Mom
Reaching up, I pull the beanie from my head and run a hand through my hair. Of all the scenarios in the world that would successfully drag me back home, I never expected this one. Whatever exhaustion I felt vanishes. My chest aches as dread finds its way through places I never knew existed before. I glance at the clock. It’s almost midnight back home. There’s no way I can wait until tomorrow.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, scroll down, stop on Simon’s name, and open a new text message.
Me: I’m going home tonight. Are you already in NY or still in Boston?
The screen lights up a few seconds later.
Simon: The fuck, man? I was buried deep in *. What do you mean you are going home? Florida?
I would laugh if I could at his immediate response. He and I have known each other since kindergarten. When I moved to New York after leaving prison, he joined me a few months later.
I quickly type, If you’re distracted, that * is not worth a shit. Something came up and I need to leave immediately. I’ll text you as soon as I can and let you know what’s going on.
His text message flashes on my screen three seconds later.
Simon: I’ll be there in twenty minutes. We need to talk.
I frown down at the screen, nervousness creeping inside my chest. I’m not used to feeling like this and I don’t like it. Worse, if Simon says we need to talk, then it’s serious.
Rolling my head to ease the tension building at the nape of my neck, I start to pace unable to stay still. My body is wound so tight, I can feel it cracking in some places. I pause and groan in frustration. This isn’t helping to lessen the panic I’m feeling.
I head to my room and strip off my jeans and shirt, and put on a pair of running shorts. Seconds later, I walk down the hall to the gym. I slip on my gloves and start taking out my emotions on the bag hanging from the ceiling.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
Sweat rolls down my face, my chest. Air locks and leaves my lungs. I feel alive, my head is clearing.
With one final punch, I pull off the gloves and toss them on the nearby mat in the corner. I exit the room, snatching a gray towel from the rack in the bathroom on my way to the kitchen to text Tate and let him know what’s happening. The lamp in the living room blinks a few times, alerting me that someone is at the door. I look up and see Simon striding toward me. His short blond hair sticks out in every direction and his shirt is on inside out.
I don’t know why he bothers to use the bell, given that he lives here and has his own key.
“Dude. You can’t just tell me shit like that while I’m getting laid,” he signs, halting in front of me. I see the concern in his eyes behind those words. Unlike me, Simon has perfect hearing. I guess signing comes automatically for him when he and I communicate.
I nod my head to his shirt. He shrugs, smiling cockily, and takes off toward his room down the hall which is situated between mine and the gym room. He returns minutes later, clutching a bundle of letters held together by rubber bands in his hands. He stops in front of me, his gaze on the letters.
He frowns and shifts on his feet. “Remember when you asked me to get rid of these? I never did. Sorry, man. I thought you might need to read them one day.”
Simon thrusts them to my chest. I scowl down at them, and then up at my best friend. “I don’t have time for this.”
I turn around but a tap on my shoulder stops me.
“What’s going on?” he asks when I focus on him again.
“This.” I reach for the letters on the counter and give them to Simon.
He scans them quickly, his face paling fast. He raises his head and says, “I’m coming with you.”
I shake my head. “I got this.”
“Are you sure?”
I feel like a fucking toddler. Helpless. “I got this,” I tell him again.
He runs a hand along his jaw, his eyes narrowed at me. “If you think I’ll be sitting behind a desk and sucking ass all day while you have all the fun, you’re fucking wrong.”
I shake my head and chuckle, relieved he’s making light of the situation though. I have fifteen hours of driving and not enough time to think or prepare myself for what’s waiting for me when I reach home.
He jerks his chin to the bundle in my hands. “Do you think what’s in there has something to do with this?”
I shrug. Right now, I have no fucking clue about anything. All I know is that my brother is in a hospital room, very sick, and the thought of never seeing him again terrifies me.