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Pretty shitty, especially considering that Tyler had probably kept them all from burning to a crisp.
“Stop,” he said to Tyler. “Wait. I’m sorry.”
Tyler turned, and one crutch squeaked against the floor. “Did you just say you’re sorry?”
“Don’t make me take it back.” He paused and gave Tyler a clear once-over. “I’m glad you didn’t lose your leg or anything.”
“They said I might need surgery. Screw that. I told them to give me the good pain pills and let me get the hell out of here.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “And they listened?”
“Nah, but Quinn brought me a lighter. My second ultrasound looked amazing. They must have read the first one wrong. The crutches are really just for show. ” Tyler half smiled. “Maybe I should have brought you a bag of sand or something.”
“I’m all right. Nick helped.” Michael swallowed.
Tyler glanced at Hunter and Adam. “Yeah, they told me what happened.” He paused. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” He gave a laugh though nothing was very funny. “I don’t even know where my wallet is, much less—”
“Here,” said Hunter. He pulled a plastic bag from beneath his chair. “The nurse brought this by. She said it was everything you had on you.”
Michael began pulling things free. His jeans: filthy and torn. His shirt: filthy, torn, and bloody. His shoes followed the trend.
But at the bottom of the bag was his wallet—with everything intact, from what he could tell—and his watch. He pocketed the first and slipped the second over his wrist. In the pocket of his jeans he found his keys.
He pocketed those, too. “At least I have access to a vehicle,” he said. Maybe his day was looking up.
Adam and Hunter exchanged glances.
“What?” said Michael. “Jesus. I can’t handle one more thing. What?”
Hunter winced. “The truck isn’t drivable.”
“Define ‘isn’t drivable.’ ”
“Like . . . you can’t drive it.”
“Hunter!”
“You were parked behind the bar,” said Adam. “Hannah said most vehicles took some damage, but the truck had a beam through the cab. They towed it. You can probably—”
“Stop. God. Stop.” Michael ran his hands down his face. His truck. His truck.
No. Not his.
His father’s.
He waited for this news to tighten his chest and bring tears to his eyes, but surprisingly, he felt nothing. Maybe all his emotion had been used up.
“Have you been back to the house?” he said, his voice bleak. “What about the SUV? Is that drivable?”
“They’re not letting anyone on the court,” said Hunter. “Well, not us anyway. We tried, but they’ve got it cordoned off, with an officer standing guard.”
“Great.”
“I have a truck,” said Tyler.
“Good for you,” Michael snapped. “I’m sure you have a place to live, too.”
