He waits until I’m inside before closing it and jogging around to the driver’s side.
“What’s happened?” he asks, starting the engine.
“Eddie left the boys alone.” My voice cracks. “Jackson isn’t feeling well, and Tommy’s scared.”
Dread’s jaw tightens as he puts the truck in drive. “Where are they?”
“Eddie’s got a place on Pine Creek Drive in Daytona.”
Dread nods and pulls out of the compound, tires throwing gravel. “How long ago did he leave?”
“Tommy said hours ago.” I dig my phone out of my pocket. “I need to call him back.”
I call the email address back, and Tommy answers immediately. His little face appears on the screen, eyes red like he’s been crying.
“Mom? Are you coming?”
“Yes, baby. We’re on our way right now. We’ll be there as fast as we can.” I push back the panic. “How’s Jackson doing?”
Tommy turns the camera toward his brother. Jackson is curled up on a mattress on the floor. “He says his tummy still hurts.”
“Has he thrown up?” I ask, my heart in the pit of my stomach.
“No,” Tommy answers.
“That’s good. Can you check his blood sugar for me? Remember how I showed you?”
Tommy nods, his face serious beyond his years. He props the iPad against something and disappears from view for a moment. I hear him talking softly to Jackson.
I glance at Dread, whose eyes are fixed on the road ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. He’s pushing ninety on the highway, weaving around cars like he’s Mario Andretti.
“Want me to connect your phone to the truck?” he asks, noticing me watching him. “So you can talk to your boy easier?”
I shake my head. “No. I can see him on the screen. It’s FaceTime.”
“It’s 240, Mom,” Tommy says, back in view of the camera.
That’s higher than I’d like. “Okay, sweetie. That’s not too bad. Did you give him some water?”
“Yes.”
God, my eight-year-old shouldn’t have to know how to do these things. He should be playing video games and riding bikes, not managing his brother’s medical condition because their father is an irresponsible jerk.
“You’re doing such a good job, Tommy. You’re the best big brother ever.”
“When will you be here?” His voice is small.
“Soon, baby. Very soon.” I look at the GPS. “About an hour, okay?”
“Okay.” He sniffles.
“Hey, Tommy?” Dread says, glancing over at my phone’s screen.
“Yes?” Tommy sounds surprised.
“You like motorcycles, right?”
Tommy’s face brightens slightly. “Yeah.”
