"What the-?!" Reba groaned, closing her eyes tightly against the sudden light that was pouring into the room.

She shifted her weight as she felt Barbara Jean stir beneath her head.

"Fifteen more minutes, mom" Barbara Jean muttered, turning over in her sleep and dislodging Reba.

"Ooff!" Reba groaned as her head hit the bed. Reba couldn't help but laugh, "Barbara Jean!"

"Barbara Jean!? Reba!?"

Wide-eyed, Reba sat upright. "Brock?!"

"Brock!?" Barbara Jean repeated as she sat up, suddenly very awake as well.

"What is this?" Brock asked, still shocked.

Reba's shock, on the other hand, was quickly turning to rage. "What are you doing in my bedroom, you mo-ron?"

"What are you doing in this house?" Barbara Jean demanded, wrapping her arm around Reba protectively as she recalled the last time Brock had been in the house.

"I was… I just… Why are you in bed with Reba?" Brock stammered.

"I don't think that it's any of your business, Brock," Barbara Jean answered smiling smugly as she hugged Reba tighter.

Brock refused to be ignored, though. "Did you two sleep together?"

Reba was suddenly aware of how exposed she felt and she hugged the covers tighter to her chest as she scooted closer to Barbara Jean.

When he got no answer, Brock decided to ask again. Less tactfully.

"Are you fucking Reba?" Brock demanded, turning his gaze on the blonde.

Barbara Jean smiled again as she looked Brock directly in the eyes. "Not right now."

"What?" Brock thundered. "Reba, I… Is this true?"

Reba looked up from her hands and nodded slowly, almost terrified of his reaction.

However, Brock's reaction was far from what Reba expected. His face broke into a smile as he stepped closer.

"A bed full of Brock-lovin' ladies," he nodded. "I like it."

Barbara Jean glared angrily as he put one knee onto the bed. She extended her leg and kicked his knee from the bed. "You are not getting into this bed."

"Oh, come on!" Brock snorted. "You both know you love me. What could be better? I would've asked for this years ago, but I thought you would both say no."

"We are," Barbara Jean said. "We didn't ask for a third."

"Oh, stop," Brock said, again putting his knee onto the bed. "No woman can down Brock."

"Can't say that anymore," Barbara Jean sighed, "because two just did."

"Well," Brock said, crawling closer, "technically, two didn't Reba hasn't said anything. Have you, red?"

Reba felt Barbara Jean's eyes boring into her as she again stared at her hands as she wrung the blanket.

"No," she breathed.

"What?" Brock asked in disbelief.

"I said, 'No,'" Reba repeated.

Brock glared at Barbara Jean. "This is all your doing," he accused. "Two days ago, she couldn't keep her hands off me!"

"Nothing would make me happier than to be the reason she came to her senses! She was always too good for you! And now she knows it! She's not your possession. She never was," Barbara Jean said, kneeling as she put herself between Brock and the woman she loved.

"No!" Reba gasped as Brock's anger boiled over and he back-handed Barbara Jean.

Barbara Jean winced but didn't move. "She's not your possession," she repeated. "You can't touch her."

Seething, Brock pushed the blonde out of the way and advanced on Reba.

"Barbara Jean!" Reba gasped, moving to where the blonde had fallen. She was laying on the floor unconscious and Reba could see a dark red spot forming beneath her blonde hair clearly telling her that the blonde had hit her head on the bedside table. Reba reached for Barbara Jean but found herself being roughly pulled back.

"Tell her!" Brock demanded.

"Get off me! I have to get to Barbara Jean!" Reba said, struggling against his grip.

"No! Tell Barbara Jean you love me!"

"You hurt her! I have to help her! She's bleeding!" Reba protested, ignoring his pleas.

"No! Stop worrying about her!" Brock said, pushing Reba down and holding her arms above her head with one hand. "You love me! Not her! Me! Always me!"

Brock unzipped his pants as he forced Reba's legs open with his knees.

"Brock! Stop it! You're hurting me!" Reba cried. "Please!"

"Reba, you love me," Brock told her, as if saying so justified what he was about to do.

"Brock! Reba cried again. "Please! Please don't do this. This isn't you, Brock. Please!"

She was sobbing now, causing Brock to pause, almost awakening… Until-

"Please, we have to get BJ to the ER. It could be serious!"

He growled in response as he forced himself on her, causing her to cry out.

"Dad!"

Brock stopped, letting go of Reba's wrists as he half turned around. "Kyra?"

Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, Brock saw Reba's porcelin lamp racing toward his head.

"Kyra!" Reba breathed, crawling out from a now unconscious Brock and a tumault of broken glass. She wrapped her youngest daughter in a tight hug. Reba felt Kyra's tears through her nightdress and hugged her tighter. "It's okay, hunny. It's all gonna be okay," she soothed.

