Page 53 of Twisted Shot
He swipes it away and stares at the blank screen like it might give him an excuse. Any excuse. Flat tire. Sprained wrist. Sudden amnesia.
No such luck.
Because it’s Wednesday. And on Wednesdays, Theo callshis mother.
Not because she asks him to.
Not because it’s a warm ritual they both enjoy.
But he told himself a long time ago that if he didn’t call, she never would.
And for some reason, he can’t bring himself to be okay with that.
He climbs into the truck, tosses his gear bag into the passenger seat, and pulls out of his driveway before hitting the call button.
A smooth and polished voice answers, clipped and efficient, as if she’s already halfway done with the call. “Theodore.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Hi, Mom.”
“I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Practice ran long,” he mutters, though it didn’t.
“Of course it did.”
Theo swallows a sigh. “How are you?”
“Oh, busy as always. The library fundraiser is this week, and I have three separate galas coming up, which is absurd. I don’t know how I’ll manage. And the venue is insisting on chicken again. As if I haven’t instructed them repeatedly that their chicken is inedible. Your father called it rubber on a plate last year.”
Theo nods as if she can see it. “That sounds...horrifying.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, darling. It doesn’t suit you.”
He clenches his jaw, lets that one go.
A few beats of silence stretch between them—long enough for his nerves to buzz under his skin. Then she adds, almost absently, “I saw the photos from your little hospital visit yesterday.”
He blinks. “You know about that?”
“I’m on the hospital board, Theodore. Do try to keep up.” She pauses. “You looked...involved. Which is quite sweet. The children seemed to enjoy it.”
Theo presses his lips together. Her tone isn’t unkind, but it isn’t warm, either. It’s the way someone might describe a well-executed appetizer at a Michelin-star restaurant.
“They’re good kids,” he says. “Reminded me a little of?—”
“I know,” she cuts in before he can finish. “You were there once too. We haven’t forgotten. Some of the staff still remember you. You were...spirited.”
Theo exhales slowly through his nose. Spirited. That’s one way to describe being ten years old and stuck in an endless loop of appointments with specialists while his mother floated in and out like a visiting dignitary and his father never showed at all.
He doesn’t reply.
She fills the space, as she always does. “Your brother Quentin recently returned from Vienna. He was presenting at an international finance summit. You remember, I told you about it. Apparently, he was quite the star.”
“That’s great.”
“And Conrad closed a deal with some firm in Singapore. They flew him out on a private jet. He says the food on board was better than at his wedding, which I find hard to believe since we held it at the St. Regis...”
Theo hums half-heartedly at the mention of his oldest brother, shutting his brain off as his mother carries on.
