Page 11 of The Wrong Quarterback

Me: …

Me: Awesomely bad.

I was still smiling as I went to put down my phone…and then it buzzed in my hand.

My smile instantly died when I saw who the text was from. Martha, Mom’s nurse.

Martha: Parker, she’s refusing to eat again. We’re trying, but…

The words made my stomach twist, and whatever leftover buzz I had from practice and making fun of Cole died in an instant.

Matty, noticing my shift, lifted an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

I tried for a nod, but it didn’t feel convincing. “Just my mom again,” I muttered, even though everything with my mom the last couple of years had definitely not beenjusta thing.

Matty’s brow furrowed, sympathy in his eyes that I didn’t want. “Want some company? I can drive over with you.”

I shook my head, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “Nah, it’s fine. You’ve got study hall tonight, right? I can handle it.”

He didn’t argue with me. He and Jace both knew by now there wasn’t any point to doing that. I never wanted them to come with me. The fact that my mother had given up on life wasn’t a secret. But it was widely known that I didn’t want to talk about it.

Without another word, I changed as fast as I could, grabbing my stuff and heading to my truck. The drive to my mom’s place wasn’t long, but it was heavy.

She was the reason I’d stayed close to home, why I’d chosen Tennessee over any other school that had offered me a spot—which was literally almost all of them.

Cole was on a world tour with the Sound of Us, Walker was living his dream in Dallas.

That left me. I was the only one who wasn’t as haunted by the memories of our mom—the mom she used to be, when she’d actually wanted to live. I didn’t have those, because for as long as I could remember, she’d always been like this. I knew nothing else.

The drive home always felt longer than forty-five minutes. I gripped the steering wheel, trying not to think about what waited for me at the end of the road. Same house. Same silence. Everything I couldn’t outrun. The tires crunched on the gravel as I pulled into the driveway, and for a second, I sat there, staring at the front door like I always did.

It looked the same as it had for years. The paint that was chipped, the porch that sagged, and the windows that hadn't been opened in God knows how long. Time hadn’t touched this place. Not since Dad. And it wasn’t like the three of us hadn’t tried. We all had money, especially Cole and Walker. But every time we’d had workmen come over to the house, she’d had a fit. Screaming and crying and scratching herself to the point that she could have been committed.

It hadn’t been worth dealing with it.

Thus, the house looked like this.

I sat in my truck for a minute, the drive not long enough for me to put up the walls I needed anytime I dealt with her. And like usual…thoughts like that made me feel like a shit son. It wasn’t her fault that she’d lost the love of her life unexpectedly. Our family had always had a reputation for falling in love hard. It hadn’t happened to me or Cole yet, but I was slightly a believer after seeing how crazy Walker was about his wife Olivia.

It’s just that I was pretty sure Walker wouldn’t abandon their child–my adorable niece–if something happened to her.

Unlike what my mom had done to the three of us.

Taking a deep breath, I finally got out of my truck and walked up the creaky steps to the front door. One more deep breath, and then I unlocked it and stepped inside.

The smell hit me first—stale air and dust, thick enough to taste. The kind of silence that settled in your bones and made everything feel heavier. The nurse was gone for the day, the silence told me that. She was a saint for lasting as long as she did on the days she worked. The fact that she wasn’t allowed to dust or move anything around couldn’t have been fun.

I got sick every time I thought about the day when she couldn’t handle Mom’s shit anymore and she left. Who would help me then?

The hardwood creaked under my feet as I walked through the front room. Dust clung to every surface—furniture, picture frames, the old clock on the mantle that hadn’t ticked in years. Like the whole house was frozen in the exact moment Dad died, and we’d never bothered to move on.

“Mom?” My voice echoed, too loud in the stillness. No answer, just more silence. My chest tightened.

I found her in her bedroom, sitting in the same chair she always did. It was the last thing Dad had built her before she died.

Her gaze was fixed on something out the window, like she was watching for someone. Like she hadn’t figured out he was never coming back.

“Parker, you’re here,” she said, her voice thin, fragile. She didn’t even look at me, though.

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