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It’sthreea.m.whenI get the call.
I wish I could say it woke me from a dead sleep, but I’m lucky if I get more than a couple hours of undisturbed shut-eye these days.
“Sorry to wake you,” the familiar voice says down the line, his tone hushed and unsure.
I rub an eye, pushing up on my arm as I strain to hear him. Wherever they are, it’s loud. It’s not helping that he seems to be whispering.
“S’fine. What’s wrong? Is he okay?” My voice cracks, and I wish I could say it’s from sleep.
Mason blows out a breath. “Yeah, he’s… he’s fine. He just—”
“Then what?” I cut in roughly, sitting up straighter, fully awake now. “What happened?”
On a good day, I need at least two cups of coffee before my patience kicks in.
On a bad day…
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to rein in my frustration.
But can’t he just fucking spit it out already?
As soon as I saw the name flashing across my screen, I knew something happened. Mason doesn’t just call me to chat about nothing, especially knowing how late it is for me here.
He doesn’t say anything right away, and I’m just about to really lose my cool on him when he finally blurts, “He’s having a panic attack.” A beat passes. “I think.”
Everything in me grinds to a halt. “Where is he?”
“Right here. Next to me. We’re at a diner. Everything was going okay, and then someone dropped a frying pan, I think, in the kitchen.” He huffs, and it’s only now I can make out the frustration in his voice. “It was loud and sudden and—”
“Like a gunshot,” I finish softly as images rush to the forefront of my mind. Memories I’d do anything to purge the fuck out from both our heads, Waylon’s and mine.
“Yeah.”
Loud sudden noises don’t always get to him, but when they do…
I don’t even realize I’m jumping out of bed, flipping on the lights, and rushing over to my dresser.
Ourdresser.
I’ve been living in the apartment above O’Leary’s for several weeks now. Just under a month. But it’s only been ten days since I’ve had the place all to myself.
I fucking hate it.
The silence…
It’s deafening.
Terrifying.
The electric bill is going to be sky-high after this month, what with me leaving the television and random lights on at all hours of the day. Just to give me some sense of comfort.
My hands are grabbing things without me even really registering what they are. I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder as I tug on a pair of black sweats, not even checking to see if they’re mine, let alone right side on. “Put him on.”
“He’s not—”
“Just hold it up to his ear.”
A beat passes, then I hear a shuffle through the phone. I run my hand through my hair, blinking rapidly against my own rising panic as I wait.
