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1
LIAM
Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz.
The nightstand vibrated under my charging cell phone, pulling me out of a deep sleep. I tapped around in the dark, fumbling as I tried to find it.
Who the hell was calling me in the middle of the night?I was in between projects at the moment, and it was Wednesday, not exactly prime hangout time.
“Hello?” I said, my voice gravelly. I didn’t even attempt reading the caller ID; I couldn’t see shit without my glasses.
“Liam? It’s Quinn.”
My heart sunk, a cold slither of dread winding its way into my stomach. My cousin would only call me in the middle of the night if something bad happened.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Pops. He had a heart attack.” Quinn’s voice was low, steady—almost too calm, like he was in shock. “He’s at the hospital now. The doc’s saying he’ll probably be okay, but Gigi wanted me to tell you. Keep you in the loop.”
“I’ll be on the first flight out.” I sat up, fully awake now, kicking off the covers and turning on the side lamp.
“It’s fine, man. You don’t need to come all the way down here.”
“Yeah, yeah I do.”
“Shoot me your flight info then, and I’ll pick you up from the airport.”
“Okay, thanks. Tell Pops and Gigi I’ll see them soon.”
“Will do. Bye.”
“Bye.” I disconnected, scrubbing a hand over my face. My uncle Pops was like a second dad to me, ever since my dad—his brother—died back when I was in middle school. I’d even lived with him and my aunt Gigi the summer after my dad passed, while my mom looked for a place up in Chicago. Pops taught me how to change a tire, grill a steak, knot a tie. A wave of regret washed over me, settling hard and deep in my gut. I wished I’d spent the holidays with him, or at least visited over the past year. Whenwasthe last time I’d been back to Peachtree Grove? Five years at least, not since I’d moved out to California and created my app.
Well, that would all change tomorrow. I was way overdue for a return visit to Peachtree Grove. Sliding my glasses on, I fired up my laptop to search for the next available flight out of LAX. It was time for me to go back to the only place that ever felt like home—even if it meant visiting some memories I’d rather forget.
* * *
“Damn, that was fast.”Quinn grinned at me, clapping me hard on the back, bro-style. He still looked exactly the same, except for a few more lines around his eyes and a light smattering of grey hair at his temple.
“The modern marvel of the aeroplane, cousin,” I joked, lifting my suitcase into the bed of his pickup. Cars whizzed by, the echo of honking horns and screeching tires ricocheting off the concrete walls of Hartsfield-Jackson airport. Even though I’d left before dawn, I hadn’t managed to avoid rush hour in Atlanta.
“When you said the first flight out, you weren’t playing.” Quinn hopped back into the truck, turning the key in the ignition, the engine revving to life.
“I tried to miss rush hour,” I said, glancing over his shoulder as he slid into traffic.
“Eh, it’s always rush hour here. No way around it, really.” Quinn trained his eyes on the road, settling into his seat for the drive back to Peachtree Grove.
“How’s Pops?”
“He’s alright. A little shook up and a lotta bit salty, especially after the nutritionist came in to talk to him about the lifestyle changes he needs to make.”
I chuckled. “Bet that didn’t go over too well.”
Quinn shook his head. “Nope. Pops loves himself a good burger and isn’t real keen on change in general, let alone to his diet and exercise regimen. Or lack thereof.”
“I can imagine.”
“Plus, he’s supposed to be taking it easy, for the next few months at least. Reducing stress, limiting strenuous activity. None of those things sounded good to him.”