"No," Kyra croaked. "No it's not. My father is a monster."

Reba bit her lip. She couldn't defend him after this second event, but she couldn't deny this was very out of character. She kept thinking, though, if Kyra hadn't distracted him…

Instead of responding, Reba pulled away and picked up the phone receiver.

"911? This is an emergency. My girlfriend is bleeding and unconscious and my ex-husband is unconscious on my bed," Reba blurted.

An hour later, a thoroughly cried-out Reba was waiting anxiously outside Barbara Jean's hospital room with an equally anxious Kyra.

"Mrs. Hart?" a doctor asked.

"Yes? What? What is it? Is she going to be okay?" Reba demanded, standing up.

"We expect Mr. Hart will make a full recovery," the doctor said smiling. "He wants to see you." The doctor pointed to a room down the hall.

"I don't care about that mo-ron! What about Barbara Jean?"

"Ms. Booker-Hart? Are you family?"

"She's my girlfriend," Reba answered quickly, she peered at the chart before pointing to her name. "Reba Hart."

"Ah, yes," the doctor nodded, looking at the name Reba pointed to. "You're listed under next of kin. Ms. Booker-Hart is also expected to make a full recovery. She's not awake just yet. You can wait with her if you'd like."

Reba nodded vigorously and headed towards the door.

"Mrs. Hart?" Reba stopped. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Reba stared back at the doctor, confused. "Mr. Hart?"

Reba paused, her hand on the door handle. "Tell him t stay away from me. And Barbara Jean. And the kids."

"Mrs. Hart! I'm sure you can work this out!" the doctor stumbled, feeling uncomfortable taking that message back to a patient.

"He tried to rape me," Reba said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wide-eyed, the doctor quickly strode away, leaving Reba to push open the door to Barbara Jean's room, Kyra closely behind.

No sooner had Reba pulled a chair to Barbara Jean's bedside and sat down than a policeman entered the room.

"Mrs. Hart?" Reba looked up as she held Barbara Jean's hand tightly. "I'm told that you're claiming a Mr. Brock Hart has attempted to rape you?"

Evan as he repeated her accusation, Reba could tell he didn't believe her.

"Yes," she answered stiffly, looking back at Barbara Jean. She looked so peaceful, almost as if she were only sleeping.

"I have some questions about the alleged rape-"

"It's not 'alleged'!" Kyra interrupted, getting out of her chair in the corner. "I saw it!"

"Don't bother, Kyra," Reba said, her eyes still on Barbara Jean. "You clearly don't recognize him. This is one of your fathers golf buddies. The same one who refused to arrest him during the separation when your father broke into our house, drunk off his ass, and tried to have sex with me."

Reba wasn't quite sure when exactly the man's identity had flooded back to her, but now she couldn't imagine how she had forgotten.

"Mom, you're not seriously telling me that you're not going to press charges!" Kyra exclaimed in disbelief. She couldn't believe her mother was behaving so calmly!

"Not if this man is investigating," Reba answered calmly.

"Mrs. Hart, we'll need you to consent to a rape kit," the policeman continued as though he hadn't heard the two discussing him.

"I'm not leaving Barbara Jean's side," Reba said stubbornly. "This is all my fault. I won't leave her."

"Mom! You can't seriously let dad go unpunished! You have to do the rape kit! You have to press charges!"

"Kyra Eleanor Hart, I will not leave her side. I will not let her wake up alone. She didn't let me wake up alone, I won't let her."

"What? When?" Kyra asked, thoroughly confused.

"During Cheyenne's second wedding You were still away, playing for the soldiers, but my blood pressure went through the rood and I passed out. She ran behind the ambulance because she wasn't technically allowed to ride with me. Then, when I woke up…" Tears were swimming behind Reba's eyes now. "She was right there, holding me hand." Reba squeezed the blonde's hand tightly in both of her own.

"That's all very well and good, but the rape kit needs to happen soon, Mrs. Hart," the policeman stated apathetically.

"Get out. Just… Get out," Reba answered, unable to tear herself away.

"No! Mom! I'll stay with BJ! She won't be alone! Not even for a second! Let them do the exam," Kyra pleaded, "please."

Reba finally tore her eyes away from Barbara Jean's face and saw the tears welling up in hr daughter's eyes. She nodded, "Very well. Let her know I'll hurry back."

Reba kissed Barbara Jean's hand before standing up as Kyra crossed to her mother's chair and was tightly enveloped in a hug.

"Don't leave her, Kyra," Reba whispered.

Then, after kissing Barbara Jean gently on the lips, Reba strode from the room, the officer following.