POWER BACK

Chapter 15: Arms

Arms

Jack, October

Six hours and ten texts later, she still hasn't responded. I'm showered and dressed, sitting in the kitchen eating a late lunch of leftover chicken and rice when my mom walks in.

"Hey bud," she says, smiling. "How was the dance?"

"Good. Where y'all been?"

"Oh, I thought I told you. Dad and I went to Houston. John and Becca had an event last night, so we made dinner for the grandbabies and stayed over."

"Oh, that's right."

"Sorry we missed you and Bree. Did you get some good pictures?"

"Bree made sure of it. They're probably all over Insta by now. I'll get you some. How are my girls?"

"Perfect. So damn adorable. That little Lottie is such a spitfire."

Charlotte is my youngest niece. Everybody calls her Lottie. She's three and already a handful.

"What's she into now?" I ask.

"Kitties. She wants to be a cat. She insists on eating and drinking out of bowls on the ground. And she refuses to take baths. Instead, she licks the back of her hand and rubs it against her skin and hair." She giggles. "She's really pushing mommy and daddy to the edge. They drew the line when she asked for a litter box."

I laugh, shaking my head. "How's Ava?" Ava is quiet and serious. She's only six, but we have the best conversations. She's always asking me questions like if I ate myself, would I be twice as big, or just gone? Sometimes those conversations linger in my mind for days after we talk.

"She's a thinker, that one. Such a curious mind." Ma smiles.

"Yep." I nod.

"So, what are you up to on this beautiful Sunday afternoon?"

I shrug. "Might go hang out with Peyton. Throw the ball or something."

"How's she doing?"

"Honestly, I don't know. She seemed good last night. But not sure that's still the case."

"Yeah, I heard about the paper."

I nod. "It's all bullshit. I hope everybody knows that."

"If there's one thing I know, it's that the truth always comes out, for better or worse. But it sounds like she could use a friend."

"Yeah." I rinse my dish and put it in the dishwasher. "Alright, I'm out. Text me if you need anything—I'm going right by HEB."

"Okay. Thanks, Bud."

*****

I've never visited Peyton at home before. According to the football directory, she lives about ten miles away from the ranch on East Lake Drive, nearer to town. I turn into her neighborhood and drive by the mid-size houses tucked far back from the road on lots that are at least an acre or two. Her gravel driveway winds down and back up until I reach the house. It's a two-story farmhouse style with a wide front porch.

My nerves have now taken over—I don't know what I thought I was doing, just showing up like this. I sit in my car and send her one last text.

I'm here.

I wait a few minutes, drumming my fingers on the seat. No response.

Someone is peeking out the front window at me, probably wondering what the hell a random truck is doing parked in their very remote drive.