Broken Strings

One

There was no trace of it now. Clearly, he'd been hoping to avoid this meeting. "I left a note for you on the counter. I didn't expect you home until tonight. My mom is back in the hospital. It's not looking good."

"Oh."

"My flight to Philadelphia leaves in a few hours."

"Do you need a ride to the airport?"

Lewis shook his head. "I've got a car coming. One of those airport limos."

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Lewis sighed. "I'm sorry, Brock. Really, I am."

Brock waved it off, even as he felt a numbness spreading through him. This had to be the worst day he'd ever lived. The hits just wouldn't stop coming. "It's okay. You've gotta take care of your mom. I get it."

"Thanks." Lewis fidgeted for a second. Added, "I don't know how long I'll be gone. So..."

"It's okay," Brock said again.

"I guess what I'm saying is don't wait for me."

Brock stilled. Felt his chest constrict. Forced himself to nod. "Give me a call if you're ever back out here in L.A., Lew."

"I will."

Lewis paused only long enough to peck Brock on the cheek before he was gone disappearing out into the hallway. After a moment, Brock heard the ping! of the elevator and then the mechanical whir as the doors shut, carrying Lewis away.

Brock closed the front door and ran a hand over his face. "Fuck," he said and went to get a beer from his refrigerator.

Two hours later, his roommate found him. Three bottles of beer in, a half-eaten pizza sitting on the coffee table as Brock lounged on the couch, watching a movie.

"You're not watching this garbage, are you?" Jay Dawson said as he came to collapse on the other end of the couch, a bottle of Lite beer in his hand. He was dressed normally – a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt beneath a leather jacket, the latter of which he tossed onto a footstool – but his midnight dark hair was still styled. He'd probably come home straight from set.

On the screen, Brock and Jay watched as a fight scene between two mobsters unfolded. It was a poorly executed fight scene. Drastically unrealistic, the actors hardly looked as if they were throwing punches. Brock was sure that he could throw a better fake punch than what they were doing and his acting skills were abysmal at best.

Poor Jay was actually cringing. "Seriously," he said. His green eyes were the slightest bit pained as he watched what was unfolding on the screen. "Why this? The Escape was just a waste of money. I think it only got one star."

"I bet you would have made it better."

Jay only stared at him flatly. "Nothing could have made this better. Not even me."

Brock snorted and sipped from his beer. "So modest, Dawson."

"Where's Lewis?" Jay asked as he reached for a slice of pizza.

"He left."

"What?"

"He's gone. His mom is sick. She's got Parkinson's and it's not looking good. He's gone home to take care of her."

"When's he coming back?"

"I don't know if he is," Brock admitted. "He told me not to wait for him."