Page 3 of Hale

“Have you talked to your sister, Hudson?”

Hudson?

Coach always calls me Hale.

Fuck, this isn’t good.

I furl my brows in confusion. “Rylie? No. Why?”

“Son…” He pauses and pain flashes in his eyes. Pity even. “She’s been trying to get ahold of you. Then she called me.”

What did she say to him?

Irritation bubbles up inside of me. My sister sometimes is every bit as bad as Amy. Always wanting to know when I’m coming back home. Griping about Mom and school and whatever else seventeen-year-olds bitch about. She’s an attention seeker and when my parents aren’t showering her with it, she demands it from me. It’s times like these, I’m glad I left Missouri. “No, what does she want?” I groan in frustration.

He sits on the edge of his desk and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “It’s your parents.”

“What about them?” Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. His nose turns slightly red and his nostrils flare. “They were…” Tears form in his eyes as he swallows down his emotion. “I’m sorry, son, but there’s no easy way to tell you this. They were killed in a head-on collision this afternoon.”

I blink at him in confusion. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Hudson.”

“Rylie is just making up bullshit again,” I snap as I rise from the chair.

He shakes his head as he rises and walks over to me. His palm clasps over my shoulder and he squeezes it. “You need…you need to call your sister.” Then, he grimaces, blinking away tears. “Go home. Take as long as you need. The team and myself are here for you.”

This isn’t real.

This isn’t fucking real.

I yank my phone from my pocket, jerk out of his hold, and ignore all the missing calls and texts from every goddamned person I know. Instead, I call Mom.

“Hey, I’m not available to take your call at the moment. If you’re booking for February’s Valentine’s cut and color special, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

It beeps and I growl, “Tell Rylie to fucking stop. Call me back.”

“Hudson—” Coach starts, but I wave him off as I call Dad.

His deep voice that sounds much like mine rumbles through the line. “Leave a message.”

“Dad, Rylie is pulling some shit. Call me.”

I hang up and my phone rings in my grip.

Rylie.

Infuriated, I swipe it to answer. “Whatever bullshit you’re—”

A loud, ugly sob rings in my ear. Heartbroken. Terrified. Soul-shattering. Tears instantly burn at my eyes as I shake my head.

“N-No,” I choke out.

“D-Dad is…” Rylie trails off as she gags through her tears. My heart races as my own tears slide down my cheeks. “He and M-Mom…t-they’re g-gone.”

“No, Rylie,” I whisper. “No.”