I stood slowly. My muscles were sore. My face bruised. Lip split.
They hadn’t let me call her at first. Not until they were sure I’d calmed down enough to sound like a person.
The phone felt heavy in my hand as I pinched the bridge of my nose and dialed.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Tristian?” Her voice was gentle, worried… the only softness I had left in this world.
“Yeah, Mom. I’m… sorry.” I pressed my forehead to the glass like I hadn’t said that a million times before.
“Oh, baby…” I could hear the shuffling on her end, like she was grabbing her keys already. “It’s okay. I’ll be there soon, all right? Just hang tight. I know your father won’t—”
“I know,” I cut in, jaw clenched. “He already said he wasn’t coming.”
“Of course he isn’t,” she sighed. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you. Like always.”
That part made my throat tighten.
“I’ll be there in thirty, maybe forty minutes,” she promised. “Try to breathe, baby. Just breathe.”
I stayed silent as the line clicked dead.
And then I waited. Thirty minutes passed… then an hour… then three. The silence of the station began to thicken. Mom obviously wouldn’t have forgotten me, but the process was usually less than two hours with the connections my father had… Maybe she was just running late?
But that didn’t stop the sinking feeling in my chest as the minutes continued passing by.
Fuck… five hours now?
Maybe my fatherhad distracted her. She could’ve had some trouble with her bank. It’s not like these officers would tell me if she was pulling into the lot or speaking to the man at the front desk, now would they?
Finally, the door to the cells opened. I expected the clank of a guard’s keys, but instead, the atmosphere shifted. Noah walked down the aisle, his tailored suit a stark contrast against the grime of the station. He walked in like he owned the place.
I stood up. “The fuck are you doing here?” I asked, my voice low.
He didn’t answer right away, just signed the paperwork before he nodded at the deputy. The air around him was calmer than usual… It made the hair on my arms stand up.
“Where’s my mother?”
Noah finally looked at me. His mouth pressed into a hard line.
“She’s not coming,” he said simply.
“What the hell does that mean? What did you tell her?” I stepped forward, fists tight. “She was just on her way,” I seethed.
He remained silent, his eyes watching me with—was that regret? Pity? Hesitancy?
My father never hesitated. He spoke the truth whether anyone wanted to hear it or not. The fact that the asshole was pondering his next words had me confused… and worried.
When he did choose his words, they broke me.
“Her car stalled on the tracks, Tristian. A train hit her.”
The dream moved, prison cells replaced with the clinical white of hospital, air tinged with bleach and death, the fluorescent lights humming overhead. What I wouldn’t give to be sitting in that dark, miserable cell again. Even if it was for afew more hours or days, I would take being there over my mother being here any day.
I couldn’t feel my hands. Couldn’t feel my feet. Just the pounding in my chest… my heart wanting out of my body.
They didn’t let me run to her or let me see her right away.
