Page 112 of The Way Home

“Jamie.”

“Okay.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her adjust herponytail to splay above her head so that she could lie flat. “What’s going on with him? General stuff?”

“He’s cleared to bike again, and I bought him one for his birthday a few weeks ago. But this morning, I watched his location, and it took him two hours to get to work. I think he might’ve walked.”

“How long does it usually take him?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Huh.” Angie thought about that. “I mean… he was probably nervous, right? Or maybe he stopped for a coffee?”

“It’s possible, but what if he getssonervous on the road that he gets into another—” Caleb stopped, unable to say the word.

“Accident?” Angie finished gently.

He swallowed hard and nodded. “I know it’s fucking stupid. I can’t live my life wondering if Jamie’s going to get hurt again. But watching his little dot today on the way to work… he made it halfway there and then just stopped.” He shuddered. “Ang, I practically lost it. I called him three times, and then I called Jean-Baptiste.”

Angie let out a low whistle. “Must’ve been bad for you to call your arch nemesis.”

“Jean-Baptiste isnotmy arch nemesis.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, I’m so fucking grateful he answered,” Caleb continued. “We were both freaking out for like an hour. I think… I think Jamie stopped and—I don’t even know. Got a coffee and walked his bike the rest of the way. But he hasn’t said…”

Angie reached over and wrapped her hand around his forearm. “Caleb. It’s perfectly normal to worry about Jamie. What you both went through was extremely traumatic.”

“Nothing happened to me.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Swallowing against the burn in his throat, Caleb turned his head toward her. Angie’s hand was small where it held his arm, but the contact felt nice. He hadn’t realized he’d needed it until she’d offered it up to him. Maybe it was a mother thing, but somehow, Angie always knew exactly what to do.

It made him miss his own mother.

“Jamie loves you,” she added. “You know that, right?”

A tight choke rose in his throat.

“I think you need to talk to him about these worries. Would it help if we went to see him?”

Caleb’s head snapped toward her. “What? Now?”

“Yeah, you dolt.” She sat up and shrugged. “Freya’s with her dad, I’ve got nothing better to do and”—she glanced at the clock on the wall—“it’s only half past three.”

Rolling his eyes, Caleb muttered, “You could be doing your exercises.”

Angie stood and offered him a hand. “This is more important today.”

As Caleb reached up and let her haul him to his feet, the door squeaked open. They both turned as Halcombe strode into the room, his eyes immediately locking onto Caleb.

“Ah, Mister Reed. You’re still here.”

“Yeah. I’m still here.”

“We were just heading out,” Angie said curtly. After receiving a glare from Halcombe, she amended, “Coach.”

He gave her a brief nod, looking her over. “Getting cleared soon?”