Page 97 of Warrior
A slither of unease worms through me.
“Okay.” I motion in the direction I need to go, which luckily is far away from here. “I didn’t mean to rubberneck.”
The guy breaks out into a smile. “Nah, man. Totally fine. It’s quite the show.”
Right.
I wave and raise my window, letting my foot off the brake. For a second, I imagine him darting in front of my truck. But instead, he takes a few quick steps back and watches me continue down the dark, nearly empty road.
Something isn’t right—but I don’t have the capacity to deal with it.
My phone beeps. It’s a special noise that I reserve for the reminder I set up on new numbers, and I sigh.
One hand on the wheel, with the other I dial the familiar, memorized number. I’ve been reciting it from heart since I was a kid.
The call goes through, and I pull over outside of Tem’s building. The last thing I need is for the call to drop when I go into the garage.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mom.” I force a smile, knowing it’ll translate into my tone. “How are you?”
“Reese?”
I sigh. “Pretty sure I’m your only kid?”
“You missed our last call.”
Oh. Guilt rattles me, and I run my hand down my face. “I was in the hospital. I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“You’re okay now?”
“Totally fine,” I lie. “You know they’ve got experts on staff.”
She hums. “The military usually informs us when our son is injured.”
“I told them not to. It laid me up for a few days, is all. I wanted to let you know that we’ve got new orders, so I might not be around for a while.”
“I don’t suppose you can tell your dear old mom about it?”
I settle in. This guilt is normal—I’ve been lying to her for years. So I tell her a story from when I actuallywasdeployed, a mission laid out by command and painted to be a totally normal, run-of-the-mill day.
It wasn’t quite that peaceful, but I give it the same coloring our superiors did. A two-day transport, there and back, on a road that’s already been carefully monitored and swept by a different team.
Eventually, the clock ticks over to a new hour, and I groan. “I’m sorry, Mom, I’ve got to head out.”
“I appreciate you calling,” she tells me. “It’s late here. I was on my way to bed.”
I time it that way. Doesn’t mean I feel good about it, though. “Okay, I’ll let you go. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Reese.”
The line goes dead, and I throw the phone onto the passenger seat.
I hate my mother.
I hate her with as much love in my heart that I can muster, because she is just as much at fault for my shame that my father is. I tried abandoning her, but I couldn’t do it. At the end of the day, she’s the only family I have.
My father was written off a long, long time ago. Almost five years ago, he left Mom and moved straight into the house he bought for his twenty-year-old mistress. I only found out when Mom called me crying after he had already gone.
