Page 32 of Starlight

“We did everything for you when you couldn’t wipe your own ass.”

Cole grimaced. “Are you going to wipe his the way Mom wiped my aunt’s? Or are you going to make her do that, too? It won’t be me.” He shook his head. “I am not letting him drag me down and trap me in this town.”

“We aren’t good enough for you? Is that what this is?”

“No, and you know it’s not. But building houses was never my dream job.”

“It’s a job, and you should be grateful you have one. That you have a roof over your head and food on the table.”

“I am…but does anyone care about what I gave up? What Mom gave up? We stopped being a family when we moved in here. You and Mom lived in the granny flat, and I lived in the house with two cousins who hated me. Who hid parts of my uniform the night before game day. I wasn’t disorganized—they were assholes.” The words poured from his mouth, and he couldn’t stem the tide.

“They had a lot going on. Their mom was sick.”

“No shit. No one ever told them no or to be nicer because their mom was sick. They got a free fucking pass every time. They forgot to pick me up or ran an hour or more late. The day of the accident, they’d been out hunting and drinking. We hadn’t stopped for dinner on the way home.” He was done covering for them, even in death.

His father flinched as if slapped. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I did.” Cole shook his head and finished his coffee. “But no one wanted to listen. So please, listen now. I am not working weekends. I don’t care about the extra money. I want to figure my shit out and reclaim my life.”

“I’m sorry you feel that this life isn’t good enough.”

He stared at his father, who still wasn’t getting it. “It’s not about it being good enough. You wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps. I don’t. And I’m sorry that I don’t have any brothers or sisters, but that’s not my fault either.” He didn’t have any siblings because there had been too much to do taking care of his aunt and her two boys. Their lives and problems had consumed his family. “I’m allowed to find something that I enjoy. And so are you. If you don’t want to do this anymore…”

“If I stop, there won’t be food on the table.” His father shook his head. “You kids don’t understand. Sometimes, having a job and being able to survive is more important than doing something you love. That’s what hobbies are for.”

“I don’t even have any of them, because of the weekend work.”

“You chose to stop playing football.”

“That wasn’t a fucking hobby; that was a career option, and it was taken away from me. My life ended the same as theirs. I’ve been a fucking ghost going through the motions since then. And nobody’s noticed because I got the work done, and I did as I was told. I did the physio, I saw the psych, I finished school, and I started working with you. And because that was good enough, no one asked what I wanted.” He shrugged. “It’s not enough for me anymore.”

“Are you quitting?”

Yes. “I’m asking for no weekend work so I can get my shit sorted and go back to school. It would do you good to give the weekend work to someone else, too. I know we’re not scraping by, even though we’re looking after your brother. It would probably do him good to get out. Maybe you should take him out on the weekend. Play golf or something.” He didn’t know what other hobbies guys in their fifties could take up, especially when their bodies were breaking from doing manual labor for decades. They hadn’t even finished school. They’d dropped out and joined the family business. “Take Mom on a holiday. I don’t know, Dad, but maybe you need to find something other than work as well.”

“Some of us take pride in our work.”

“Yeah, I don’t do a fucking sloppy job. But that doesn’t mean I live and breathe it either.”

“You did football.”

Fuck me. Cole raked his fingers through his hair. Was his father deliberately driving around the point and refusing to see it? “That was something I was passionate about.”

And having it ripped out of his life had left a wound that was still healing. In part, he thought it was because of the missed opportunity. Not only to make bank, but to go to college and do the things that his parents had been hyping since he was ten. It was kind of hard to fix that, even with therapy. All therapy had done was take the edges off the anger, the loss he still carried.

“You don’t want the business when I retire.”

“I never said that either. I think I could run it. I could get the right qualifications to keep the books and manage a business, but I don’t want to work it. Not the way you do.”

“But you’re good at it. You built that cabin. On your own.”

“You helped a bit.” There were some jobs that required two people. His father had grumbled about doing unpaid work at the time, and he had never seen the finished product except for photos. “The cabin was a passion project. I wanted a place for me.”

Physically, he had that, but the rest of his life was still in turmoil. Going up to the cabin was like standing in the eye of the hurricane. It was a temporary reprieve while he stood there and watched the debris spin around him.

“Life isn’t about passion. It’s about showing up, regardless of how much you’re hurting.” His father stood and checked his watch. “We are due on site.”

“Dad…”