Death at the hands of Everil’s fucking ex felt like those bedtime warnings. Distant, but no more-so than waking up curled in a nook in your house, sugar on your lips and hands, and being told you’d been gone for days, exchanged for a bundle of sticks.
He tried not to dwell on all that shit. But, big surprise, the kelpie made the repression tricky. Fuck.
Bo took out his phone, looking up into the dense trees before picking a direction to wander in. He needed to call Robin. Hear a voice that made sense. His skin itched.
“It’s been five seconds, Bo.” Robin picked up on the first ring. “Are you stuck in a hole? Do I need to send out a wetlands-proofed Lassie to look for you in a well?”
Bo laughed. He sounded strained, if Robin’s quiet said anything. “No holes. The place is fucking weird, though.”
“It was weird to see you didn’t do a LiveReel,” Robin admitted after a beat. Grudging and quiet, two core traits of the little bastard. “You should probably put something up to let people know you’re still breathing.”
Fuck.
“I– Shit. I got sidetracked. I will when I get to my car.” Bo hesitated, picking his way over some tree roots with unnecessary focus. “Look, about next week–”
“Aunt Jan’s birthday,” Robin interrupted. “Which you are coming to.”
“About next week,“ because Bo was, somehow, the patient brother, “I might be … late. Delayed.”
“Delayed.” Robin’s voice flattened with that single, loaded word. Bo winced.
“I’ve got a buddy and his kid in trouble. I’ve not finished shooting–shit, I barely made it fucking inside–so it might be a couple extra days. That’s all.” Silence greeted him from the other end of the line. Bo slowed to a stop on the faint trail, squeezing his eyes shut. “I swear, Robin.”
“…what kind of trouble?”
Fuck. Fuck. Thank fuck. Bo let out a slow breath, relief loosening the tension twisting like a fist at his throat. “His asshole ex is trying to get back with him. It’s apparently not great. I got myself wrapped up in the middle of it.”
Silence again, longer than before. Bo tipped his head back, studying the speckled canopy of not entirely stripped oak leaves. He hated Robin’s silence at times like this. It was worse in person, with that hawk-sharp gaze trying to bore into his soul.
“If you don’t come because you have aboyfriend–”
What the shit. “I’m going to fucking be there, Robin.”
“–I will be so fucking angry–”
“For fucks sake.Robin.”
“You promised!” Robin’s voice broke, high at the end, unsteady.
Bo could picture Robin, that look he got when he let the quiet crack through: knitted eyebrows and wide eyes, a darker blue than Bo’s own under his mop of brown curls, so like their mother. Adjusting and readjusting his glasses, staring at nothing in particular except the years of their parents telling him and Aunt Jan they’d be around for this holiday or that weekend, only for Bo to make it difficult to get there.
Bo never knew about any of it. Those missed visits and broken promises. He told Robin and Aunt Jan as much when he showed up on her doorstep, years and a lot of fucking therapy later.
I promised as long as I didn’t die in the wetlands,Bo wanted to say. And,our parents are assholes. That wasn’t me.
He kept his mouth fucking shut, tempting as it was to do otherwise, and took long, slow breaths to keep his words in until they stopped dancing on the edge of his tongue.
“I promised,” Bo agreed once he had his shit under control. He started walking again, because he was an adult with his shit together and surrounded by nature. He liked nature. “And I will. It’s why I’m calling you ahead of time, telling you what happened. Okay? I’m being a responsible big brother. It all came up today, started less than an hour ago, and I just got a few to slip off to call you. Otherwise, I’d‘ve said something earlier. Buddy’s in a spot. I’m trying to help out.”
Thankfully, Robin didn’t come back with some shit about boyfriends. Only quiet breathing, slowly steadying out.
If Bo ever got his hands on their fucking parents, he’d end up in jail.
“Sorry,” Robin muttered. He sounded … not great. But better. Bo kicked a small pile of wayward leaves. “I didn’t mean to– Sorry.”
“You’re good, kid.” Bo rubbed his face. “I’m sorry for it being a thing. You know I wouldn’t miss that sweet, sweet seventeen-hour drive for anything.”
That managed to startle a laugh from the other end of the line. “Jacksonville at three a.m. calling to you?”
