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“You can lecture him as we go.”
Correction. Iwasgrateful.
I turn as much as I’m able to look at Exton in the back seat from my place shotgun and hold his eyes. I hope I’m communicating my appreciation.
He holds my eyes for several beats and nods once before turning his face back to his phone, his thumbs flying over the keyboard in messages.
“Three fucking months.” Pop bites out his words. They’re quiet, but angry.
I say nothing, no clue what he’s on about.
“Three months, Layton. And you bring some bullshit I’d-like-to-see-you-try comment?”
Again, I stay silent. I don’t know what he’s fired up about and there’s no sense in arguing when I don’t know what’s going on.
“You have nothing to say?”
I shrug.
“Exton.” Pop looks up into the rearview mirror. “Talk some sense into your brother so I don’t have to beat it into him.”
“Twenty-nine, Pop. I’m twenty-nine, and you never once beat sense into any of us.”
“Layton.” Exton’s words are cautious. “Give him a break. I haven’t seen him this worried in…” His words trail off. He means since Mom was dying. “In a long time. It’s been hard on him.”
I drop my head back onto the headrest and close my eyes, absorbing that.
“What are you worried about, Pop?” I don’t mean to sound annoyed, but the words are what they are.
“Oh, I don’t know, Layton.” His tone drips with sarcasm. “My son won’t return a call or a text. My son went through hell and sucks at asking for help, especially from those who love him most. My son lost something meaningful and has decided to be a shell of his former self instead of rejoining the living.”
“Hey. That’s unfair.”
“Is it?”
I turn to my brother. “Exton, tell him I get time to process.”
Exton, always strategic in every word, levels me with his quiet reply. “Time’s up, Lay.”
“Time’s up? What the fuck does that mean? It’s been…”
“Almost four months,” Exton offers quietly as Pop turns incredulous eyes on me.
“No, it hasn’t. It’s—” I stop and grab my phone, staring twice at the date. “It’s almost August?” I scratch my cheeks through my fluffy beard before staring at my hands. My nails are craggy and broken. My fingers are thin and pale.
Exton nods as Pop grinds his jaw.
“I missed your birthday, Ex. I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. I’ve lost a lot of time. Time I didn’t know was slipping by.
I should be in two-a-days. What’s my playing status? I mean, I’m fully aware I can’t play, but am I still on IR? What else have I missed? I go with the easiest question I have. “How’s Willa? Is she okay?”
The smile that breaks across Exton’s face is his most genuine. “She’s just entered her last trimester. She’s complaining about the heat. To be fair, we’re all complaining about the heat. It’s summer in Texas, but she’s doing really well. It’s a boy, by the way, and he’s growing well. Ten fingers and ten toes and all, so we’re just waiting for him to finish baking.”
Pop looks in the rearview and addresses Exton, “My second grandson. I can’t wait.”
At least the topic is off of me. Eventually I guess I need to find George. I need to talk business with him. But I have to be able to face that conversation, and there’s no amount of drugs for that kind of reality. Not today anyway.
I pat my pants pocket and exhale, knowing there’s comfort there and wonder what the hell is in store for me in Texas.
