Page 36 of Severed Heart

My cell rings just as I spot Kayley approaching in my peripheral. Lifting it, I see Mom’s calling just as Kayley makes it to my table. I lift a finger to keep her idle as I answer.

“Hey, Mom.” I roll my eyes suggestively down Kayley as she not so subtly brushes her bare thigh against my arm. “I’m kind of in the middle of some—”

“Tyler,” Mom croaks. At the sound of it, I go rigid, and Kayley’s brows draw, sensing the shift in me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I ... your father and I have been in an accident.”

Already on my feet, I place some cash on the table, shooting Kayley an apologetic look before hauling ass out the door and onto Main Street. Bypassing a few trick-or-treaters with bags and buckets in hand, I round the corner of the red-brick building, plugging my open ear. “What happened?”

“We were out running errands, and your father lost control of the wheel.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m a little banged up, but I’m okay. The doctor is releasing me now.”

“Is Dad—”

“Tyler,” she interjects as dread settles low in my gut. A gust of freezing air hits me as I run my palm down my face.

“What, Mom, what?” I ask, seeing the anguish in his expression when we faced off before shooting up a fast prayer that it’s not the last memory I’ll have of him—with him.

“He’s in jail,” she relays tearfully as my fear immediately morphs into fury. “No one else got hurt,” she adds quickly.

But it’s what she’s not saying and the implications of it that has my mind racing as the full weight of what’s happening settles in.

“Why was he driving in the first place?” The question feels like lead coming off my tongue as lividity fills me. Whatever explanation she gives is drowned out by the blood that starts to pulse in my ears. Any excuse won’t be good enough. Only the truth that my dad was drunk and got arrested for DUI.

The rest of the unspoken fear in her voice is due to what the more damning consequences could be aside from the legal mess and possible jail time. Her genuine fear is that this isn’t or won’t be Dad’s rock bottom.

No, this is just the heads-up that it’s coming, and we both know why.

Chances are Carter Jennings’s most recent fuckup just ended his twenty-year career as a US Marine.

“I’m on my way home.”

* * *

Mom sits in a chair in the living room, silent tears trickling down her bruised cheek. A goose egg now sits fully formed at her right temple,bothof her wrists taped. Sitting on the couch opposite her, I take in every detail, my rage festering and threatening to take over as I bristle across from her in wait. Uncle Gray had called in a favor with one of his cop buddies—the favor allowing him to post bail before Dad had to serve the required time in the drunk tank. They’re due any minute, but I can’t help but address my mom as the seconds tick down.

“Mom—”

“I know what you’re about to say,” she sniffs, gently blotting away her tears, “and I’m asking you not to.”

“Please, Mom. Please just leave him. He’s not going to get any better. Things are just going to get worse.”

Pushing the ottoman sitting at the foot of her chair to the side, I take a knee before her and gently grip her hands in mine.

“I’ll help pay the bills.” A sob bursts from her with my offer. “I’ll do whatever you need me to. It’s been you and me for so long anyway.” I squeeze her hands. “We can make it work without him. At least until you get on your feet.”

“Enough,” she clips, her return gaze flaring in warning.

My own temper flares at the sight of it. “Jesus Christ, Mom. Look in the mirror. He could have killed you!”

“Stop,” she whispers, “just stop.”

Releasing her hands, I shake my head in aggravation.