Page 74 of Dream a Little Dream

“Hey,” he mumbled into the phone. He supposed it didn’t matter if he sounded drunk this time. He was old enough now.

“Aaron? It’s Jervine.”Her voice was soft, like a tickle from the past, but there was something in the tone that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

“Yeah.” He ran a hand over his face. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause. “Romeo Oscar Charlie. Can you give me the code, love?”

He rubbed his forehead, the alcohol blurring his thoughts, but somehow the code fell from his lips automatically. “Alma Zulu Foxtrot.”

A beat. Then Jervine chuckled. “Alma?”

“Alpha,” he corrected, shaking his head as if that would make him sober up.

“Aaron, eh? Nice shiny new name. Let me guess, first name on the form they gave you?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like I know you.”

Aaron snorted. Yeah, she knew him. Half social worker, half police. She’d been there since the day the police handed him over to the protected person’s unit. She’d given him his first name, which he’d liked better. Daryl. It had felt different. Exotic. He’d traded on that for a while. Until that fucker of a foster father ripped him apart, then sent him back into the system. After that, he couldn’t give a fuck what name they gave him. Aaron was as good as any, he supposed.

“Anyone else around?”Jervine’s voice was serious now, cutting through his daze.

“No. What’s this about?”

She hesitated. “I’ve got some news…wanted you to hear it from me before it hits the media.”

Aaron tightened his grip on the phone, a pit forming in his stomach. “Go on.”

There was a long silence, then, “Your father’s dead.”

The world narrowed, the sounds of the street and the faint music from the party fading into nothing. All that remained was the numbness that had always sat at the edges of his mind, creeping in deeper now. He should have felt something—relief, anger, anything—but all he felt was the same emptiness. The same cold, hollow feeling he’d carried with him for years.

“Aaron?” Jervine’s voice brought him back, faint and concerned.

“I’m here,” he said, swallowing hard. “How?”

“Hanged. In his cell.”

Aaron closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face, but it did nothing to erase the creeping cold in his chest. “Suicide?”

“Officially.”

The silence stretched between them, loaded with all the things left unsaid. Jervine, ever the professional, gave him space to process, but she didn’t hang up. She knew better than to leave him alone with this. Because there would also be an unofficial stance on Frank’s death.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Aaron managed to say, though the words felt empty.

“Of course. It’ll be on the news soon. Do you need anything?”

“A large whisky.” He tightened his hold on the bottle of JD clutched aptly in his hand.

“Go get one. Then forget the fucker.”

Aaron closed the call, her words ringing in his ears. Forget him. How could he? His father’s ghost had haunted him his whole life. Why would it disappear now he was actually dead? So, tucking his phone in his back pocket, he took a swig straight from the bottle. Another one. A third. Fuck. His brain was like electric static. He couldn’t function. And his eyes stung. He felt sick.

The door clicked open. “Aaron?”

Aaron turned to Taylor in the doorway.

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