3:06 PM

No matter which angle Link looked at the plastic stick from, it still had those two damning lines down the piss-soaked, nitrocellulose membrane of the pregnancy test held tightly in his grip. He scowled, brows pinched as he squinted at it. The fluorescent bulbs buzzing overhead were suddenly too stimulating, and his mouth dried up and drooled at the same time. He wanted to puke. He wanted to scream. He wanted his mom, of all people.

Link's chest heaved with anxious gulps of air that sawed through his nostrils. His life was over. No more riding the tracks, living untethered or dodging employment. And what was worse was the pitiful way she was looking at him, gauging his reaction. His barbed wired heart pulsed painfully after risking a sidelong glance at her. Of course he wasn't mad at her—he was mad at himself for not having better pullout game. Oh, shit, is she going to cry?

"That's the fifth one, bud," Earl, the tired and indifferent cashier droned from behind the counter. His craggy, phlegm thick voice cutting through tension. He licked his middle finger and turned the page of a nudie magazine that he didn't bother looking up from. "I think it's safe to say you knocked her up," he chuckled to himself, coughing wetly.

"Shut the fuck up, Earl!" Link snapped at the greasy lifer, raking his fingers through his own dirty, ashen, brown hair and tugging it at the roots. He faced her again and bracketed her shoulders with a firm but gentle grip, locking his honey-gold eyes on hers. Be nice, Jonesy. Easier said than done. Usually he'd tell her to suck it up but he bristled at the vulnerable look in her eyes. "Shit," he hissed.

"Hey, don't cry, alright? I'll..." I'll what? Link scoffed at himself with frustration, groaning as he tilted his head back, spiked, leather collar creaking. He met her gaze once more, jaw feathering. "I'll call my mom, okay?" He knew it wasn't the most assuring thing but he didn't know how to comfort or support someone. He was a dickhead. But no way could he be a dickhead to a pregnant chick.

Not just any pregnant chick. The mother of my— Link's stomach dropped. He shook his head and led her out of the convenience store by her wrist, pulling her towards a stack of crates Earl sat on during his smoke breaks. The crates scraped against the oil stained concrete as he guided her to sit, and pushed a Gatorade and protein bar from his knapsack into her hands.

"Just sit there and don't move or look at anyone," he rasped wearily, digging into his pocket for his phone and flipping it open with a thumb adorned in black nail polish. Link scrolled through his contacts as he shuffled a few feet from her, glancing back at her every now and then, until he found his mom's name. It's ringing... Link thought, heart thudding against his sternum. It's been years. Cold dread filled him the moment the call was answered.

"Lincoln?"

---

3:41 PM

Link slid his phone into his pocket, watery eyes fixed on a crack in the pavement. Thirty-six minutes was the length of the phone call but it took no less than one for his mom to forgive him and beg to have him and her come stay. The rest was spent getting her up to speed and coming clean. There's nothing to forgive. She said; she wasn't disappointed—she wasn't even angry. Guilt twisted in Link's gut, tears threatening to spill from his eyes but he blinked them away before making his way back over to his girlfriend.

"Hey," Link started as he reached out for her to take his rough, tattooed hand. "We'll figure everything out once we get to San Diego. You ready?"