Pierce sat upright in the narrow rehab bed, pillows stacked behind him, phone warm in his hand. The room was dim and quiet, all clean lines and softened edges, like pain had been carefully organized and tucked away.
Cade’s name glowed on the screen:
Important news, Pierce, please pick up.
He did not answer.
His thumb hovered, uncertain, as if the phone might buzz again if he waited long enough. It did not.
His mother stood near the window, arms folded, watching the parking lot below like it held answers. When she spoke, her voice was calm in the way that always made him feel smaller. “You need to focus on getting better.”
“I am,” Pierce said. He meant it. Or wanted to.
She turned slightly, just enough to look at him. “Then don’t complicate things.”
She left before he could respond.
