CHAPTER NINETEEN
Wes had never realized how loud his house could feel when there was nothing for him to do.
The television played quietly in the living room.
His mother moved through the kitchen while his phone buzzed every few minutes with another notification.
None of it covered the fact that he was sitting on the couch in the middle of the day when he should have been at work.
His shoulder remained secured against his body.
His ribs punished every careless movement.
The headache behind his eyes returned whenever he looked at a screen too long.
The doctors had given him a list of restrictions before sending him home.
His mother had memorized every word because she watched him as if he might sneak outside and build a house with one arm.
Wes looked toward the front window and regretted it immediately. The empty place where his truck usually sat had been bothering him since the moment he came home. Every glance at the driveway brought the anger back.
The truck was not at a shop waiting for repairs. It was not parked somewhere until he could drive again. The insurance company had confirmed what everyone knew when they saw what remained of it. There was nothing worth fixing.
His truck sat in a tow yard while paperwork decided what happened next.
Wes pictured his tools behind the seat and the dent near the tailgate that he had never bothered to fix.
He thought about Bee sitting beside him while they argued over music.
Anger tightened around his chest until his ribs began to ache with it.
His mother entered the living room carrying a plate. She followed his attention toward the empty driveway before setting the food on the table beside him. Her mouth tightened with the patience of someone who had already watched him do this several times.
“Stop staring out there,” his mother said. “The truck isn't going to appear because you glare at the driveway.”
“I know,” Wes replied.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Yes, Mom,” he said.
His mother studied him before pointing toward the plate. “Eat.”
“I'm not hungry,” Wes replied.
“You said that at breakfast,” she reminded him.
“I wasn't hungry then either,” he said.
“You still need to eat,” his mother replied.
“I'm not five,” Wes told her.
“No,” she agreed. “When you were five, you actually listened to me.”
“I highly doubt that,” he said.
“You listened when food was involved,” she replied.
Wes reached for the sandwich because arguing required more energy than eating. He took a bite while his mother remained beside the couch. When he looked up again, she was still watching him chew.
“Are you going to watch me eat the whole thing?” Wes asked.
“If I have to,” his mother replied.
“That's weird,” he said.
“You're the one being difficult,” she answered.
Wes shook his head. The exchange pulled a small smile from him before it disappeared. He set the sandwich down after a few bites and reached for his phone.
The notifications had become ridiculous. People wanted updates about the accident. Strangers asked whether Bee was okay. Hundreds of followers told him they hoped he healed quickly.
Wes knew he should appreciate the concern. Every message still felt like another person asking him to explain something he did not understand himself. He scrolled without opening any of them.
His mother leaned against the doorway and watched him for a moment. “You don't have to post anything.”
“I know,” Wes replied.
“Then why are you looking at that phone like it owes you money?” she asked.
“I haven't posted since the accident,” he explained.
“I think people will survive,” his mother said.
“It's been days,” Wes replied.
“You were in the hospital,” she reminded him.
“I know,” he said.
“Do you?” she asked again.
Wes looked up at her. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“You keep saying you know things,” his mother replied. “Then you act like you don't.”
“I'm fine,” he said.
“I didn't ask,” she answered.
Wes opened TikTok and switched to the camera. He adjusted himself against the couch until the sling remained visible without filling the frame. Then he checked his hair with his good hand.
His mother raised one eyebrow. “You're fixing your hair?”
“People are going to see me,” Wes replied.
“I see you every day,” she said.
“That's different,” he told her.
“How?” she asked.
“You're my mom,” Wes replied.
“That doesn't answer the question,” she said.
“Can you please not talk for a minute?” he asked.
His mother pushed away from the doorway. “The internet can have you.”
Wes waited until she returned to the kitchen before looking at himself on the screen.
He tried to decide what a man was supposed to look like after surviving an accident.
Tired seemed depressing. Anger looked ungrateful.
Sadness would make everyone worry. Wes chose the easiest expression and smiled.
“Hey, guys,” Wes said to the camera. “I figured I should prove I'm still alive since some of you seem convinced my mom locked me in a basement.”
“Don't give me ideas,” his mother called from the kitchen.
Wes laughed before pain pulled sharply through his ribs. His smile faltered for half a second. He forced it back into place and continued recording.
