“That’s Dex,” I whisper, pointing to where he stands. He’s not looking my way. “He’s my new boss, and he’s helping me out.” I shrug, then look back at my dad’s gravestone.
“I wish I could come more often.” I run my hand over the cold stone, tracing the letters as if feeling their shape could bring him back. I remember Mason and me with our blankets, our picnic, talking to Dad as if he could answer us. Today, Dex is giving me a little of that again.
The wind blows gently, snowflakes drifting down like tiny pieces of memory. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and just… let it be.
We stay there until I can feel my toes freezing, then make our way back to the truck. The snow is picking up.
“Thank you for this,” I whisper once we’re inside.
“Don’t worry about it.” Dex shrugs as he starts the engine.
My phone rings, and the second I see the number, my stomach drops.
Lou’s bar.
There’s only one reason they call me.
I close my eyes for a brief second before answering. “Hello.”
“Lexy, I’m sorry, but your mom…” Lou sighs, heavy and tired, and he doesn’t have to finish the sentence. He never does.
This isn’t the first time.
“I understand,” I say quietly.
I glance over at Dex, who’s already gone out of his way for me today, already done more than he should have.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Lexy,” Lou adds, his voice lower now, more serious, “she’s worse than the last time.”
My grip tightens around the phone.
That tells me everything I need to know.
“I’ll be right there.”
I hang up before he can say anything else.
For a second, I just sit there, staring out the window, my thoughts scrambling, trying to find a way out of this. A way to fix it without dragging anyone else into it.
There isn’t one.
“What do you need, Tinker?” Dex asks, his voice steady, like he already knows this isn’t nothing.
I swallow, forcing myself to look at him. “It’s my mom. She…” My gaze drifts back to the road. “She’s at a bar and needs to be taken home.”
There’s a pause, brief but heavy.
Then Dex nods once and turns the car around without another question.
“Where to?”
I give him the directions, each word tasting bitter in my mouth, shame settling low and uncomfortable in my chest.
I don’t want him to see this. I don’t want him to see any of it.
But I don’t have a choice.
