When I hear nothing, I move toward the front door, crack it open, and peek my head out, scanning the porch. Not there.
Worry etches my brow as I move toward the back of the house and open the back door to the yard, and that’s where I see him, raking his hands through his hair, sitting on the grass, leaning against the fence.
What is he doing?
“Theo,” I say, pulling him away from his thoughts. “What are you doing?”
His hair is disheveled, his jaw is peppered in scruff, and his shirt is askew from what seems like a hasty dressing.
“Are you okay?” I glance over to my house, checking to see if there are any signs of Aunt Kitty. When I see nothing, I join him on the grass and take a seat in front of him.
His eyes are bloodshot and his face is devoid of all humor.
“Theo,” I whisper, taking his hand. “What’s?—”
“I can’t go fishing,” he says, shaking his head. “I, uh, I need to find Rupert. I need to find him now.”
“What’s going on?”
He can’t possibly be this distraught over a fight, can he?
I guess that’s not very nice to say—he is quite close with Rupert—but to the point that he’s nearly shaking?
“I…I have to go home.”
“Wait. What?” I ask, leaning back. The shock of his statement makes my stomach churn with anxiety.
He nods. “Yeah, I’m trying to book a flight for tomorrow, but I need to get Rupert. And he’s not answering my texts and all I need is for him to just answer the fucking texts.” Theo pullson his hair now, frustration evident in how the muscles in his forearm fire off.
“Hey,” I say softly, taking his hand out of his hair so he doesn’t pull it all out in anger. “What’s going on? Why do you have to go home?”
Why do you have to leave?
And why does the mere thought of it break my heart?
Slowly, his eyes lift to mine. “My mum called. My father is in the hospital. He had a heart attack.”
“Oh my God,” I say, moving in closer. “Theo, I’m so sor?—”
“Don’t be. He deserves it.”
“Theo,” I reprimand, shocked that he, out of all people, would say such a horrible thing.
“He’s not a good man,” he whispers, shame washing over him.
“That doesn’t matter, he’s still your father.”
“Are you defending him?”
“No,” I say, feeling the thread that pulls us together start to snag. “I just don’t want you to say something you’ll regret.”
“I don’t need the morality police right now. I need my fucking friend to answer his bloody text messages.” He chucks his phone across the yard and then buries his head in his hands.
Oh God, I have no idea how to handle this.
Up until now, Theo has been the light between the two of us. He’s been able to lift the clouds and let the sun come in, but now that the roles are reversed, I don’t really know how to handle that. I’ve always just moved forward when it seems to turn dark in my life, because it became natural to be sitting in those shadows.
It really wasn’t until Theo came along that I remembered to lift my head and enjoy the small things.
