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Waylon’s dad…
Images flash across my eyes, a montage of memories flipping through my head at a rapid speed—all the times Waylon was sick from school. The bruises I once saw in gym class.
“I fell.”
Then again years later, when swimming at the creek.
“I don’t fucking know,” he’d laughed, before shoving water at my face.
The black eye he came to school with a couple years ago.
“You should see the other guy,” he joked, a sharp edge to his grin.
The pained hiss when I elbowed him in the gut when fighting over a game controller.
“Fuck off,” he’d gritted out, when I demanded to see. “It’s nothing. I pulled a muscle.”
The worried looks and hushed conversations shared between Izzy’s parents. The rumors and pity circulating around Chief McAllister, the town drunk everyone tiptoes around, all because he lost his wife and had to raise a kid on his own.
The dead look I’d catch in Waylon’s hazel eyes sometimes, when he didn’t think anyone was looking…
“Just a few more years, and then we’re outta here…”
Just a few more years…
Izzy and I hang up after I promise her I’ll get there as soon as I can. She hasn’t even called her parents yet, and I tell her I’ll handle it.
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” I tell her.
After the call disconnects, I lower the phone, and stare at the home screen for a long moment.
“Mason?” a small, quiet voice pipes up.
Clearing my throat, I look at my sister.
Her big eyes are bright with tears. “Did someone die?”
My vision blurs, and I shake my head. “N-no.”
He has to be okay. He has to.
“It’s Waylon, isn’t it?” she says, that wise, knowing look overcoming her face again, making her seem so much older than nine.
I nod. “Yeah. He’s, uh, he’s hurt. But he’s gonna be fine.”
Her chin wobbles. “I love Waylon. He’s my big bro too.”
I smile wetly, uncaring that my baby sister is seeing me cry right now. “Same, Squirt.”
She nods solemnly, and I sniff again, dropping the phone to rub my hands roughly up and down my face. Groaning, I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath, giving myself five seconds.
“Okay,” I whisper, “Okay.”
Removing my hands, I grab my phone and pull up Mom’s contact. “I’m gonna call Mom. Why don’t you finish eating, okay?”
“I’m not hungry,” Phoebe whispers, cuddling into my side.
