Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
“Jessica,” he says back, like a test.
Then he sees the young man some paces behind her. It is confusing at first, because this isn’t the charismatic, bright-eyed champion he remembered. This young man is timid and quiet. Withdrawn and irritable-looking, his face creased with tension.
But in his eyes, Brock sees his son, sees Asher, sees the boy he cherishes with all his soul. Brock comes toward him, hardly notices his wife stumbling out of the way, smiles broadly. Asher looks at him with a mixture of uncertainty and fear.
“Ash,” says Brock, discovering the nickname again.
“Dad,” quietly returns the teenager, still uncertain.
“It’s me,” Brock insists. The more he stares into his son’s eyes, the more human he becomes, the more sure he becomes. He is alive. He never died. None of those things happened. That’s why he’s been reciting the words. They were given to him by a well-meaning therapist he visited, a therapist with cool blue eyes. “It’s me, it’s your dad. I’m here.”
“I-I know,” says Asher awkwardly. “Who else would you be?”
Brock grabs his son without warning and traps him in the tightest embrace. He can feel his son’s heartbeat raging with a vengeance, thumping through his veins, rocketing into Brock’s body like the echoes of a great big drum, shaking the world.
Jessica’s voice comes softly. “Should we go inside?”
It is difficult to let go of his son. When he does, he feels as if every trace of love within his body is ripped away from him. He watches his very confused son, t-shirt and jeans, messy hair, go into the suite. As his wife says something else, Brock passes by her, heading inside, then sits with his son on the long couch.
Asher keeps looking at him, eyebrows stitched together.
Brock keeps smiling back, silent, amazed.
“Sweetie,” comes Jessica’s voice from near the door, from the front of the kitchenette, near a barstool. “Don’t you have an assignment you need to finish for school? Your father and I—”
“I did it already,” says Asher.
“Please go into the bedroom.”
“Mom.”
“I said please, sweetie.”
Asher rises from the couch. Brock’s eyes remain on him as he circles the suite to the bedroom door, slips inside without another word, closes it behind him. The sound of the bedroom TV is heard, softly muffled through the door. Brock continues staring at that door, as if he can magically see his son even still, staring through it, their eye contact still not broken somehow.
“Brock?”
Brock finally turns to Jessica, as if noticing her now for the very first time. He smiles again. “Sweetheart, there you are.”
“I said your name six times.” She comes around the couch. It’s strange, how she keeps her distance. “Are you okay?”
Brock died. Brock came back. It was all like a dream. Brock should forget it ever happened. Things are okay now.
“Yes,” answers Brock. “I’m okay.”
Jessica doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer. “Where …” She lowers herself onto the couch, all the way on the other end. “Where have … Where have you been? All this time, Brock? It’s been over a week since we last heard from you.”
“I did not die,” he states.
Jessica’s face creases. “You think this is a joke?” He stares blankly back at her. “Brock.” She scoots closer. “What is going on? I thought you were abducted. Mugged and left for dead. I’d gone through your emails, seeing if you had some enemy you never told me about. If you hadn’t suddenly shown up, I would have suspected Kyle had … had done something unthinkable …”
“Kyle?” Everything in the room spins into focus, clicks into place, at once bright and vibrant. Brock leans forward. “Kyle?” he repeats. “What about Kyle?”
Jessica frowns again, squinting at him. “Did you forget that was the whole reason you’re here? To see him? After that video our son stumbled on?” She scoffs in disbelief. “Brock, why are you acting so bizarre?” After a second, her voice softens. “I was just there, in that little town way off the road. Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him, hasn’t aged a day … Kyle Amos.”
Brock nearly falls off the couch as he draws closer. “Have you seen him? Is he okay?”
“I just said. Yes, I saw him.”
“I thought he was hurt. I thought he might be hurt. Kyle …” Brock’s eyes go somewhere else. “I don’t want anyone to hurt him. He’s my guy, he’s my man, my pal … I … I don’t …” His eyes find the windows, the sunlight washing in like white foam, blanketing everything in an indistinct haze.
A hand touches his arm. He flinches, turns. Jessica is next to him. “I know you care about him. You care about him a lot.”
“I do.”
“You pretty much upended your life just to find him again. We all thought he’d died. I understand. The Lord answered all our prayers and He brought him back to us, brought him back into our lives.” She rubs his arm, smiling. “You are in shock.”