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I know what she means by stupid. She means don’t beat the shit out of him in public and get arrested again. That’s how I lost my ball scholarship. I have a weakness when it comes to my father. He can always get to me, always push me out of that zone of control I have in all other parts of my life.
I throw the truck in drive and head to the bar.
#
“Kasey, just tell me his room number,” I sigh, leaning on the desk of the hotel reception. The hotel and bar are in the same building. The only place to stay and the only place to drink. Putting them together was efficient in a town like this.
“Take your drama outside, Ryker.” Kasey glares at me with small squinting eyes. Her stringy blonde hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and she looks ten years older than her 40.
“Call him down then. Tell him someone dropped something off for him.”
“I can’t lie to a guest.”
I laugh and dig out my wallet, slapping a fifty on the counter. “I owe Jason Ryker money, can you please call him and let him know I left it with reception?”
She glares at me and swipes the bill off the counter, picking up the phone and jabbing the buttons.
I move to the seating area, a cracked old leather couch and chipped end table. I take in this space I’ve walked through countless times. It’s old. Cracked and crumbling in the corners, cobwebs hanging from the ceilings which is missing tiles in random places.
“Someone left me something?” Jason’s voice brings me back to the moment and I stand.
The receptionist hands him the money and stalks off. He stares at it dumbly before noticing me. His eyes are unfocused and his smile lopsided. He’s drunk.
“Hey,” he draws the word out with a lazy tongue. “So good to see you son.”
“Don’t.” I say. “I need to ask you a question and you need to be really honest with me.”
He stumbles back a bit and tilts his head in obvious confusion. “Okay, come on up to my room. I’ll tell ya anything you want to know.”
He giggles and tucks the money in his pocket which I knew he would. I jam my hands in my pockets and follow him up the dim hallway and into the room that was frozen in 1983.
“Beer?” Jason swipes a beer off the desk and hands it to me. I shake my head. He flops down onto the bed and I roll out the desk chair.
“How long were you in love with Amalie Marchand?”
He choked on his beer, his eyes widening and bubbles of beer spurting out with each cough.
I wait patiently until he settles but he says nothing. Long silence draws patterns between us, he sits droopy eyed and scared. I’m being hit with memory loops of all the ways in which he used to insult Briggs and throw obstacle after obstacle in our way. How he used to lie to her when she called. Make snarky comments in church. Force me to stay home to deal with his shit when he knew I was supposed to meet her. Even that last night. The night Amalie died; my dad was the one who got us in a room together.
“How long, Jason?” I push again.
“That’s a hard question to answer.” He slurs, chugging his beer and in this moment, I lose hold of my anger toward him. I see him exactly as he is. A broken man lost and desperately running from his true feelings.
“You still love her,” I say, knowing the truth of it as it passes my lips. Jason stares at me with a simmering sadness in his eyes before he locks it away and turns to what he knows best.
“What the fuck you barging in here for bringing up stuff that has nothing to do with you, boy?” He stands and I stand, because with Jason I need to always be ready. Ready for the swing, ready for the words, ready for him to twist the knife in my softest spots.
“Because Briggs found a box full of love notes in your handwriting. She’s also being stalked by some psycho who has tried to kill her twice. Because you happened to show up in town so conveniently at the same time.”
“You think I’m trying to kill Briggs?” His anger halts and his voice lowers to a hum that sounds...hurt?
It throws me off my guard long enough for the fire to surge and he grips me around the neck, slamming me back into the wall.
“How dare you, you bastard,” he shouts at me with stale breath and a weak grip on my neck. “Get out. Get the fuck out.”
He squeezes my neck and I easily grab his wrist, twist his arm behind his back and shove him onto the small bed. He curses at me tangled in the unmade sheets, crushes his beer can in his hand and throws it at me. I step out of the way and back to the door. A sense of calm sits in my chest and I take in everything about this scene like I would a fire. Everything slows down, my senses open to everything from the direction of the breeze, to clothes on my back, to the stale smell of the room and the energy lights up the space between me and my father.
I see him for exactly what he is.
A man who allowed himself to be consumed by his demons.
The scariest part of it all, is in him I see my future.
I leave the hotel in a trance sitting in my truck with the engine off and my fists gripped tight around the wheel. If I love Briggs. If I want to protect Millie. If I want to keep my siblings together. I know exactly what I have to do.
I pull out my phone and tap out a number.
“Hello,” Shunta’s clipped accent sounds.
“I’m ready to talk,” I say, pushing the words out might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
