Page 22 of Bear the Burden

Too bad Hyett’s touch and voice couldn’t save Wesley’s life.

“Depends on what you ask me,” he answered without hesitation.

Hyett fell silent again.

Wesley wanted to beg the man to keep talking. To climb into the bed and simply hold him. He didn’t want to go back to his lonely existence.

Not after meeting Hyett.

The heart monitor beeped faster when Hyett stood then sat on the side of the bed. The plastic mattress crinkled and deflated under his bulky frame.

“Look at me.” He slid Wesley’s hands into his.

It had taken several attempts. The weight of Hyett’s gaze was like an anchor made of shame that kept dragging Wesley’s eyes downward.

They stared at each other for the longest moment. Every second felt more like an hour.

“Please say something,” Wesley begged.

He palmed Wesley’s cheek, kissed his forehead, then locked gazes again. “Do you take drugs, Wesley?”

That wasn’t the question he’d expected. Wesley thought for sure Hyett would ask about the assault. “You mean like my pain pills? I have a prescription for them.”

Though Dr. Baldwin had been lowering the dosage over the past two months, concerned they would start to have the opposite effect.

Hyett was once again studying him. The guy was going to give him a complex if he didn’t stop.

“I mean street drugs, Wesley.” He gently squeezed Wesley’s hands, but the touch didn’t comfort him. “Something you’d buy off a drug dealer.”

That felt like a double-edged question. Technically, he bought from a dealer, but it was never for himself.

“Your silence is your answer.” Hyett let his hands go and stood, walking across the room. “Could you please be honest and tell me what drugs you take,” he asked as he stared at something past the window.

“My prescribed pain meds and something for my headaches. I can even give you the name of my dealer. It’s Dr. Hendrix Baldwin. I’m pretty sure if I refer a friend, I can score some pediatric suckers he reserves for his heavy users.”

“Is this a joke to you?” Hyett demanded.

“No, it’s not. You asked me to tell you what drugs I take, and I just told you,” Wesley argued. “And I was dead serious about the suckers.”

Wesley might have been wrong scoring for his dad, but his heart had been in the right place, and he’d honestly thought they were the same kind of pills as the ones he’d taken before his insurance dropped them.

“Then what are you hiding?” Hyett asked in a pleading tone. “Why did I find you unconscious and hurt in a closet and your dad strung out on the floor?”

“Because he’s the addict, not me!” Wesley shot back, quivering.

Hyett sat next to him and held Wesley’s hands once more. “Tell me,” he quietly demanded.

Wesley sat there and told Hyett about the insurance and everything that had happened afterward but hesitated to tell him about Morton’s visit.

If he said it out loud, the reality of his imminent death would break him.

“Don’t stop, sweetheart.” Hyett pressed his large, warm palms against Wesley’s cheeks, careful of his bruises. “Tell me what happened after I dropped you off at your car.”

Wesley’s bottom lip trembled. “I had no idea he was doing any of that,” he whispered.

“Any of what, Wesley?” Hyett looked at him in trepidation.

Swallowing, Wesley told him about Morton’s visit, about the debt, their deadline, and Seth’s assault.

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