“I'm home now,” Wes said. “I've got a broken collarbone and fractured ribs. My shoulder is messed up. I have a concussion and a mom who thinks I need supervision twenty-four hours a day.”
“You do,” his mother shouted.
“As you can hear, she's doing great,” Wes said.
His smiling face filled the phone screen. For a few seconds, Wes almost believed the man looking back at him. That man was tired but grateful. He could turn pain into a joke and make surviving look easy.
“I'm going to be off work for a while,” Wes continued. “That part sucks. I'll live. The truck didn't make it, so please observe a respectful moment of silence for the best truck I ever owned.”
His mother appeared in the doorway. “You owned one truck.”
“That makes it the best one,” Wes replied.
“It also makes it the worst one,” she pointed out.
“Can you let me mourn?” he asked.
“No,” his mother said.
Wes faced the camera again. “As you can see, I'm surrounded by compassion.”
His mother rolled her eyes and returned to the kitchen. Wes adjusted the phone with his good hand. He thanked everyone who had sent messages and told them he was healing.
Wes thought about mentioning Bee. Her name rose in his mind with the memory of her hand leaving his inside the hospital room. They had barely spoken since the argument. He had no right to use her in a video when he did not know what they were anymore.
“Anyway, I'm alive,” Wes said. “I'm home and healing. Apparently I'll have plenty of time to make videos since I'm not allowed to do anything useful. Talk to you later.”
Wes stopped recording. The smile disappeared before the screen changed. His phone lowered into his lap while the house closed around him again.
He watched the video once. The man on the screen looked tired but happy. He seemed grateful to be alive and amused about being stuck at home. Wes hated how convincing he looked. He posted the video anyway. Comments began appearing before he set the phone down.
@kayla.m: So glad you're okay.
@hoodiefan42: Hoodie Guy lives.
@momroastsdaily: His mom roasting him while he's injured ??
@trucklover: RIP truck.
@sarahlee: You'll be back at work soon.
Wes stopped scrolling at the last comment. The words stayed on the screen while irritation moved beneath his skin. Everyone kept saying some version of the same thing as if work were only a place he went because he needed money.
They didn't understand that work was where Wes knew who he was. He woke in the morning with somewhere to go. He lifted things and built things. When something broke, he knew how to fix it.
Now he woke and moved from his bed to the couch. His mother drove him to appointments and picked up his medication. She reminded him when to take it and hovered whenever he tried to do anything himself.
Wes could not drive to the store. He could not pull a shirt over his injured shoulder without help. His own body had become another broken thing. He had no idea how to fix it.
The realization hit every time he looked toward the empty driveway. Today it made him want to throw his phone through the window. Instead, he tossed it onto the couch and grabbed the television remote.
Wes shut the television off harder than necessary. The sudden silence pulled his mother out of the kitchen. She looked from the dark screen to his face.
“What did the television do?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Wes replied.
“You're mad at something,” she said.
“I'm not mad,” he told her.
“You're sitting there like you want to fight the furniture,” his mother replied.
“I'm bored,” Wes said.
“You're healing,” she answered.
“I know,” he said.
“Then heal,” his mother replied.
Wes stared at her. “What does that even mean?”
“It means you sit there and let your body do what it needs to do,” she explained.
“For how long?” he asked.
“As long as it takes,” she said.
“That isn't an answer,” Wes replied.
“It's the only one you have,” his mother told him.
Wes pushed himself off the couch too quickly. Pain pulled across his ribs while the room tilted. He kept his face still until the floor settled beneath him.
His mother noticed anyway. “Where are you going?”
“Outside,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
“I'm tired of sitting here,” Wes replied.
“You can sit outside,” his mother said.
“That isn't better,” he told her.
“I know,” she replied.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Wes said.
His mother frowned. “Like what?”
“Like I'm helpless,” he answered.
“I'm not,” she said.
“Yes, you are,” Wes insisted.
“Nobody thinks you're helpless,” his mother replied.
“I can't drive,” he said.
“For now,” she reminded him.
“I can't work,” Wes said.
“For now,” his mother repeated.
“I can barely put on my own shirt,” he said.
“For now,” she told him again. “For now is not forever.”
“It feels like it,” Wes admitted.
“I know,” his mother said.