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I've already had seven missed calls from Amy, and I’ve avoided them. We all have tech in our cars, but they haven’tworked it out for deaf people, yet. I’m not dealing with video calls. There's a desperation in her calls because she wants me to head to the hospital to help bring Dad home.
They have a perfectly usable car.
Unless they took the paramedic route…? I hadn't asked, and I don't care. I'm holding my boundaries. The closer I get to the ghosts I'm always running from, the more my hands sweat.
Northaven holds every childhood memory.
The good, the bad, and the fucking heartbreaking.
I turn onto the main street and sigh. This one road houses every store and restaurant this town has to offer. I have one saving grace in that no one will recognize the truck, and I can, if I'm clever, enter and leave the place without a soul knowing I've been here.
Boston and Northaven are polar opposites and it's one of the reasons I moved my ass to Boston. It’s far enough away that they won't bother me in person. Not that they would have. They’d had their one son. I don’t exist to them.
On the four-hour drive, I’d thought about Mia. This trip doesn’t help with my plans when it comes to her. I have to be in the picture so that she’s constantly annoyed by me, before she falls in love with me. This interlude doesn’t help.
I pull onto the avenue and see Mom's beat up Ford in the drive. I don't know if it means they are home or not. As I pull behind the car, Amy steps onto the porch, one that's needed a lick of paint for years. I turn off the engine and sigh, giving myself a pep talk. Ultimately, I love my sister, and she’s the only reason I’m here, but sometimes that love isn’t enough for what I’m about to face.
Amy rushes to me the second I step out of the truck. She might be dainty, but the punch she gives rivals the ones hammered home by Rocky Balboa. Or, at least, I assume they do. "Jesus, what the hell?!" I shout.
Amy scowls, smoky grey eyes narrow as her hands move at a furious rate.You took ages!
I left as soon as you called, I'm not Superman, for fuck's sake.I reach over the seat and grab my overnight bag. One I hope I don't need, but I’d done it to assure Amy that I would stay to support her, if Ihaveto.
Mom put fresh bedding on.
I nod.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
A night in a room I’d shared with Matt. His bed might not be there after all these years, but I sense it. Iseeit. I haul in a deep breath as I stomp into the house and then I see Mom standing in the kitchen doorway, hands wringing together as grey eyes, red-rimmed, scrutinize me. She’s worrying about something I might say. It’s always been the case because I’m the bad egg. We can’t go around upsetting Brian, can we? "Mom.”
The house hasn't changed in all the years I remember living here. Peeling green wallpaper. Chipped kitchen cabinets. Wooden floors in need of some TLC. There's a theme to this house, this family.
It lacks love.
"Austin." Her tone pleads with me, or she’s telling me to hold my tongue. "Dad is in the living room."
I plod into the living room and see Dad sat upright, his faded barcalounger losing the will to live as he watches what looks like a recording of a game. An open can of beer in his hand. I glare at Amy before fixing the same look on my father. Why the hell have they allowed him to have a beer? This kind of behavior is exactly what pisses me off. He still has the band aids from the needles, and he’s fucking drinking? Why the hell am I here when all he wants to do is kill himself? "I see the heart attack made you thirsty."
Cold pine leers at me. I've always hated that his eyes remind me of the woods I'd played in during winter. "Look what the cat dragged in." He raises his beer and downs it.
I shake my head, used to hearing it. The tight ball in my chest clenches. I feel stupid. I should never have come here. "I came for Amy."
Dad's eyes never leave mine as he crunches the beer can and discards it on the floor. Mom will no doubt pick that up without a word of complaint. More fool her. This is why he acts the way he does. "Now that you've seen I'm alive, you can go."
"Brian," Mom warns.
"No, Cathie, that boy doesn't care. He never has. And as far as I'm concerned, the wrong son died in that lake!"
The first time he'd said that to me, it had struck ice into the very center of my soul. Fire burns there now, and it hates him with every fiber of my being.
Amy stomps her foot, grabbing my attention.Daddy doesn't mean it.
Storm clouds gather in her eyes, but we all know the truth. "I'm leaving."
"Austin—" Mom begins.
"I came for Amy. He's alive. My job is done."
