37. Weston

”WESTON! Breakfast is ready!”

How does a woman so small have a voice so big? I roll over, checking the time. Too damn early o” clock.

It”s my last day off before going back to the ice. I don”t want to be up.

”WESTON!”

”Ma! Damn! I”m coming!”

”You better!” my mother hollers back. “I”ll give Hunter his plate and yours!”

With my vital A.M. food source in jeopardy, I roll out of bed and shamble from my room into the kitchen to get some grub.

I didn”t spill the beans to Mom. Neither did Molly. It was Hunter himself who had a whole conversation with her the day after we brought him home. He called her up out of the blue and told her everything.

Naturally, Mom rolled through barely an hour after they spoke. I”m not totally privy to everything that was said, but Hunter is doing better than I”d have expected. He”s got color to his cheeks now. He”s actually moving about the apartment with his back straight.

It”s odd how I hadn”t clocked his perpetual slouch before, or the persistent sick undertone of his skin. Now that I know what he was going through, the difference between newly-sober Hunter and covertly-doping Hunter has seared itself into my mind. Now, I know the signs.

Today? The signs point upward.

Hunter and Molly are at the kitchen table. They look real snug together, shoulder to shoulder as she goes over his treatment plan for the day and floats some ideas his way for getting out of the house.

”It says in here you should get a lot of fresh air and sunshine.”

”So I gotta be treated like a plant?”

”I did suggest a botanical garden.”

”Ah, I see. You”re trying to return me to my rightful people. Make me one with the earth again.”

”Exactly.”

I roll my eyes as I stroll past the pair. ”Gross. Get a room.”

”Mind your business!” Molly hisses at me. When I look over my shoulder at her, her face is tomato red.

Good. I smirk. ”Hard to do that when you”re at the breakfast table.”

”Play nice, Weston,” Ma speaks up.

”Not my M.O.”

I give my mom a side hug, pluck as many strips of bacon as I can pilfer before Ma bops me, and grab some coffee.

”Hey! Hands off unless you”re making your own plate!”

”Ooohhh…. Westie”s in trouble!”

”Dude, I will cross-check you into the afterlife.”

”Don”t hurt me. I”m vulnerable!” Hunter waggles his tongue at me.

The nerve of this bastard. Shooed for the second time this morning, I sit while Ma makes me a proper plate. She”s always taken care of us, but she”s been super doting since coming to help with Hunter. It leaves me to sit with nothing to do, aside from watching Hunter and Molly canoodle with each other.

They”re… soft, together. I don”t even think they realize how they look right now to the rest of the world. If I didn”t know them, I”d say Molly was the caring but firm girlfriend, and Hunter was the sheepish, almost too laidback boyfriend.

But damn, does he look at my sister like she hung each and every star by hand.

If this goes where I think it’s going, I”m happy for them. I don”t begrudge them that happiness, but seeing them also brings up a lot of shit. Specifically: Renee-related kinds of shit.

I take a stab in the dark and shoot Renee a text, even though we haven”t spoken since the hospital. Hey. I want to see you.

The read receipt checks off almost immediately. But there”s no telltale line of dots, no Renee is typing. Just stone-cold fucking silence.

I scowl and type out something else. Renee. Come on. I”m not done with this. I”m not done with you.

Again, she reads but she doesn”t reply.

I wait for the anger to come. I can deal with being angry. What I end up feeling instead is an overwhelming emptiness.

That is much harder to manage.

”Hey. Eat.” Ma slides over a full plate of food. Waffles, eggs, sausage, hash browns. Like she thinks we’re in the Deep South, not the kale-eating heart of Los Angeles.

On a whim, I snap a picture of my plate and send it to Renee. Wish you were here. Ma”s over.

I get a heart reaction. Then the Holy Grail appears: Renee is typing…

RENEE: I was wondering who made such a good looking plate.

RENEE: Definitely not you.

WESTON: You wound me.

RENEE: You”ll live. You”re a big strong athlete and I’m just…

”What”s so funny over there?” Hunter pipes in, curious.

”Your face.”

”Rude.”

My phone dings with a picture. A picture of her. She”s so beautiful, even in a messy bun and loose sweats. Her smile is soft, though it doesn”t fully reach her eyes.

I save the pic instantly.

Her eyes are heartbreakingly distant. I wonder if she even sees it in herself or if she’s too far gone for that. I scan the background, looking for hints of anything that might be going on. It’s blank wall, a bookshelf halfway through a reorg—and a mangled pile of camera bits.

WESTON: You”re fucking beautiful, P. What happened to your camera?

Renee is typing…lingers on my screen longer than the text I get justifies.

RENEE: What do you mean?

I roll my eyes. Screenshotting her picture, I edit it with a big red circle around the obliterated camera.

WESTON: Looks like you tried to make a camera smoothie. What gives?

I know Renee. That camera might as well be her baby. She’d never let it get dropped off a skyscraper or whatever the fuck. But that’s exactly the bullshit excuse she tries to pull.

RENEE: Dropped it being clumsy.

I”m not buying it. There are accidents and then there’s whatever happened here. That camera was destroyed.

Deliberately.

Renee would never, but that Carrington prick looks like the kind of guy who”d take his temper out on someone else”s things. Guys like that need total control—and not the fun kind.

I know if I level this shit at her, she”s going to bounce. So I leave my suspicions checked at the door.

WESTON: When you getting a new one?

RENEE: idk

Before she”s even sent that, I already have a Google search going. Best cameras for professional photographers…

WESTON: You got a back up? I think I got an old Polaroid in an attic if you need a temp…

RENEE: Ha, ha, so funny.

RENEE: Joke”s on you though, Polaroids are still hot. People love the retro aesthetic.

WESTON: Show me. Take pics.

RENEE: Of what?

WESTON: Anything. Everything. I just want to see life through your eyes.