Page 41 of Addiction

“Meaning?”

“I’ve lived in Virginia for nearly six years.”

“Well, congratulations,” I deadpan, but he’s absolutely right: apart from the little things, I know nothing about him at all. And I want that to change.

“You probably think I’m a complete asshole.”

“Only on occasion.” He grins. “But it’s fine. I get it. I’m not exactly your top priority.”

He bends down to collect his T-shirt, slipping it on before sitting himself down on the sand. Taking my cell phone out of my back pocket, I sit down beside him.

“True. But that’s still no excuse. And if I’m being honest, Nora and Mom always talk about you and how great a person you are, but until now, I’ve never been interested.”

His mouth tugs at the corner. “Can I ask why?”

I look out across the ocean, contemplating whether to give him the truth or reply with bullshit.

How can I tell him that I envied the relationship he had with everyone? With Pop?

How can I tell him that just sitting next to him now is creating a feeling inside that I’ve kept buried all this time?

How can I tell him that I don’t fucking understand anything anymore?

I shake my head baffled by my twisted mind. “If I try and explain my reasons they will just sound pathetic.”

“Tell me them anyway. It’s down to me to decide if they are ridiculous or not.”

Swallowing hard, I keep my eyes on the water, hoping that if I get the words off my chest it will be the end to all the shame I’ve felt since I’ve returned home.

“The drink made me feel victorious. I felt I had power and control. Sometimes even a purpose. But along with many other things I was battling, something changed the day you walked into my family home and introduced yourself as Pop’s physical therapist. I never acknowledged you as I should have, nor did I want to be around you because of the way you were with him. I saw all the things in you that I never was.”

A beat of silence falls between us, and it unsettles me.

“Asher, I was your dad’s physical therapist, not his son.”

“But you saw him more than I did. And I know that’s through no fault of my own but I can’t help how I feel. Everyone has all these memories of him, and I have… nothing.”

“That can’t be true.”

“But it is,” I stress. “I’ve spent years of my life in war zones, battling PTSD or drenched in booze that any good times I had with him have faded. It hurts to talk about him.”

“Which is why you left Nora’s the other day. Because we were talking about him.”

I nod, thankful that he’s starting to understand. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to hear a conversation about the people you love and feel that gut-wrenching remorse deep inside because you have no memory of that time because you fucked up?”

“Yes.” When he lowers his head, the morning sun highlights a small tattoo behind his ear. It’s a time. Six-twenty-four. I find it a little unusual, and I make a mental note to ask him about that at another time.

“I feel that, Wade. All the time. I failed everyone. Especially him.”

He looks at me now. “You didn’t fail him, Asher. Pete loved you. He was proud of you.”

“He wasn’t.”

“Why does hearing that make you feel so uncomfortable? I noticed it the other night in the bar.”

Resting my arms on my knees, I blow out a heavy breath. “I don’t like hearing it because he had nothing to be proud of.”

“I disagree. You were his son and he loved you.”