Bryant's phone woke us up this morning, though I have my doubts Bryant was sleeping. This is the third day we've been at the motel, and he's been clawing at the walls the whole time. I've never seen someone actually pacing before. I thought that was something people only did in movies, but Bryant has been a ball of anxious energy for two days.

Not hearing anything form anyone has been eating away at him, and as a result, it's been eating away at his patience. The conversation we had a couple of days ago made it seem like he was willing to forgive me for my part in his dad's attack, and maybe he was sincere when he said he forgives me, but I've felt like I'm walking on egg shells for two days.

When his phone woke us up, we both breathed a collective sigh of relief. It was his lawyer setting up a second meeting. Now we're on our way to his office. Bryant is quiet in the passenger seat of my car as I drive us across town.

"It'll be all right," I tell him, even though I honestly don't know that it will.

Yesterday, we got a call that his dad was going to be transferred back to the prison today from the hospital. That means he'll be back in the same jail as the people who attacked him. Bryant makes a noise in the back of his throat, but he doesn't respond otherwise.

When we pull up outside of the lawyers office, we go through the same motions as we did the last time we were here. He goes back with the lawyer, while is sit and wait. I feel like I've been doing nothing but waiting for two days now, and if it's driving me crazy, then I can only imagine how Bryant must feel.

Today's meeting with the lawyer takes longer than the last meeting. Apparently, their ironing out the details of a plea agreement today with the district attorney. Apparently, that takes time. It takes so much time that I feel like pacing.

When Bryant finally comes out of the room, he doesn't look relieved. He looks like he just saw a ghost. I rush over to him as soon as I see the look on his face. He's not one to let his emotions show, and right now, he looks absolutely shell shocked.

"What happened?" I ask.

He swallows so hard it's audible. Then he runs his hands through his hair.

"Um," he says before shoving his hands into his pockets, "I—could we grab something to eat?"

The question seems odd, but he hasn't been eating. I haven't seen him eat anything since we left my house after he beat the daylights out of my dad. I don't look a gift horse in the mouth, and I agree to go grab something to eat.

He's completely quiet on the entire drive to the restaurant. He's been quiet for two days, but this is different. He seems freaked out by something that happened in his meeting, and since his meeting with the lawyer is directly tied to whether or not he ends up behind bars, it's putting me on edge. Not knowing is driving me up the wall, but I do my best to stay calm as I drive us across town.

I pick a small diner I've been to before. It's a quiet place with secluded seating areas, and I chose it so we can talk in private. When we sit at the table, Bryant continues to ice me out, and I break a little.

"What happened?" I ask him.

He jumps like my words startle him, and I can tell I'm dragging him out of some deep thoughts. He shrugs.

"We just talked about the details of everything," he says just before a waitress walks over to take our order.

I place my order, and I look at Bryant when it's his turn to place his, but he's too busy picking at a napkin on the table to order. To say he's distracted would be an understatement.

"Bryant," I press when the waitress stares at him, waiting.

"Huh?" he asks, eyes jerking up to me like he forgot anyone was here with him.

Then he glances at the waitress, and he seems to remember where we are.

"Oh, I'll just take a water," he mumbles.

I feel like I'm about to lose it.

"You're not eating?" I ask him.

He shakes his head before mumbling something about not being hungry. This was his idea though. I thought he was finally going to eat something. The waitress walks away, and we lapse back into silence. I feel like I'm suffocating in the silence. It lasts until the waitress brings us our food—or at least brings me mine. I look at the food, and my stomach twists into knots. There's no way I'm going to be able to eat until I know what happened to make Bryant so distracted.

"Bryant," I press, "talk to me. What'd the lawyer say?"

He continues to tear his napkin into tiny pieces on the table, but thankfully, he finally answers me.

"The lawyer asked for information about your dad. They wanted to know everything I knew. I gave them all the information I could think of," he tells me.

"Did they say it was enough to agree to have your dad transferred?" I ask because Bryant is losing it when it comes to his dad.

He talked to me a minimal amount the other night, and he said he'd do any jail time he needed to for selling for my dad and fighting, but he had to get his dad out of there. It's been tying him up in knots, and there's something about the way he's been acting since he walked out of the lawyer's office that makes me feel like he might not have gotten what he wanted out of the meeting. He's quiet for so long after I ask, I start to think I'm going to have to repeat the question. There's no way I'm letting this drop without an answer though. I know he's not used to letting people in, but in this instance, I'm not taking no for an answer.

"No," he says, "it's not enough."

He says. The way he says the words make them feel final, and my heart sinks in my chest. The first meeting with his lawyer made it seem like the lawyer knew the D.A. would be willing to make a deal. Now he's saying it's not enough?

"What? Why not? I thought they wanted my dad bad enough to look the other way?" I say.

Bryant shakes his head.

"It's not that they don't. They want him. They just don't think I have enough on him to put him away," Bryant says.

"But you've been selling for him. What more could they need? You told them you're willing to testify, right?" I ask.

He nods, and then he seems to hesitate before answering.

"They want me to testify. They say it's enough to get my charges dropped, but if I want them to move my dad, I have to 'scratch their backs as much as they're scratching mine,'" he says, putting air quotes around their words.

Something in his tone tells me there's something specific they're asking for. I know he'd do anything to get his dad transferred, so whatever they're asking for must not be something he can deliver on.

"What do they want?"

He takes an audible breath, and then I can see how stressed he is about filling me in on the details of his meeting. If there's something he did that he's ashamed of while trying to keep his dad safe, there's no reason he should be worried about talking to me about it.

"Whatever you did to protect him, I'm not going to judge you for it," I tell him, knowing that was his main problem with me before we became whatever it is we are.

He always thought I was judging him even though I never felt like I was. If that's what is keeping him for filling me in, he needs to know it's not the case now.

He laughs without humor.

"That's the problem though," he says, scrubbing his face with his hands, "they don't want me to testify about some specific thing I'm withholding, Kyle. I wouldn't withhold anything if it meant keeping him safe."

"But they're asking you for something, right? They didn't flat out refuse the deal, they told you to scratch their backs. How do they want you to do that?" I ask.

"They don't want me to do anything more. If that were the case, I'd do it," he says, and I'm confused for a couple of seconds before he adds on nearly a whisper, "they want you to testify against him."

He breaks eye contact with me the second the words fall out of his mouth. His difficulty looking me in the eye tells me he's not just filling me in on what happened in the meeting. He wouldn't have told me about this if he wasn't desperate to keep his dad safe.

He's telling me because he's asking me to do it.