Chapter 1

The old rig groaned under Michael as he downshifted for the grade.

Forty-eight years old, and his body felt twice that.

Another load, another state line crossed.

He did it for them. For Jessica, his wife of eighteen years.

For Ethan, his boy.

Ethan was smart, top of his class, National Merit Scholar.

Michael swelled with pride just thinking about it.

But the boy worked too hard, barista, groceries, deliveries.

He thought they were poor.

Michael pushed that thought away, like he always did.

He' d make it work. He always did.

His phone buzzed, a local number he didn' t recognize.

He usually let unknown calls go to voicemail on a run.

Something made him answer.

"Is this Michael, Ethan's father?" a woman's voice asked, tight and professional.

"Yes, this is Michael. Is Ethan okay?"

A pause. Too long.

"There's been an accident, sir. A hit-and-run. Ethan... he didn't make it. I'm so sorry."

The world tilted. The rig seemed to float.

"No," Michael whispered. "No, not Ethan."

"Sir, are you there? We need you to come to Mercy General Hospital."

Michael couldn't breathe. His son. His brilliant, hardworking son.

Killed. While rushing between jobs. Exhausted.

To help them.

The pain was a vise on his chest.

He pulled the rig over, hazard lights flashing in the dimming twilight.

He had to call Jessica. She needed to know.

He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking.

He dialed her number.

Straight to voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Jessica. Leave a message."

He tried again. Voicemail.

And again. Voicemail.

Panic clawed at him. Where was she?

Ethan was dead. Their son was dead.

He called again, letting it ring and ring.

Finally, music. Loud music. Laughter.

"Hello?" Jessica's voice, bright, cheerful. Distant.

"Jessica! It's Ethan! There's been an accident!"

"Michael? What? I can barely hear you! There's so much noise here!"

"Ethan's at Mercy General! He's... he's gone, Jess! They said he's gone!"

The line was muffled. He heard her say, "Who is it?" to someone else.

Then, "Michael, I can't talk right now, I'm in the middle of something really important for Kevin. Brandon's party. Call you later, okay?"

Click.

She hung up.

Brandon's party.

Kevin's son.

More important than their own son's death.

The words echoed in the cab of his truck. "A little suffering is fine."

He didn't know where that thought came from, but it chilled him to the bone.

He started the rig. He had to get to the hospital. He had to see his boy.