Page 152 of Redemption
I snort. “Says the man that steals other people’s food.”
He doesn’t even bother looking sheepish. “Hey, a man’s got to eat.” His hands tuck under his vest, face losing its humor. “In all seriousness, Hayes. I’m here to check on you. We’ve been friends a long time, and I know where your head went after last night. You’re blaming yourself for what happened, and that’s just not true.”
“Yeah, man, it is. I shouldn’t have let him play,” I say, gritting my teeth and looking out over the field.
A hard shove at my shoulder catches me off guard.
“Dude. What was that for?” I ask, bringing my attention to my best friend.
But it’s not my fun-loving, go-with-the-flow best friend standing beside me. Campbell’s furious. Red heats his cheeks, and his fists are clenched at his side. I wonder if he’s going to take a swing at me.
“I let him play, too. I knew everything you did, and I let him play, too. But guess what? I don’t blame myself. Do you want to know why, Hayes?”
I give him a sharp shake of my head, still reeling from the fact that he shoved me. “Because I’m not God. I can’t know everything that’s going to happen. I’m not in control. Bad things happen because this is an evil world, man. But I can’t take responsibility for things I can’t control. You’ve got to learn that. And as your best friend, I thought you were, but here we are again, in the same place we were when Langston died.”
My jaw pops. “I am not back there again. Drop it.”
His eyes narrow. “No. You’re right. You aren’t back there yet. But that’s where you’re heading if you don’t get out of this mind space. And do you know what happened the last time you tried to pick up the guilt that God wanted you to lay down?”
“Drop it, Campbell,” I bark.
This conversation is taking a turn that I don’t want to go down.
His laugh is gruff, and he reaches out and shoves me again. “Make me, Hayes. Get some of that anger off your chest and make me. Because if you don’t, you’re going to lose MJ again, and you were an insufferable jerk the first time you shoved her out.”
Anger blinds me.
For one brief second, I blackout, and when I come back to the light, Campbell is lying on the ground from where I tackled him.
“Dude,” he grins, some of his anger still shining in his eyes, “I knew you still tackled like a girl.”
Growling, I shove off of him, raking my hands through my hair. “Do you ever know when to shut up?”
“Nah. It’s part of my charm. But I’m serious, man, don’t follow paths you’ve already been down. Forge a new one. It’s past time you forgive yourself.”
The shrill ring of my phone in my pocket interrupts before I can tell him to mind his business again.
Still glaring at him, I fish it out of my pocket and shove my finger over my lips like I’m quieting a toddler.
Theo’s name lights up my screen.
Last night, I grabbed Theo’s number before we left the hospital, and I texted him this morning.
Tanner was being released, and Theo was taking him home to rest.
My heart slams against my rib cage as I imagine every scenario of why Theo is calling, and none of them are good.
Sliding my thumb across the screen, I lift my phone to my ear and say, “Hello.”
“Is my son with you?” Theo doesn’t bother with niceties.
And I steady my breath, trying to calm the panic that his words bring.
“No. Why?”
“He’s missing.”
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