Page 20 of Daddy's Muse
The second night, I turned the desk lamp on and left it running until morning.
Last night, I thought I heard something shift under the bed.
I chalked it up to paranoia, or maybe just the kind of irrational anxiety that crept in when you were living too long on edge. I was used to flinching at shadows—used to holding my breath when I entered the room, waiting to see what kind of mood Bryan was in.
But now therewasno Bryan. And somehow, I still couldn’t relax. I felt ridiculous that my live-in bully being gone made meso unnerved. If anything, I should’ve been celebrating each and every minute that I had the room to myself.
I heard a knock at the door just as I was finishing up a paragraph in my lit paper.
I froze for half a second, then got up, heart thumping in my chest.
When I opened the door, a woman stood in the hallway—short brown hair, deep worry lines around her mouth, and a set of keys trembling faintly in her hand.
“Colby?” she asked.
I blinked. “Uh… yeah.”
“I’m Bryan’s mother. I just—” she hesitated, then gave me a tight smile. “I came to get a few of his things.”
“Oh.” I stepped aside immediately, unsure what to do with my hands. “Yeah, of course. I didn’t know he… I mean, is he okay? He hasn’t been in touch for the past few days. I’ve been kinda worried.”
Her expression faltered, and that’s when I noticed the redness in her eyes. She’d been crying recently.
“He’s in the hospital,” she said softly. “There was an accident. They think he tripped or slid on some black ice. He fell down a flight of stairs. He… he’s in a coma.”
A cold breath slipped into my lungs and sat there.
“A coma?” I echoed, blinking. “Is he going to…?”
“They’re not sure yet,” she said quickly, voice a little too bright now. “They’re monitoring him. The swelling in his brain’s gone down a little. That’s good. He’s… he’s strong. He’s a tough kid, you know? I just wanted to pick up some of his things so that he has them when he wakes up.”
I nodded, still staring at her like I was trying to decipher some kind of secret meaning behind her words. I pictured Bryan’s face, lively and cruel. My brain couldn’t comprehend that he was in a coma. It felt like at any time, he’d pop up andmake fun of me for buying into some joke he’d roped his mother into.
But the pain on her face said otherwise. There was no way to fake a mother’s anguish for her child’s suffering.
“I just keep reminding myself of all the sports injuries he’s had over the years. He always pulled through,” she continued. “I’m sure he’ll be back at school in no time.”
I let out a breath. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
She smiled again, but this one was even softer. “You must be a good roommate. He never complains about you.”
I felt my throat close around something I didn’t know how to swallow. I didn’t correct her. I didn’t want to tell her that he probably didn’t complain because he was pleased with his docile punching bag. She didn’t need to know that her son tormented me. She didn’t deserve that on her conscience, especially not right now.
She gathered a few of his things quickly—his tablet, some chargers, a few shirts, and I helped her bag them up while making some small talk.
She looked at the open bag, then at me. “Is there anything else you can think of?”
“No, I think this is good. I’m sure he’ll be happy just to use his phone again.” I gave her a small smile, trying my best to comfort her.
“Thank you, Colby. You should come visit my husband and I with Bryan for a weekend once this is all over. I can tell you’re a great friend.”
“O-oh,” I stumbled. “Sure. Thank you, ma’am.”
She took a deep breath before wrapping me in a hug. My body stiffened, but gradually I relaxed into her.
“Bryan is lucky to have such a good mom,” I told her, the words coming from my heart.
“Thank you, hon,” she sniffled, her eyes glassy.
