Turns out Jackson was spot on.
The next morning, around eight.
Patricia had crashed in one of the Cloud Peak guest rooms with Chelsea, the two of them gossiping well past midnight. She was still dead to the world when her phone blared to life, dragging her back from sleep.
Colton’s voice came through, dramatic as always. “Aunt Patricia, why won’t Uncle Oliver answer my calls?”
Patricia squinted at the clock. Eight a.m. Oliver was probably just finishing his workout and heading for a shower.
“Hang on, I’ll get him for you.”
She followed the sound of running water to the bathroom, knocked, and stepped inside, handing Oliver the phone.
He took it, listened for a second, then replied—deadpan and a little grumpy. “If you need your dad, call your dad. If not, call your mom. You’re not even in Riverdale anymore, and you still want me to babysit you? Am I your father?”
“Colton, quit it. You have parents. You’re not an orphan. And even if you were, you’ve still got your grandparents.”
He ended the call with a click.
Oliver handed the phone back to Patricia and grabbed a towel, rubbing it over his wet hair. He glanced at her, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, looking a little guilty.
“Did I wake you up?”
“What time did you go to bed?”
“A little after two,” Patricia said, not making a big deal of it. She tugged Oliver over to the end of the bed, took the towel, and started drying his hair, chatting as she went. “So what’s up with Colton?”
“He just can’t handle a little hardship.”
“It’s the army, it’s supposed to be tough. You could at least listen to what he has to say.”
“I finally got him out of the house. I’m not about to start coddling him now.” Still, his tone softened as he pulled Patricia into his lap.
“Give me the phone.”
Patricia didn’t ask questions. She handed it over, watching as Oliver worked his magic—blocking Colton’s number, setting his messages to do-not-disturb, the whole nine yards.

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