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“So, why is it a secret?” He immediately rolled his eyes. “Never mind. It’s Dad. I told him no one cares, but he doesn’t listen. He thinks high school is like it was when he was my age, and it’s not. We’re way smarter.”
“Smarter, eh?”
“You know what I mean. We’re not prejudiced. Just be yourself. He’s the one who taught us that.”
“He’s right, but…in this case, I’m leaving in April.”
Rhys frowned. “April. Ugh. This really is a sucky night.”
“C’mon. It isn’t all bad, kid. I do have chocolate cake.”
I didn’t think he’d shrug for the umpteenth time or get sidetracked by cake, but either would have been preferable to the look of sheer disappointment. It made me want to make promises I couldn’t keep. I’ll be back soon. You can visit me. We’ll keep in touch.
None of those things was going to happen. Distance always created a void. I was part of the fabric of their everyday lives now, but I wasn’t going to be here when Rhys made the Varsity team. I wasn’t going to Gretchen’s next science competition.
Soon enough, I wouldn’t know their friends, and the local gossip would seem quaint and sentimental rather than like breaking news.
Christ, I was going to have to find a new coffee shop in Richmond for my lattes, or treat myself to a nice coffee machine. I’d probably eat fewer donuts and pancakes, too. And I didn’t want to begin to think about how fucking miserable I was going to be without Reg.
CHAPTER 30
REG
The chief of police wasn’t usually summoned to car accidents, but the Four Forest area wasn’t like most places. The unwritten rule here was that if it was serious, the chief needed to know. And the Chevy Blazer filled with Elmwood teens taking a tumble off the road was serious. The SUV had landed upside down like a toy truck and three of the kids had managed to bust a window and climb to safety, but the driver had been pinned behind the wheel.
We got him out and the ambulance safely delivered him to Pinecrest Hospital, where he was expected to make a full recovery, but Christ, it was awful. Blood and glass and crying teenagers. And I knew these kids, which made it even worse. I comforted their parents, calmed the teens, and did my best to stabilize the situation.
There was going to be an investigation. Were the roads too icy and was the county responsible? Were there alcohol or drugs involved? My initial observation was that the roads were fine, and the kids had definitely been partying. That was going to cause a whole new shit show.
I pulled into my garage thinking about the pile of work that had landed in my lap. Not the way I’d planned to spend my Saturday, but at least everyone had gone home safely. There were no body bags, no funerals, no heartbreak. Thank fuck.
I removed my boots, coat, and hat in the mudroom, stored my equipment, and strode into the great room. The lights were off, but a Bugs Bunny cartoon was on TV. When we’d texted earlier, Waylon had reported that Rhys was fine, but Gretchen was the one to watch for. She’d been restless and nauseous—in bed for an hour then roaming downstairs like a miserable ghost.
I approached the sectional and stopped.
Waylon was asleep with a blanket over his legs, Gretchen on his right with Tate curled around her, and Rhys on his left, his mouth open and what looked like chocolate smudged across his upper lip.
I could have fucking cried. Dramatic, I know, but my God, this was a beautiful sight.
This was what coming home was supposed to feel like.
Knock knock.
Ding dong.
Knock knock.
Tate barked his head off as annoyed as I was by the barrage of noise. Who the hell was pounding on my door on a fucking Sunday afternoon? Dad was in the garage, Waylon had gone to Mill Depot to grab some tools or supplies needed for the end tables, and Jess had picked up the kids at noon.
Except now she was on my doorstep.
“What’s wrong?”
She stormed into the house, shaking her head. “Gretch is feeling better, but Rhys is sick as a dog.”
I winced. “I warned you. If you want to bring him back here, I don’t mind—”
“I’m his mother. I can fucking take care of my son,” Jess snapped.
