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If it went well, great.
If it flopped, well, I'd survive.
Maybe, subconsciously, I had been putting so much pressure on myself to earn the approval of others when all I really had needed all along was the approval of those who loved me.
I won't say it was easy walking in there, facing them down, knowing that while there was more relief and love than anything else, that there was also resentment and anger as well. They wouldn't tell me that. In fact, I suspected all of it would likely not come out for a good, long time.
By then, I hoped I would be better prepared for it.
Because that entire day just showed me that whatever pain I felt in prison with cutting them off paled completely in comparison to having to go there and deal with the consequences of my actions.
My parents.
My brothers.
My sisters-in-law.
But most especially, the kids.
Becca who was hurt most by it.
The ten others who I didn't even know, hadn't ever met, had to ask whose were whose.
That shit gutted me in a way I wasn't aware of before.
But I was going to make an effort. I was going to get together with them all, family by family, and I was going to get to know them, let them get to know me.
My mother had been right.
I had plenty of time.
Most of them were six and under.
Almost all their memories would include me.
As for Becca, well, I had some work to do.
But she was willing to work at it with me.
We would get there someday too.
I hadn't given them my address because, with everything else going on, it simply hadn't come up. But I had made sure I had given my mother my cell. As such, I had thirty-two texts from her, Pops, Ryan, Mark, Shane, Fee, Lea, Dusty, Scotti and - because she apparently had her own cell - Becca.
I could tell as I fetched my phone by the squeezing sensation in my chest that this was the right thing. I had forgotten over the course of six long years what it was like to feel it, the love, the loyalty, the sense of belonging.
It wouldn't be easy, I knew.
There was still work to be done.
On myself.
If I couldn't shut them out, if I couldn't shut myself down completely, well, then I needed to find a way to keep control, even when the anger came.
I wouldn't be going back into the family business.
I was sure no one was even thinking that was a remote possibility.
But even without that, there would be triggers.
Pretending there weren't would only set me up for failure.
Autumn had been right one night after a session that had left marks on her back and butt again, when she said I had her now. I did. And having a safe, consensual, mutually enjoyable outlet like that was helping more than I could express.
She had also suggested boxing.
Which, well, was a great idea.
I was a little pissed at myself for not thinking of it sooner.
I needed that hitting sensation.
That was why using a flogger, a paddle, my bare palm, on Autumn helped.
That violence was necessary to purge the rage.
So hitting a bag - or another person - at a boxing gym was the perfect way to keep myself under control.
I was going to look into it as soon as my show was over.
"Yo yo bro," Bobby called, letting himself in as I was becoming accustomed to. "You barely been around, man," he said, coming around the bend to the kitchen, coffees in hand.
"Been with Autumn. And yesterday, I went to Thanksgiving."
He paused in handing me my cup. "Like with your family?" he asked, voice hesitant.
"Yeah, with my family."
"Man!" he said, grinning huge, like it in any way affected him. "That's good fucking news. See? I knew you needed to dip your wick. A woman has a way of putting shit in perspective. Fuck the stupid and stubborn right out of you."
Eloquent he was not.
Wise, well, he often was.
"So, me and Nat are excited for your show, man. She went shopping and got me, what she called 'appropriate attire.' Apparently, nothing I own would work."
"Remind me to buy Nat something nice for Christmas, man."
"Don't deserve her."
"Nope," I agreed, but gave him a smile. "I don't deserve Autumn either. But here we both are."
"Two assholes who lucked the fuck out," he agreed, tapping his cup to mine.
"You can say that again.""Don't look at me."
That was how Autumn greeted me at her apartment later that night, coming in at almost ten which meant that she had spent sixteen hours on her feet at that store.
"Um..."
"Don't look at me either," Peyton demanded as she came in, closing, and locking the door.
And, well, of course I looked at them.
The day took a toll on them.
Autumn was pale with purple bruises under her eyes. Her mascara was swiped in an arch on her eyelids. But otherwise, she looked like herself. In need of food, a shower, and bed, but herself.
