Page 52 of More Than a Hero
He wasn’t a badass. He was just a scared kid in a ditch, caught in something way bigger than himself.
They pulled him out of the wreckage and placed him on the ground. The harsh glare of a flashlight cut through the terror, blinding him as a rescue worker leaned in close, checking his eyes.
“You hurt anywhere?” the man asked, his voice steady but sharp.
Robert shook his head. His body ached, but nothing felt broken. His head throbbed, but when the medic checked his pupils, his brain wasn’t rattling too badly. No concussion. Just a lucky idiot sitting in the dirt, hands shaking, trying to catch his breath.
But luck only stretched so far. Because a second later, cold metal cuffs snapped around his wrists, and a deputy hauled him to his feet. He didn’t fight. Didn’t argue. Didn’t even ask questions. He just let them shove him into the back of the police car, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his skull.
He’d stared out the window as the cruiser pulled away, the flashing lights reflecting against the glass. He thought about his family. His mom was at work. His grandpa was probably waiting for the kids to get off the bus, unaware that his grandson was now locked in the back of a cop car, heading straight for a cell.
But what about later? Would his mom come home to find a message from the police? Would his grandpa answer the phone and hear that Robert had officially thrown his life into the gutter?
Would they still look at him the same? The thought made his stomach twist so hard he thought he might throw up.
By the time they booked him and took him to a lone cell, the fake toughness he’d been clinging to had shattered into a million pieces. The reality was cold, brutal, and staring him right in the face. He’d tried to act tough when the detectives interviewed him, but that act quickly fell apart.
“Make your fuckin’ call, asshole!”
The shout from behind jolted him, snapping him back to the present. Robert swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. His hands were still shaking. He forced himself to punch in the number, his fingers trembling over the keys.
It rang once. Twice. Then his grandfather’s voice, gruff and sharp, came through the line. “Hello?”
“Grandpa?”
“Where are you, boy? I almost didn’t pick up, then saw the sheriff’s department on the ID.”
Robert’s throat tightened. He forced the words out. “Grandpa, it’s Robert—I messed up. I messed up real bad.”
Silence. Then a slow inhale, the kind that told Robert his grandfather was already bracing for the worst. “Oh, boy,” his grandpa murmured, his voice low with disappointment. “The deputies came to talk to your mom, but I want to hear it from you. What have you done?”
Robert’s chest ached. “I got in a car with someone I shouldn’t have. They wrecked, and then they had…” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to say it.
His grandfather’s sharp intake of breath cut through the line. “I can’t believe that was you!” His voice had risen now, almosta shout. “Some gangbanger drug dealer tearing through town, wrecking his car with some teenager with him.”
Robert swallowed hard, his throat thick, his eyes stinging. “I didn’t know, Grandpa.” His voice cracked, the weight of it all pressing down on him. “I mean, I knew he was some badass, but I didn’t know he had drugs in the car. He just asked if I wanted to go for a ride.”
His grandfather let out a long, slow breath. It wasn’t relief. It was something worse. “Boy, you’ve done it now,” he muttered. “That was the dumbest thing you could’ve done.”
“I know,” Robert whispered. His fingers curled around the receiver, his knuckles white. “I know.”
He let the silence stretch, barely able to breathe past the lump in his throat. “I’m in jail,” he finally said. “And you’re the one call I’m making.”
Another beat of silence. “Then why the hell didn’t you call your mother?”
Robert flinched.
“She was worried sick leavin’ for her shift tonight without hearing from you,” his grandfather added, his voice heavy with something Robert wasn’t sure he could handle hearing.
“I knew she was working.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I knew she couldn’t come. I knew you’d be okay for one night, but Grandpa, you gotta call someone. Someone to help you.” His voice cracked again, and he hated himself for it. “I’m not gonna be there for you.”
His grandpa was quiet for a long time. Then his voice dropped lower, rougher. “Oh, boy.” A sigh, low and broken. “You done broke my heart.”
Robert squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The tear slipped out anyway, trailing hot and fast down his cheek. He wiped it away with his shoulder, jaw clenched tight. “I know, Grandpa,” he whispered. “I know.”
Another breath of silence. “I’ll talk to the detectives tomorrow,” he admitted, his stomach twisting. “But I’m scared. I never joined a gang, Grandpa. But what if it gets back to someone that I talked?”
His grandpa didn’t answer right away. The pause stretched, the quiet pressing in on Robert from all sides. Finally, his grandpa sighed again. That quiet, weary sound that cut deeper than any words. “I don’t know, Robert,” he murmured.
