When the song ends, we settle back into our seats and grin like idiots. My cheeks hurt from smiling. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable anymore—it’s warm, like we’ve shared a secret. Oliver takes his hat off and runs his hands through his hair, shaking it out so it sticks up even more wildly, and I catch him glancing at me from the corner of his eye. Our eyes meet for a second and we both smile before looking away.
“Not bad for someone who ruins burgers with mustard,” he says.
“Not bad for someone who thinks he invented bacon burgers,” I shoot back.
We’re still smiling when his phone buzzes again. With the cruise control on, I rotate my ankle. All those endorphins from singing make it feel better than it did only ten minutes ago.
“He’s only going to keep calling,” I say, gesturing to Oliver’s phone.
He blows air out of his mouth like he’s blowing out a candle. “I’ll talk to him from the hotel.” He checks the GPS. “We’re only thirty minutes from Columbus. My granddad can wait.”
He silences the call, but another one comes in right after.
We share a look. “Seriously, get it. I don’t mind. I won’t judge you for your family if you won’t judge me for mine.”
He chuckles, but it makes my heart flip. I grip the steering wheel tighter.
He inhales deeply, like he’s bracing himself.
“Hey, Granddad.”
His grandpa’s voice explodes through the phone. “How dare you ignore our calls? Your brother had a seizure tonight!”
My stomach drops as Oliver leans forward and balls his fist against his forehead. He’s squeezing it so hard, even by the street lights outside of Columbus, I can tell how white his knuckles are. I can hear the tension in his breathing, short and controlled, like he’s holding something back.
“Is he okay? Was it focal or tonic-clonic? How long did it last for?”
His grandpa’s voice is so sharp, it cuts. “What does that matter? He had a seizure from the stress of waiting for his brother.”
Oliver doesn’t make a sound. “Is my dad there? Or my mom?”
“No. Your dad’s with your brother and your mother’s on the phone with Evan’s fiancée.”
“And you’re stuck talking to me,” Oliver says.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You should have been here yesterday.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Oliver pounding his fist against his head. Each soft thud makes me flinch. I want to reach out and grab his hand, stop him from hurting.
“Granddad, is Evan okay?”
There’s some kind of rustling on the other end of the phone, and a moment later, the voice on the other end is different. Less … awful. But still loud enough that I can hear every word.
“Your brother’s fine. It was focal, eighty, maybe ninety seconds. He’s okay,” a man’s voice says, too worn out to be harsh.
“Glad to hear it, Dad.”
Mr. Fletcher sounds exhausted. “You need to get here, Ollie.”
“I’m trying, but there’s nothing else I can do. I’ve driven fifteen hours already today, and the roads aren’t great.” He gives me a sheepish look. His brother knows he’s traveling with someone, at least. Or is that a mistake he doesn’t intend to make twice? “I don’t think I can keep going,” Oliver says.
“Keep yourself safe.” His dad’s saying the right thing, but his tone isn’t. “But get here. Everyone’s worried you’re going to miss the rehearsal dinner. We need you.”
“I’ll try,” Oliver says.
“That’s not good enough,” his granddad barks from the background. “You’ve missed every other important moment this week!”
“Every other—” He squeezes a fist. I feel sick watching him try to hold it together. “Like what? I’m coming home for Evan’s wedding, not a charity event with full press!”
