Page 18 of Memphis

“Wait, I need to know what’s going on with Weston!”

“I’ve told you all I know, but Kay will be there soon. She’ll call me with an update, and I’ll let you know what she says at dinner.”

“Okay, but if you hear anything before then, call and let me know.”

“Wow. I didn’t know Wes meant that much to you.”

I could’ve just been honest and told my father the truth about how I felt about Weston, but this wasn’t the time or the place. “He’s Kay’s son. I’m just concerned.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“See you at the restaurant around six.”

“Sounds good.”

I ended the call and stared down at my phone, contemplating calling Kay when I was hit with a wave of nausea. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“My stepbrother was in an accident.” I let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know what kind of accident, and I don’t know if he’s hurt or if he’s okay. I don’t know anything.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry, Toni. That’s tough news.”

“Yeah, it is. And the not knowing only makes it worse.”

“You two must be close.”

“Yeah, well, it’s complicated.”

He gave me a look, then said, “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Oh, there’s definitely a story, but it would take some time to tell it.”

The waitress came over, and as she placed our food on the table, Mark smiled and said, “Now is as good a time as any.”

“But you’re supposed to tell me about your guy.”

“I can tell you about him any time. Now, spill the dirt.”

“Okay, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I picked up my fork and took a quick bite, then started filling him in on the night Wes and I first met. I told him all about our connection and how I thought I’d finally found the one. I told him about the plans we’d made and how I was looking forward to seeing him again.

And then, I told him about the following morning when our parents introduced us future stepsiblings. Needless to say, it wasn’t the revelation he was expecting.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Afraid not.”

We continued to talk as we finished our lunch and headed back to work. Mark had many of the same questions and thoughts as my friends and was quick to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. But saying and doing were two very different things. Just thinking about it all had my stomach churning with emotion. I cared a great deal about Weston, and I hated the idea of something happening to him.

I tried to keep myself distracted with work, but it was pointless. I couldn’t stop thinking about Weston and whether or not he was okay. I knew it was doubtful that he would respond, but I decided to try and text him. I took out my phone and started a message but stopped. I’d only messaged him a couple of times since that night, and the messages always had something to do with a family affair—a dinner or an upcoming holiday.

This was different.

This was personal, and I wasn’t sure how it would be received, especially if he was okay. I thought it over and had just about talked myself out of texting him when an image of Weston wounded and in some hospital bed crossed my mind. The thought had me typing out a message and sending it before I had a chance to change my mind.

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