CONNOR
“Wells?”
“Hey man, hate to bother you in the middle of the night, but I need your help.” His voice is quiet, too quiet, and I’m instantly on high alert, jumping out of bed and fumbling for pants and a T-shirt.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. What’s wrong?”
“I’m out at my mom’s. She’s…” Wells clears his throat, and I can hear the anxiety crackling through the phone.
“She’s sick. Drank too much. We’ve been through this before, and I can usually handle it myself.
But she’s pretty belligerent, and I can’t get her in my truck. I need an extra set of hands.”
“Send me the address.”
I’m halfway down the driveway by the time his text with his location comes through.
Wells hasn’t shared much about his life outside of teaching, and I’ve never pushed. Still, I’ve always had the sense that his rigid routines and preference for water over beer ran deeper than health consciousness.
My GPS directs me to a trailer park fifteen minutes outside town.
I quickly spot Wells’ truck outside of a well-maintained single-wide.
The same can’t be said for the inside. Empty bottles litter the counters, piles of garbage accumulate in the corners, and there’s paraphernalia scattered around that I know better than to look too close at.
Wells greets me with a tight grimace. “Sorry. Didn’t know who else to call. She doesn’t have insurance, or else I’d have called an ambulance.”
His mom is, in fact, belligerent. And stronger than I’d expected.
The two of us half-drag, half-carry her out the door, sidestepping the damning evidence of her condition. The roads into town are empty this early in the morning, and we make it to the hospital with only one stop for his mom to puke out the door.
Wells pulls up to the ER entrance with the eerie calm of someone who has done this before. We maneuver her into a waiting wheelchair with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.
The waiting room is nearly empty, and that’s somehow more unsettling than an overflowing emergency room.
“Second time this month?” a white haired nurse says to Wells.
He simply grunts and hands the wheelchair over. His mom suddenly turns a startling shade of green that prompts the nurse to make quick work of rolling her down the hall.
“I’ll send the doc out once he’s looked her over,” the nurse calls over her shoulders, before flashing a tired smile over her shoulder as the double doors close.
The adrenaline of the middle-of-the-night wakeup call finally fizzles out, leaving a wave of exhaustion.
Wells must feel the same because he wordlessly motions me towards the coffee maker in the corner of the room.
“Been like this since I was a kid,” he says after we’ve both taken a few grounding sips of the mediocre coffee. “People like to tell me it’s a miracle she’s still alive. But this,” Wells takes a long sip, “This doesn’t feel too miraculous to me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say simply, which feels too small for the magnitude of the situation.
“Thanks.”
We settle into the hard plastic chairs, draining our cups to avoid risking any more earth-shattering revelations.
Wells breaks the silence exactly seventeen minutes later.
“What’s going on with you and Delaney?”
“You know what’s going on with us.” I shrug. “Pretending to date so she gets good press.”
Wells nods. “Right. Let me rephrase. How are you feeling about what’s going on with you and Delaney?”
I drag a hand over my face. “Fuck, dude. Didn’t realize I’d be going to a therapy session before six in the morning today.”
He shrugs. “We all outta be starting our days with a little self-reflection.”
I let out a breath. “I’m feeling in over my head.
Seeing her on that trip last week…” I shake my head.
“She was good with the kids, she was happy. And we, I don’t know.
” I pause, searching for the words to explain the constant push and pull between us.
“We shouldn’t work, but I swear we do. We can. We would.”
This elicits another slow nod from Wells.
“What are you doing to make her see that?”
“I… I think she does.” I lean back in my chair. “We went swimming out at Crescent Lake. Well… skinny-dipping.”
Wells arches a brow at that but lets me continue.
“It wasn’t like that. We just had fun being together. And I swear she feels the same way that I do. The connection is there man. It’s real.”
“Well, yeah, things usually feel electric when you don’t have any clothes on.” Wells scoffs, like he can’t believe he has to explain something so simple. “But have you talked to her? Like really talked to her?” He asks. “When neither of you is naked?”
I open my mouth to defend myself, even though Wells is obviously right, when someone clears their throat nearby.
