The body knows before the brain does, sometimes.
And the heart before the brain.
Wow, that’s deep. I snicker to myself and get up. I need to get to the gym. Nobody else is at home—Zayne’s apartment feels more like home than any place I’ve ever lived in—when my phone starts ringing.
It’s an incoming call from a number I don’t recognize. Frowning, I accept the call, my pulse spiking even though I’m sure it can’t be…
“Hello?” I whisper. “Who is it?”
“Gigi,” a familiar male voice says and a buzzing starts in my ears. “Listen… I know you probably don’t want to hear my voice again, but please, don’t hang up.”
I fall back in my chair. “Travis?”
* * *
Did Travis call with a long story to tell me?
Nope.
My brother won’t say much. He says he’s here, in the city, with someone, but won’t say with whom. Won’t say where or why or how. Won’t talk about how he is or how he feels. Why he felt he had to run away, leaving no return address and no message for us.
No apologies, either.
All he wants is that I talk to Mom, tell her he’s okay and will be in touch soon. When I ask why he can’t call her himself, he’s silent.
“Come on, Tray,” I say, frowning. “You calledme, remember? Mom is frantic. We’re both worried. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Leaving was… necessary,” he grinds out.
“But why? Talk to me.”
“Nothing to talk about. I need time to find myself, I need… space.”
“I figured as much. But you could have said so, you know.”
“Mom doesn’t get me,” he mutters.
“And I do?”
A pause. “I have hurt you in the past.”
“Yes, you have,” I agree. “Yet you calledme. Why me? Why wouldIget it?”
“Because you always get me.” He sounds so earnest. It throws me back to happier days, and I find my defenses crumpling.
“Are you really okay?” I ask. “Tell me the truth.”
And his voice softens in the way it used to when we were kids and he went all protective. “I’ll be okay, sis.”
Not the same, but then he says goodbye and hangs up, and I’m left staring at the far wall.
At least I have this phone number, and I realize I plan on calling him back soon, just to check on him. And hopefully, one day he’ll find himself and come back… come back as himself, not the hollow man he’s been for the past few years.
God, hope really is sharp like a knife, I think, acknowledging the pain in my chest and the pounding of my heart. He has been awful to me, but I want him well and happy. He’s my brother, and if there is any chance… Any chance at all that he’ll crawl out of that hole…
I wipe tears from my eyes and find a smile on my lips.
Yeah, I’ll take those odds.