My stomach dips. Sick? Does he even have anyone looking after him? He’s always the one taking care of his mom and Maddie, but does anyone take care of him?
The girl’s head tilts, the beads at the ends of her braids clinking together softly. “You’re Hunter, right?”
I blink. “Uh… yeah.”
Her mouth curves into a dimpled smile. “I’m Aliyah. Mason’s best friend. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Oh. All good things, I hope?”
Her smile widens. “Yep. All good things.”
I laugh nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. “Well, um, I should go. It was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, you too,” she says, amusement threading through her voice.
I mutter a clumsy goodbye under my breath and turn back to the parking lot. My research can wait.
Sliding into my car, I press the start button. My fingers tap a jittery rhythm on the steering wheel as I pull out, the other hand picking at a loose thread in the knee of my distressed jeans.
By the time I turn into the trailer park, the knot in my chest feels like it’s doubled in size. Gravel crunches under my tires as I coast down the narrow road. Mason’s single-wide sits near the middle of the row, the white siding yellowed from years of sun and dust. One of the street-facing windows is patched with cardboard and duct tape.
I park at the curb and step out, the air thick with the mingled scents of fresh-cut grass and gasoline. I walk up the short path to the door and hesitate, my knuckles hovering. I don’t want him to think I’m clingy or overstepping the boundaries of our casual summer fling.
But when I think of Mason sick and alone, my hesitation burns away.
I knock.
It feels like forever before the door finally swings open. Maddie stands there, blinking at me. She’s in pajama shorts and a baggy T-shirt, her hair pulled into a messy bun that’s half fallen out—the standard summer break uniform for a thirteen-year-old.
“Oh. Hi, Hunter.”
“Hey,” I say, lifting a hand in an awkward wave. “Is Mason home?”
“Yeah,” she says, stepping aside. “He’s in his room.”
I toe my shoes off at the entrance, nudge them next to the tumbling pile of sneakers by the door, and follow the short hallway.
His door is half-shut. I knock lightly against the frame before pushing it open.
Mason’s lying on his side on top of the covers, one arm tucked under his head. His curls are a tangled mess, spilling onto his pillow. He’s wearing a pair of gray joggers that ride low on his hips and a tight black T-shirt. Dark shadows have settled beneath his eyes.
He quickly sits up when he sees me. “Hey.” His voice is low, rough like he hasn’t used it much today. “What are you doing here?”
I step inside, shut the door behind me, and sit at the edge of his bed. “I went to the beach today and talked to Aliyah. She said you called in sick. You okay?”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Not really.”
I wait, letting the silence stretch until he finally exhales.
“Stephen showed up at court yesterday,” he says, voice flat.
I arch an eyebrow. “That’s good news, isn’t it? You needed him there to sign some paperwork, right?”
“Except he refused to give up his custody rights. Flashed his three-year sobriety chips and said he wants to ‘be part of Maddie’s life.’ He claimed my mom and I have been keeping him away for years.”
I pause. “That’s… not true, right?”
He lets out a humorless laugh. “Of course not. Hechoseto walk out of our lives. That was his decision. He can’t just change his mind and expect us to be okay with it.”
