Page 111 of The Last Guy On Earth
“Calling Toby.”
But the phone rings out. No pickup. And his voicemail is full. “Call Dad, Siri.”
“Calling Dad, champion.”
But he doesn’t pick up either, which is odd. Unless they’re grocery shopping or something.
I drive home feeling a little worried. And then I let myself into a silent house. “Hello?”
My own voice echoes back to me. They’re not home, which isn’t that strange. I guess. So I take my suitcase upstairs to unpack.
That’s when I find the note on my bed.
Jethro—
Great game last night. We know you’re tied up for another ten days now, but we couldn’t wait. I scored a couple last minute tickets to Michigan and we went home to visit Shelby, and to show up for her parole hearing.
—Dad
With an angry shout, I ball up the note and throw it against the wall. Then I pull out my phone and text him.
You can’t just take the kid to another state without my knowledge or consent. That isn’t how custody works.
No response.
I’ve been banging around my condo for a good fifteen minutes by the time he replies, and the breezy tone makes me feel ragey.
Just landed! Sorry. It was a quick decision. Toby is so pumped to be home. And it’s important to show up for your sister.
He follows it up with a photo of Toby smiling in an airplane seat like he just won the lottery.
Fuck. I’m so torn. I want Toby to have his mom, but this wasn’t the way to do it.
Ask yourself why you felt the need to sneak out of town without telling me. Does that sit right with you?
Didn’t think you’d want to interrupt your pregame routine to discuss the idea. You’ve barely been home in the last four weeks. Don’t lose your shit over this. We’re doing great.
I lie down on my bed and sulk. I’m exhausted. I’m angry. My personal life is running off the rails, and I’m under a lot of stress at the office.
But then I think about Clay, and I feel a little calmer. What would Clay do in this situation?
He’d go watch the game at Newgate’s.
So that’s what I do.
Newgate and his fiancé live barely a mile away in a townhouse complex that’s a bit grander than mine. The front door openseven before I can knock. “Hey!” Newgate says, grinning at me in the doorway. “Wasn’t sure I’d see you. No kid?”
“No kid. That’s a long story. But I’m happy to be here. Brought some sodas.” I hand him a case of Spindrift.
“Come on in,” he says. “Game is at the four-minute mark. No score yet. Who are you rooting for, anyway?”
“Tough question,” I admit, following him into a generous living room with a fireplace. My teammates are scattered around on the furniture and spilling onto the floor in front of the TV. “I guess I need Detroit to win so I can finish them off myself,mano a mano.”
He grins. “Fair. That’s how I felt about Brooklyn right after they traded me. But it gets better.”
“I’m not sure I believe you, but that’s okay. My anger keeps me warm at night.”
He laughs. “You’ve met Gavin?”
