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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Asher
It had been over a week since Ted’s memorial, and Melody was still pretty much a robot. She only did something when someone told her to do it. Otherwise, all she did was sit and stare. I could not get through to her. No matter what I did, she just stared into empty space. I hated that I couldn’t penetrate that pretty head of hers. I’d even brought up the night we had sex and how fun it was, but it didn’t seem to faze her. Maybe she had enjoyed her night with Alex more than she had with me. And I hated him even more, considering he hadn’t even bothered to attend her brother’s funeral. I knew he would use Mel and never call her again.
“You finished here?” some muscle asked, pointing at the weight machine I stood in front of, staring into space.
My workout was just about over. I had one more set, but I looked at him and nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.” I walked toward the locker room for a shower.
After a week of observing Melody’s lethargic state of mind since Teddy’s funeral, I began to think of that letter my mom had written to me about my half-brothers. After I had taken a shower, I hopped on my bike and headed home. I ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, and hurried to my bookshelf. I pulled the letter out from the book I’d placed it in for safekeeping after Mel had given it back to me. I was sort of glad she’d rescued it from the trash after I’d left that day. I read the end of it again.
“Asher, please, I beg you. Don’t live your life as a lonely, bitter man. Find your brothers, Jackson and Brodie. You have to believe that they had nothing to do with the way your father treated you or me. Remember, he abandoned them the same way he deserted you.”
She’d spent most of her life avoiding talking about them, and now that she was gone, the subject loomed over me, festering like an infected wound. What would happen if I paid them a visit and introduced myself? Why was I resisting? I knew in my heart that they had nothing to do with my father’s desertion. They’d been kids, just like I had been. We were all innocent, and all products of the same asshole, except Jackson and Brodie carried the last name legitimately. I was the bastard. My mom would hit me upside the head if she ever heard me say that. She’d always told me she’d given me his name because I deserved it. What was wrong with Becket? I would have been just as happy with that last name, maybe even happier. But she said I was a part of another family and I had a right to have the last name of the man who’d helped create me. So she’d given me both—Becket and Beaumont.
So, I had two brothers. Teddy had always been like a brother to me, but now he was gone. Gone from both Melody’s and my life. Now that Teddy had been taken from us, and I was never to know the joys of what the future may have held for that relationship, I had to admit, I was a little curious about Jackson and Brodie. I wondered what I might have missed out on as a kid, having them in my life. What I might miss as an adult if I didn’t seek them out.
I had a plan.
I hurried across the hall to Mel’s apartment. I didn’t even bother to knock. I knew Erica was at work, and Melody would probably just ignore my pounding anyway. At least, that’s what had happened yesterday.
I opened the door, and there she was, sitting on the sofa. The TV was on, a rerun of That ‘70s Show. Mel, Teddy, and I had used to watch it every week when we were kids. I shut the door quietly then sauntered to the couch and sat beside her. She didn’t acknowledge me, not that I’d expected her to. She didn’t budge. Didn’t even blink.
Several minutes passed as the show blared on the screen.
“I miss Teddy.” She uttered it so softly it took me by surprise to hear her sweet voice again.
“Me, too.”
“I hardly ever saw him this past year, so it shouldn’t seem so bad, but I miss him now, knowing I’ll never see him again.”
I placed my hand on top of hers, and she turned into me, sobbing against my chest. I held her, tears filling my own eyes. Again. I had a feeling, knowing the way Melody held things in, that this was probably the first time she’d shed any tears for her brother. I was glad I could be with her when she did. She stopped crying and eased back, swiping her hands over her eyes.
“This is the first time I’ve cried since he died.”
“And I’m sure it won’t be the last.” I smiled. “It shouldn’t be. You need to cry. It’s part of the healing process. That’s what they say anyway. You’re hurting. You feel sorrow. You’re entitled to shed a few tears. Crying is your body’s way of releasing some of that sorrow.”
“You’re right. I don’t know what was wrong with me. I kept blaming myself for his death. Thinking that if I’d known he was still in the city, I could have prevented it.”
“How, Mel? How would you have prevented it? You can’t think that way. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
“I hate that man.”
“What man?”
“The man who Ted worked for.”
I nodded. I understood that hatred. I was feeling the same way about him. A man I didn’t even know. “You know it wasn’t really his fault either,” I supplied, knowing that was the correct response, though I didn’t believe its validity.
“I hate the boy who crashed into him, too,” she added. “But I know he’s young and going to jail for a while. Plus, he’ll have to live with his guilt. It’s just easier to hate the man who Ted worked for because he started the chain of events.”
I supposed it was better that she channeled her hatred toward a man she’d never see again.
I wrapped my arm around Mel’s shoulders and drew her close to me. “You’re gonna be okay, Mel.”
She nodded.
I took my mom’s letter out of my shirt pocket, opened it up, and placed it on the coffee table directly in front of us, pressing it on the surface to flatten out the wrinkles.
