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And he’s right. That was close. I need to talk to Wyatt about how we’re going to handle things with my dad.
22
WYATT
Cracks in the Ice
My phone starts ringing at 6:40 in the morning.
I reach for it before I’m fully awake, squinting at the screen, and the second I see Mom’s name, I know why she’s calling.
For a few seconds, I just stare at it.
Then I answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey.” Her voice is quiet. “Did I wake you?”
“Kind of.”
“Sorry. I can call later.”
“No, it’s fine.” I push myself up against the headboard and glance over at Quinn. She’s still asleep beside me, curled onto her side with Pickles wedged against her legs. “I’m awake.”
Mom is quiet for a moment. “I just wanted to check on you.”
“Yeah.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
It’s the same question and the same answer we do every year. Neither of us says why she’s calling this early or why she needs to hear my voice today of all days. We both know.
“You have a game tonight, right?”
“Yeah. Home game.”
“I’ll watch.”
“Good.”
Another pause stretches between us, and I already know what’s coming before she says it.
“I’ve been thinking about Wayne.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah. Me too.”
“He always loved watching you play.”
“I know.”
She goes quiet again, and I stare down at the blanket while Pickles shifts at Quinn’s feet.
“I miss him,” Mom says.
The hurt in her voice breaks my heart because I know exactly how she feels, and I’m the reason she has to feel it at all. It’s my fault.
I swallow hard. “I know. I do too.”
