there never seems to be enough time || self-thread
WHO: Morgan Weston & Anita Weston
WHERE: Morgan's ranch
WHEN: Monday the 11th of November
WHY: Morgan gets a phonecall about his granddad.
TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of heart attack and illness
SONG INSPIRATION: Jim Croce - Time in a Bottle
Morgan was busy fixing a broken gate on the ranch when his phone rang, vibrating insistently in the pocket of his worn jeans. The sun was already setting, casting long shadows over the fields, and he was in the middle of tightening a stubborn bolt. He pulled out his phone, not recognizing the number at first, but the area code was Montana. He wiped his brow and answered, half-focused on the gate in front of him.
“Hello?”
There was a moment of silence, followed by a familiar voice that sent a chill down his spine.
“Morgan?” It was his mother, Anita. Her voice was tight, holding back something. He could always tell when she was trying not to break, even over the phone.
“Ma?” Morgan dropped the wrench he was holding, turning his full attention to the call. “What’s goin’ on?”
Anita hesitated for a second, and that hesitation felt like a lifetime. Morgan could hear her breathing, slow and deliberate, like she was trying to find the right words. He felt his heart start to pound in his chest, an instinctual dread curling up inside him.
“It’s your granddad,” she finally said, her voice cracking just enough to let a hint of fear slip through. "He- he had a heart attack.”
Morgan’s mind went blank, and it felt like the world around him stopped moving. He leaned against the gate to steady himself, his legs suddenly weak. He could hear the horses rustling in the distance, the gentle clinking of metal from their tack, but it all seemed muffled - like he was underwater.
“Is…is he okay?” Morgan asked, his voice almost a whisper. He didn’t know what answer he was hoping for - only that he needed her to keep talking, to fill the silence with anything other than what he feared most.
“He’s alive,” Anita said quickly, and Morgan could almost feel her trying to reach through the phone to comfort him. “But it’s bad, Morgan. The doctors said it’s not looking good. He-… he’s not responsive.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and he doubled over, his free hand gripping the gate so hard his knuckles turned white. His granddad - his rock, his mentor - was always the strong one. The idea of him lying in a hospital bed, helpless and unresponsive, felt impossible.
“Where are you?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Are you at the hospital?”
“Yes, I’m here with your dad and grandmother,” Anita replied, and Morgan could hear the exhaustion in her voice, the weight of carrying this alone until she called him. His parents must’ve gone back to Montana to make sure what the state of his granddad was like, before calling the kids.
“You need to come home, Morgan. As soon as you can.” Morgan closed his eyes, trying to hold himself together, but the world felt like it was crumbling around him. “I’ll be there,” he managed to say, his voice rough. “I’ll be there soon.”
There was a pause, and he could hear Anita taking a shaky breath on the other end of the line. “We’re at Saint Joseph’s right, but I’ll call you if he comes home, okay? Be safe.”
“I will,” he promised, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears.
After he hung up, Morgan stood there for a moment, staring down at the phone in his hand, trying to process what he’d just heard. He felt numb, like everything around him had lost its color, its life. He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself, but all he could think about was his granddad - lying in that hospital bed, alone.
The thought snapped him out of his daze. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t keep standing still, doing nothing. He had to go, had to be there, had to do something. Morgan shoved his phone back into his pocket and rushed toward the barn, his boots pounding against the gravel, his mind racing ahead of him.
As he saddled up his horse to ride back to the house, he could feel the panic starting to bubble up, his hands shaking as he tightened the girth strap. He needed to pack, book a flight, talk to his co-workers that he was leaving, needed to make a plan for the horses, all the commitments he had, business meetings - but all he could think about was getting to Montana, seeing his granddad, and somehow fixing this - even if he knew in the back of his mind that this wasn’t something he could fix.
The ranch felt empty as he rode toward the house, the long shadows stretching across the dusty yard. For the first time in his life, Morgan didn’t feel at home here - he felt like he was miles away from where he needed to be.
When he reached the house, he didn’t waste a second. He threw his tack in the barn, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He pushed open the front door, rushing to his room to grab a bag, his hands moving on autopilot. He grabbed clothes, his toothbrush, his worn leather hat, and a few essentials. He felt like he was in a daze, moving through the motions but not really thinking, not really feeling.
As he zipped up his bag, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He looked wild, his eyes wide with worry, his hair disheveled, and his breathing unsteady. He stared at himself for a moment, trying to recognize the man looking back at him. He felt like a stranger in his own skin.
All he could hear was his mother’s voice, and the words she hadn’t said out loud - the fear, the uncertainty, the unspoken possibility that his granddad might not be there when he arrived. Sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, he felt the weight of everything pressing down on him. He wanted to cry, to yell, to break something - but he didn’t have time for any of that. He had to keep moving.
He grabbed his bag and rushed out the door, not bothering to lock up behind him. He felt like he was leaving more than just the ranch behind - he was leaving a piece of himself, the part that believed everything would always be okay in the end.
Because right now, everything felt like it was falling apart.