The phone shakes in your hand. You didn’t mean to call. You just couldn’t not.

One ring.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

His voice comes low and warm, like stepping inside from the cold. You try to answer, but your throat locks up. You swallow. Try again. The words tumble out broken and breathless: “They—they said—called me a—”

There’s a stillness on the other end. Not silence—Will doesn’t do silence. Just the weight of a man settin’ down whatever he was doin’, already on his feet. “Where you at, baby?”

You manage the name of the school. He doesn’t even need directions.

“You listen to me now.” “You ain’t done nothin’ wrong. You hear?” “I’m gettin’ in the truck. I’ll be there in ten. You just sit tight, alright?”

He pauses again, the soft sound of his breath carryin’ through.

“You my boy. Just the way you are. Nothin’ about today changes that.”

You can hear the turn of his keys. The slam of a car door. Gravel under tires.

“I’m comin’. You hang on.”