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“Son.”
A turkey handprint from Thanksgiving. An article from the year I made regionals in swim. A birthday card.
“Son.”
A Hot Wheels car. A photo of me with my first swim medal.
“Son!”
“What!” I snap, rising to my feet to grab another garbage bag.
“I’m sorry,” he says simply, yet emphatically. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head, not wanting to hear this shit again. “I’m fucking here, aren’t I?” What more does he want from me?
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “Don’t throw away the good things in your life on my account. I’ll be gone soon, probably not soon enough for your liking, but you’ll want these things one day. Trust me on that.”
Tears well up in his eyes, and I look away. My dad has never had a problem expressing his feelings. Just the opposite, actually. He loved hard, and he fought harder. Whether he was crying happy tears at one of my swim meets or in an alcohol-induced fit of rage, he felt everything more than most people. Even when he beat the shit out of me, I knew that he loved me, as fucked up as that sounds. He’d always had trouble controlling his emotions, but after my mom, the calm to his storm, passed away, there was no one to help him reel it in. More than that, there was no desire to reel it in. I should’ve been enough. But I wasn’t. And therein lies the problem.
If for some god-forsaken reason I ever become a father, I will live and fucking breathe for that kid. I will die before ever letting one single bad thing touch that kid. And I for damn sure wouldn’t hurt my kid or send him off into the hands of a psychopath.
“I came for you, Ash,” he admits in a quiet voice, shocking me. I don’t show it, though. I stare blankly, waiting for him to continue.
“I know it doesn’t matter now. But after I completed my court-ordered rehab, I went to David’s house. I wasn’t supposed to, not legally, but I didn’t care. I knew you probably wouldn’t want to stay with me, but I had a plan. I was going to help set you up with your own place. But you were already gone. Said you ran away, and he never bothered looking.”
My fists clench at my sides. It’s bullshit. All of it. My dad didn’t have a dime to his name.
He continues, “I figured it didn’t matter where you were, long as you weren’t with him. You’re strong. Smart. Hell, you raised yourself after your mom died. I wasn’
t worried.”
“I don’t claim to know a damn thing about being normal, but I’m pretty sure normal people worry about their kids,” I say sarcastically.
“That’s not what I meant.” He sighs, rubbing at his forehead with a shaky hand. “Of course, I worried. I wondered. But I had faith that you were safe.”
I used to think my dad was the strongest man alive. I remember arguing with my friends, each of us bragging about the strength of our fathers, claiming they could lift cars and other ridiculously embellished tales. Now, he’s sickly thin, except for his distended stomach. Weak. Frail. Pathetic. And fuck, if some part of me isn’t starting to feel sorry for him.
“I was almost eighteen,” I offer, staring at a cigarette burn in the carpet. “So, it was just a matter of laying low for a few months.” I don’t tell him how I stole money from my uncle and hopped the first bus out of there. I don’t tell him how I met Dare on said bus, who could tell that I was running from something and offered me a job a few hours into the trip.
“Why didn’t you come back after your birthday?”
Is he serious?
Tearing my eyes from the burnt spot, I look him in the eye.
“I didn’t have anything to come back for.”
“The Vale girl might not agree with that statement.”
I bark out a humorless laugh.
“She’s the reason I left.”
He knows this better than anyone. But he inspects me, as if looking for a piece to the puzzle that he’s missing.
“Look,” I say, gripping the back of my neck and focusing on the popcorn ceiling. “I know you’re trying to make amends before it’s too late, but you can’t force that shit on me. You’re ready, but I’m not.”
“I get it. I do,” he says. “I just can’t die with you thinking that I didn’t—that I don’t—love you,” he stutters. “That you ever deserved one goddamn second of what I put you through. You lost both of your parents the night your mom died. My biggest regret is blaming you.”
