One More Year

Chapter 22

Here we are!
Another short chapter. 
A lot of the upcoming chapters will probably be shorter as we work towards the end of this story. 

TW: Ableist language

Please enjoy!

~TH~

Spot looked at Race. His little brother was curled up in one of the chairs, his head on Medda's lap. Spot couldn't stay still. He was angry. He paced back and forth in the small waiting room.

He had told Jack not to go back. He'd thought that even if Jack didn't listen to him, he'd listen to Race. But he had gone anyway and both of the boys had wound up in a mess.

Race had been panicked, terrified, when he had called. That had made Spot nearly panic. He held it together though. He always did. That's who he was.

The story Spot had gotten from Race was frustrating. How could the police let a known abuser who was in their custody, get away? Especially when Jack was still on the scene? It didn't make any sense.

The last anyone had heard, Jack was in surgery. Poor kid couldn't catch a break. Maybe now things would get better for him. Assuming he survived this. Which he would.

Medda stood up from her seat. Spot and Race both looked at her inquisativly. "I have something I need to do, you boys just wait here." And she headed down the hall.

Spot sighed and sat in Medda's vacated seat. Race leaned into him. "Shouldn't we tell him?"

"Who?"

"Jack's brother. Doesn't he deserve to know? I'd wanna know." He said quietly.

That was actually a fair point. But, "Do you know his number? How could we get a hold of him?"

Race pulled out an old cellphone. "Jack has it in here."

"How," Spot's eyes widened a little bit, "how did you get that?"

"Grabbed it off Snyder."

Spot shook his head, "So you're telling me, that he had you against the wall with a knife, and your first thought was, 'let's pick-pocket him'?"

Race shrugged.

Spot laughed and ruffled his hair. "You're incredible."

"Should we call him?" Spot's smile dropped.

"Yeah, yeah we probably should."

"What do I say? I don't even know him. I've only ever heard Jack talk about him. Even that isn't often."

Spot sighed, "I'll call him. I talked to him once." Race looked at him, "It's a long story. Just give me the phone and I'll take care of it." He was handed the phone and made his way to the entrance. There was an area between the drop-off and the waiting room separated by glass doors on both sides. Private enough.

Jack barely had any contacts, only six. And the names were all fairly ambiguous. Like Kath, Davey, Spot, Race, and Spider. They didn't have photos or information, just a name and number. The bare minimum. Accept for Charlie's contact. It had a photo. A photo where Jack looked happy. Now that he had a closer look, it appeared that it was a picture of a photo. Probably from a while ago based off of how young both kids looked.

Taking a deep breath, he hit the call button and waited. It rang several times and Spot was beginning to wonder if anyone was actually going to answer.

"Hello?" A voice at the other end said. It wasn't Crutchie, that was for sure.

"I need to speak to Charlie."