shook his head.  “Looking out for Joe has never been a burden to me, and you know that.”  Without saying anything else, he got out of the car, slammed the door and stalked towards the house.

Fenton followed, soundlessly, behind. ‘This is going to be a very long day,’ he thought.

* * *

Frank went right up to his room, slammed the door and threw himself down on the meticulously made bed.  ‘How could they have kept something like this from me!’ he mentally griped, as he sucked in a deep, steadying breath and tried to calm down. ‘How could Joe?’

He wrestled with his memories of that time, trying to find any little piece of evidence that he should have picked up on – he was Joe’s big brother; the person who knew the younger boy better than anyone else…and yet he remembered nothing; nothing that would indicate what had happened – no shred of proof of a hospital stay – absolutely nothing.

‘Could I have been that self-absorbed?’ he admonished but then shook his head, ‘No, no matter what – if something had been there, I would have noticed!  When it came to Joe, I never missed anything.’ He gave a soft snort and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.  ‘But something did happen with him – something big – and something I did miss.’

‘Oh little brother,’ he wondered, ‘what the hell happened?’ An emotional weariness tugged on the teen. ‘Of course, seeing how Joe had basically shut everyone out at the time, it’s not really surprising – I guess – that I never realized just how upset he was; or what he might try and do—” “The sound of the phone ringing interrupted his musing and a moment later he heard his father call out that it was for him.

Swiftly getting off the bed, Frank hurried into the hall, hoping it was his brother!

It wasn’t – it was Coach Iago.

[Hi Frank, I hope I haven’t gotten you at a bad time] the coach’s voice purred in his ear.

“No, not really,” the teen sighed, “What’s up?”

[Well I really did want to congratulate you on a great game. It takes a special kind of person to properly motivate these kids.]

“Thanks – it really wasn’t much, they are a great team.”  Frank wondered what the coach wanted, finding it odd that he called to tell him what a great job he had done. He’d already said that at the field.

[It was nice seeing your father again – after so long.  An added boost for your first game, eh?]

“It sure was,” the teen couldn’t help but beam as he thought about that.

[Too bad your brother couldn’t make it, though. Gone out of town, is he? I hope he’s okay. I still feel kinda bad for spooking him so badly when I showed up at your house.]

“Yeah, he’s gone to New York with our Mom, and it’s okay, really,” Frank assured him, a slight frown marring his handsome face as he thought about his brother’s reaction again.

[New York, wow. Nice. When’s he expected back?] the coach asked casually, and then added [maybe he can be there for your next game. I know I’d love a chance to see him again…and reminisce about old times.]

“I don’t know,” Frank admitted, “a day or two, I think.”

[Well, Wednesday night I’m having a team barbeque at my house; I expect you to be there – and bring your brother. Tell him I won’t take no for an answer.] And then he said good-bye and hung up before the teen could say anything.

‘Barbeque Wednesday night’, he made a mental note, ‘sounds like fun.’ Sighing as his thoughts returned to his previous conversation, Frank headed downstairs to see if his father had heard from Sam yet.

He wanted to talk to Joe, now more than ever!

* * *

“Well?” the man asked, his eyebrows raised in punctuation, as Iago hung up the phone.

“He’s in New York City with his mother,” the coach told him, wiping his sweaty brow; moist from a combination of nerves and stifling August heat.

“When’s he coming back?” the other man demanded.

“Frank doesn’t know for sure; in the next day or two he said. I did tell him to bring Joe to the barbeque, though,” Iago offered, to make up for not knowing exactly when Joe was coming back to town.

“I heard. “

The man stood up from the chair behind Iago’s desk and nodded his head in approval.  “Good. You keep Frank distracted at the barbeque; I’ll deal with the kid.”

“What are you going to do?” Iago asked, wide eyes darting back and forth anxiously in his pale face.

“Relax, Damian; I’m just going to give our young Mr. Hardy a subtle reminder about keeping his mouth shut.  Of course,” he added, heading towards the back door, “None of this would even be necessary if you’d killed him like we’d planned.”

“That wasn’t part of the original plan,” the coach reminded him, “You changed it – remember?”

The man turned, looked at his partner and smiled a truly scary smile.  “Yeah, I did.  And then you changed it again…I haven’t forgotten that either, ‘partner’.  And I’ll tell you now, what I told you then – you ever screw me over like that again, and what Tex got will be a walk in the park compared to what will be waiting for you.”

And then he was gone – leaving the Little League coach trembling and needing a drink.

* * *

“Any word from Sam, yet?” Frank asked quietly as he stood unobtrusively in the door to his father’s office.

Fenton, who’d had his back to the door pulling files out of his filing cabinet, sighed and turned around. He looked at his son and shook his head.  “Not yet.  I tried calling him, but he’s either got his cell turned off or the battery is dead.”

The teen nodded and started to turn away when his father’s voice stopped him.  “It wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

Frank closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

His father continued; each word difficult, “I was terrified– more scared than I’ve been of anything in my entire life. To see one of my sons, a boy, nothing more than a baby, lying so lifeless– so fragile in that bed– and knowing that he’d been put there by his own hand….I– I didn’t handle it very well.”  The detective dropped down heavily in his chair and rubbed his bandaged hand absently. He looked older than his years. “Your Mom was a pillar of strength.  She kept infusing me with the positives: Joe was still alive, and to think that he wouldn’t pull through, or that he’d be- be damaged in some way, was to give up on him…. It was very hard on her- though- hard on both of us.” He hastily rubbed his eyes, shocking Frank, who found himself transfixed, listening to his father.  Although a loving father, Fenton Hardy seldom bared his soul, and never to his sons!

“So when Joe did open his eyes…and he was okay, oh God, Frank – ‘this’ was something I could never even think of putting you through! So when the counselor suggested it might be better for you not to know– I leapt at it…anything to try and get past this.  I– I know it might sound selfish, but son…I—” His voice choked off and he took a deep breath before finishing, “I just wanted to protect you…at least one of you.  I wasn’t there to protect Joe from himself, but just maybe I wasn’t too late to protect you.  To protect you from what he did.”

Dark eyes met dark eyes, and Frank felt his own start to water.  He slowly sank into the chair just inside the office door, his legs strangely weak, and he looked at his father; truly seeing him for the first time as he was – a man; a man desperate with guilt to try and do something right.  And just maybe his parents had been a little right in not telling him…well, not telling him everything, anyway.  It would definitely have changed how he saw his brother and how he feared for him; for the better or for the worse, Frank wasn’t sure.  But he did know that things would have been different.

However, Joe had wanted him - when the younger boy had regained consciousness he wanted to see his brother.  He should have been told something: if for no other reason than for Frank to know he needed to be a bit more attentive than usual.

“Dad—” he started, but was cut off when the office phone rang and Fenton, pausing only a second, snatched it up.

“Hardy,” he barked, his voice rough from emotion, and he gave a relieved sigh.  “Sam, I was just about—” his voice cut off, and Frank felt an increasing alarm, amplified by what he could hear of his father’s side of the conversation.  ”What?  Where are you now?  Are you sure?  All right, tell Laura to call me as soon as she can!”

Hanging up, he looked at his anxious son.  “That was Sam. There’s been some sort of accident and your brother is in the hospital.”

“What?” Frank stood up.  “Is he okay?”

Fenton shook his head.  “Sam doesn’t know – he thinks Joe might have a concussion, but the doctor hasn’t been out to talk to them yet. He or your Mom will call as soon as they know anything.”

“Did he say what happened?” Frank asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

His father gave him a strange look.  “Apparently he was thrown from a horse…”