“As much as I’d love to hear this one through, I need to interrupt. Which one of you is Mrs. Asbury’s son?”
Wells steps forward, and the woman in the white coat offers him her hand. “I’m Dr. Hughes. I’ve got your mom mostly coherent and somewhat calm. From what I gather, that’s pretty much her baseline?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry to waste your time. I can usually handle it on my own, but she was–”
The doctor holds her hand up. “She was sick and needed care. Simple as that. And that’s what we’re here for. I’d like to keep her for a few more hours on IV fluids. Is there someone who can pick her up around noon?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll come back for her.”
Dr. Hughes gives a quick nod then heads back through the double doors.
Wells and I wordlessly make our way to his truck, chasing the sunrise back to his mom’s trailer. It’s not until I start to climb out of his passenger seat that Wells speaks.
“She’s a wreck, but she’s my mom, you know?” His hands tighten around the steering wheel, as he stares at the impeccable lawn in front of her trailer. “I come out here a lot. Probably too much. Keep the grass mowed, the lights on.” He says, voice hardly above a whisper. “She’s my mom.”
“You’re a good son, Wells.”
He gives me a tired smile, worn all the way down to the bone. “And you’re a good friend. Thanks for helping me out.”
I’m nearly to my car when he calls after me.
“Talk to Delaney before you take your pants off again!”
I take a sip of my half-burnt faculty lounge coffee and pray to feel its effects quickly.
It’s been three days since I went with Wells to the ER and I can’t seem to catch up on the lost sleep. On top of that, I had to let go of three of my seasonal orchard guys because revenue’s been too low, and the guilt has been eating me alive ever since.
As Mrs. Rutledge starts in on her morning spiel, Mrs. Crane catches my eye from across the room and gives me a wink so exaggerated that I nearly spray my coffee right back out.
Caroline catches the exchange and questions. “What was that for?”
Delaney giggles at my other side. “She caught us skinny-dipping the other day. Apparently Crescent Lake is on her property.”
Caroline eyes me in disbelief. “This rule follower? Delaney… who is this imposter, and what did you do with my straight-laced friend Connor Majors?”
Delaney leans into my side and every nerve in my body lights on fire with the contact. The longer she’s in Ridgecrest, the more she looks like the girl I fell in love with. That familiarity does something dangerous to my heart. Makes me believe in a future that I have no business believing in.
“What can I say, I bring out the best in him,” she laughs again. “Or maybe it's the worst. Hard to say.” She continues on. “I had a bit of a reputation back in the day for raising some hell, and poor Connor got drug through the fire. I probably owe him more than a few apologies.”
“Mmm,” Caroline’s eyes sparkle, full of mischief and knowing, “I have a feeling he didn’t mind one bit.”
Damn right I didn’t mind.
I loved being Delaney’s first call, her alibi, her getaway car.
The summer before she left, she got drunk at a bonfire one county over and called me in the middle of the night to come get her.
I didn’t even have my license yet, but that didn’t stop me from sneaking out with my dad’s truck to get her.
After I got her home, and held her hair when she inevitably got sick, I tucked her in bed and she slurred, “I sure do love you, Connor.”
I’ve replayed those drunken words too many times to count.
“Y’all know me, always happy to help.”
Caroline nods again, clearly smelling the load of bullshit and sensing the depth of my devotion to Delaney, but she keeps her mouth shut.
Rutledge drones on until the first bell of the day finally cuts her off, and we all filter out down the hall to greet our students.
I’m halfway to my classroom when Delaney shouts after me.
“Hey, Majors!”
I turn to meet her.
“I really am sorry for,” she gestures vaguely to the space between us, and I can think of a handful of things to fill it. “All of it, I guess.”
Students file past us, but for just a moment, it’s only her–sincere and open, and a little raw around the edges.
The half smile. The sag in her shoulders. She’s worn down.
Two sides of the same coin, both grieving the life we thought we’d have.
“I’m sorry too, Miss James.”
Those tired eyes meet mine, and I know I’ll do everything in my power to bring them back to life.