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Braden
“Do you need another pillow?” my mother asks, fawning over me.
“No, I’m fine.”
The doctor just left after detailing the extent of my injuries and the likely recovery time for each. I’m going to be in this bed for a while. Or some kind of bed. The fracture to my pelvis isn’t so severe that I need surgery, but I will have to be primarily on bed rest for several weeks. In order to go home, I’ll have to learn how to use a walker to stabilize myself, especially considering I now have a metal rod in my leg. After six weeks, I’ll have to go to extensive physical therapy. My life is going to be rest, pain meds, and careful movement. But at least I’m alive, right?
Fuck.
I look over at my parents, unsure of what to say or do. When they came into the room initially with my brother, it was just tears and hugs and apologies. Then they were asked to leave and the nurse and doctor were in here asking me a thousand questions, trying to ascertain my pain and mental status. At least I’m allowed to sit up a little more and eat something now.
When I see my mother quickly wipe tears from her eyes, guilt washes over me again.
Clearing my throat, I look between them. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I know I fucked up—”
“Do you?” my father’s voice booms from the corner of the room.
“Hank,” my mother chastises. But he shakes his head.
“No.” He turns back to me. “Were you driving drunk? Is that what happened?”
Memories of the night flash through my mind. Drunk is a mild word for what I was when I staggered to my truck and started down the road. I know I had no business getting behind the wheel, or even getting that wasted in the first place.
Gripped with emotion, I meet my father’s eyes. “Yes.”
Rising from his chair, my father roars, “Do you have any idea how stupid, reckless, immature, and irresponsible that was? What you’ve put us all through?” He paces at the end of my bed and I feel small and childlike. This is how he’s always been. I’m not saying I don’t deserve his anger now, but he’s always been hard on me. Whether it was getting in trouble on the playground in elementary school or not doing well enough on a test, my father has always held me to standards I never felt I could meet. When I inevitably fell short, I’d get the lecture. His sharp words always had the ability to reduce me to nothing but a shell. This moment is no different, other than the increased weight behind his words.
He continues on, saying, “You’re just lucky as hell that no one else has to pay for your mistakes. Well, any more than we already have been.”
My chest vibrates as all the misery and self-hatred inside me bubble over. Two of the most important people in my life lost their mother to a drunk driver. I’m grateful that I’m the only one who I physically hurt. My eyes lift to my father as another thought hits me. “Am I going to go to jail?”
My body shakes and hurts with every sob. My mother pulls her chair closer to my bed and wraps her arm around mine, leaning over and resting her forehead against mine.
“No. Because no one else was injured, and they didn’t have concrete reason to believe you were drinking, and your injuries were severe, they didn’t test your blood alcohol content.”
“But don’t think that means you’re off the hook,” my father adds, but he pauses as he watches me choke back sobs and gasp in pain as I do. “You’re getting a second chance, kid. Those aren’t handed out to everyone, so don’t take it for granted.” He pulls his chair closer and looks me over. “Your truck is done, and as far as I’m concerned, so are your driving privileges. If they had tested you, you’d have lost your license for a year minimum. When you’re actually able to drive again, we’ll talk about whether you’ll be allowed to.”
I can’t stop the hot tears pouring out of me. My independence has been stripped away. I’m finally eighteen, and I can’t even live my life.
Whose fault is that?Mine. I have nothing to say. No argument. Just torment for everything I’ve done, the pain I’ve caused.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is a painful whisper. “I’m sorry for what I put you through. For how I’ve been. If I’ve hurt your reputation or the business. I understand if you hate me.”
My mother’s eyes fill with more hurt. She leans forward and brushes her hand down my cheek. “Braden Hale, you are my baby. I love you with all my heart and soul, and I always will. I see the pain and darkness in your eyes, but don’t let them win. I know your heart. You are not a bad person. You’ve made mistakes, but they don’t need to define you. You are more than this,betterthan this. But if you’re going to come back from it, to move forward, you have to believe that too. Until then, I’ll be believing it for you.”
I want to throw myself into my mother’s arms and collapse into body-racking sobs that allow me to shatter from the inside out. But I can’t move. I can barely lift my arm to hug my mother, and crying makes me gasp for air and want to scream in pain.
Maybe this is what I deserve.
My father exhales loudly and comes to stand next to the chair my mother is sitting in. He looks down at me, his eyes calmer now, if a bit defeated.
“You will always be my son. With everything inside of me, I will always love you, no matter what you do. But you need to learn from this.Ineed you to learn from this. I’m not interested in losing you. I will help you, however I can, but you have to let me.” His voice breaks. “Please let me.”
I take a painful, deep breath and force it out, wincing as I do. “What happens now?”
“Now is the time to heal. Focus on yourself. Learn from this. Grow. Become a better version of yourself. It’ll take time, but the good news is, you’ve got plenty of it.” My father’s lips almost pull into a smile as he says that.
My mom sits back in her chair. She takes my hand in hers, then with her other hand, reaches for my father’s. “Things might be complicated and difficult right now, but you’ve got a whole family of people waiting to help you.”
I let my weight rest against the bed as I sigh. I’m tired. Everything hurts. My mind is spinning with everything I need to say. Everything I have to deal with. But first on that list is fixing things with Maia—the right way this time. I have no idea what that looks like, but we’re gonna figure it out, because I don’t want to miss out on any more time being a dad to Harper, or building the family she deserves to have.
