“Thanks.” I clap his uninjured shoulder gently a few times.
“Ava makes you happy. Keep her this time.”
“I plan to.”
Dax studies me, then says, “And you don’t need to wonder if Ava’s brother was a real friend.”
I’ve already decided to talk with Drake, but it’s random for Dax to bring him up. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s the one who sat with me in the car.” Dax pauses, as if giving me time to process the words.
“What?”
“He stayed with me the entire time. Must’ve recognized me since he started telling me things to keep me distracted. Things about dumb stuff you did together so I could make fun of you later. I don’t know if that’s standard, but all I’m saying is without him holding my freaking hand, I probably would’ve lost it.”
“Drake Williams.” My jaw hinges on a strange stun. “He was the one with you?”
“Every second.” Dax smirks. “A nurse said he’s still out there. If I had to guess, he’s making sure we’reallokay.” I stand abruptly. Dax laughs, wincing again. “Good. Go. Send Griffin in before he melts.”
My head is a fog, but I manage to tell Griffin it’s his turn. The man barrels through the doors so fast Wren can barely keep up. I scan the room. Drake isn’t here.
“How is he?” Ava’s small voice grabs my focus for a few breaths.
I only manage to mumble out, “Is Drake here?”
Ava’s face answers me before her mouth. “Um, he . . . he’s just worried.”
“Where?”
“Ryder, he only—”
I rest a palm on the side of her face, silencing her. “Where is he, Tweets?”
She swallows and points at the door that leads to another waiting area. “By the vending machines.”
I’m there in a few swift strides. I don’t know if Ava is following. The sound of Drake’s broken voice on his messages sticks with me. Memories of laughing and sneaking my dad’s beers, or driving his truck out in the fields, or talking about life filter through my head.
Drake has my baseball card.
Drake wanted me to be there for him at the darkest point of his life.
Drake was the one to push me away. The words hurt. I held onto them for years, analyzing each sentence, each possible scenario. It was torture. But I also have a bit of clarity now. He was a scared kid who had old, fear-riddled hackles triggered when he thought his sister might get hurt.
He might’ve been a catalyst for me leaving without my girlfriend, but when I told him I was afraid to be a father, he was the first one to tell me I’d be the best.
“You’ve got this, buddy. I can already think of a thousand ways we’ll corrupt the kid, but you know what they’re not going to wonder? If they’re loved. Not the way we’ve wondered. I’ll love them more, obviously, but you’ll be a close second.”
It’s a conversation I must’ve pushed to the deep, dark bottom of my heart, and when I find him sitting with his fists against his mouth, staring at the wall, those words are the ones I’m replaying. Not the last conversation. Not the one led by fear in a kid who’d always been his sister’s defender.
He looks a little more broken tonight.
Drake turns toward my heavy steps. He shoots to his feet. “Ryder—”
He grunts, choking on his words when I wrap my arms around him. Drake is stiff at first; it takes him a few seconds to catch up, but soon he returns the embrace. His hand slaps my back a few times.
“Thank you,” I tell him, voice hoarse, “for helping him.”
Drake clears his throat. “It’s my job.”
