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“How old are you?”
He holds up his hand, all five fingers up. Back and forth we talk as I ask him if he’s in school and if he likes it. If he likes staying here, if he likes Bree, but Jackson brings it back to hockey. He mocks the movements of an official, wanting to know what it means. It’s like he’s obsessed and needs to know. The longer we talk as Bree falls asleep in my arms, the greater my headache becomes. It’s like the TV is three times louder than it actually is.
“How is it going in here?” Raelynn walks in, a kitchen towel over her shoulder.
“Is there a place I can lie down for a minute?”
Her eyes widen, but she nods. I follow her upstairs to the nursery to lay Bree down. “You can lie in here if you want.” She points at a twin bed. “But if you’d rather have a bigger bed, you can have your pick of Elias’s or Jackson’s, I guess.” Elias? It throws me off so much that for a moment I have no clue she’s talking about EJ.
“I’ll lie in here.” I don’t really feel comfortable taking EJ’s or Jackson’s bed. “I’ll be out of here soon.” Hopefully.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
I nod and she leaves the room, pulling the door until it’s almost closed. The bed is not nearly long enough, so my feet veer to hang off the side. There’s too much light in here, so I take the pillow and lay it over my head. Leaving the house was a stupid idea. I was basically relaxing. The only thing different here than at home is the TV was on and I was consistently talking to someone. I wasn’t lying down either. This whole concussion thing is such bullshit and I’m ready for it to be over with already.
“Brayden?” A hand is shaking my shoulder. “Brayden?” I lift the pillow from my face and wince because the light is now on in the room. What the fuck? “I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s getting kind of late and I thought you might want to wake up.”
It’s getting late? How late? I came over around four. “What time is it?”
“Eight-thirty.”
Fuck. Mom and Deanna both are probably worried. “I’m sorry.” I rub my head. Just the thought of driving makes my head hurt more. I stand with a sigh, but a rush of dizziness overwhelms me. I reach out to grab the wall and steady myself. Yeah, fuck this.
“Are you okay?” Raelynn asks.
“Yeah.” I pat my pockets until I find the one with my phone. There are a bunch of missed calls, but I wasn’t alerted to any of them because I’ve been keeping my phone on silent. Even having it on vibrate irks me. “I’m going to make a phone call.” Raelynn steps out to give me some privacy, taking a now awake Bree with her. I stare at the screen for a moment, rubbing my forehead. I need to call Deanna. It takes me a second too long to find the appropriate buttons and then to find Deanna’s name.
“Where the hell are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Can you come pick me up? I don’t feel like driving home.”
“Where are you? Your mom was about to start calling hospitals because she was so worried.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fucking fine. I’m at EJ’s house. You and Mom come get me, so you can drive my truck home.”
“Don’t get ill with me, Brayden,” she snaps, more irritated than I’ve ever heard her. “We’re on our way.” She hangs up before I can mumble a thanks.
I leave the room and go downstairs. Raelynn, Bree, and Jackson are watching the Rebels game on TV. Well, Bree is playing and pulling on Raelynn’s hair. “Someone’s coming to pick me up,” I tell her and she nods. I sit in the chair, leaning my head back and wishing they’d mute the TV. I keep an eye out for headlights. When I see them flash on the living room blinds, I stand. “Thanks, Raelynn. See you guys later.”
“Bye.”
The only thing I can tell about Deanna, thanks to the glaring headlights behind her, is that her arms are folded over her chest while she stands next to the driver’s door of my truck. I squint at her as I get closer and see her glare. Okay, so she’s not happy with me. She’ll get over it. I hold out my keys, almost wanting to smile when she snatches them from my fingers. I think I like her mad at me.
Mom backs out and then Deanna does, so Mom can follow us back. Deanna mutters under her breath.
“I don’t like driving trucks, yet here I am, driving one for my idiot of a whatever-you-are.”
“These things are too big for my comfort level and it’s your damn fault I’m driving one.”
“You couldn’t just tell someone where you were going.”
“You couldn’t ask your mom to drop you off.”
“You couldn’t change your phone to vibrate.”
“Your mom’s first impression of me needs to be me obviously concerned over her idiot of a son. Never cursed so much in my life.”
Finally, I can’t help but chuckle. “Will you stop it?”
