“Yes.”
He reaches into a file folder and produces the report card I hammered to his office door. “You could have handed this to me.”
“Could of.” But nailing a straight B report card to his door was the equivalent of flipping him off. The suspension screams I’m a failure, while the report card is my “fuck you” to him.
Dad flattens his lips and stares at his desk. I know that look. He’s seconds away from losing his patience and tossing out the “You’re a disappointment” lecture. I scoot to the end of my chair, ready to leave.
“Is it possible for us to talk?” he asks.
“You know I got suspended, right? Still feel like sharing a feel-good moment?”
“I don’t remember the last time we’ve had a conversation.”
My eyes flicker back to the picture of us, and Dad follows my line of sight.
“It hasn’t been that long,” he says.
Yeah, it has, but I relax back in my seat. I’ll admit—I’m disarmed yet cautious. He’s never waved a white flag, but I wouldn’t put it past him to knife me in the back. “Let’s talk.”
“All right. Let’s talk.” Dad taps his fingers together. I search for the last conversation Dad and I had without it turning into a slam fest. I look over at the photo again. Dad and I had made a birdhouse together for a school project—the same day I first used a hammer and a nail.
“I fix stuff,” I say. “At a bar. It’s what I was hired to do, and I’m good at it.”
“I know what you’ve been doing. At the bar, at school and with the gym.”
Anger tremors deep within me. The lone outward sign is the grim lift of my lips. “You’ve had me followed.”
“You’re my son and you left home. What did you expect me to do?”
“You kicked me out and I expected you to come after me. Not let me live in a car for two weeks.” The words slip out and I shift, immediately wishing I could take them back.
As a child I wondered if Dad’s hands were a crystal ball with all the answers because of the way he’d lose himself in them when I stood in the middle of this room waiting for whatever punishment for my crimes. I know now there’s no magic—just staring.
“I wanted you to ask me to return home,” he finally says.
“Wouldn’t have happened.” I would have lived in a car forever rather than crawl to him.
“I know,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “And I don’t think you would have returned home even if I had come after you. I hated using your mother as the excuse to force you back, but I didn’t think you’d come home any other way. It was obvious when you didn’t return that weekend that you were set on proving something and I know how you are when you get determined.”
If he had asked me... No, if he had begged, I would have come home, but begging isn’t his style and crawling isn’t mine. Maybe Dad’s right. Maybe I was set on proving something.
“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Dad asks.
“A failure? A loser? A disappointment?” If I say it first, it steals the sting from his words.
“Me.” Dad unbuttons the top of his shirt. “Every time I look at you, I see me and it’s a mirror I don’t like looking into.”
Jesus Christ. I lean forward and scrub my face with my hands. For years we’ve torn each other down. That’s how we communicate—in glares and words of hate. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to this? My head spins as if I’ve been knocked around.
“You remind me of myself,” he says. “Especially at your age. I thought your grandfather was going to kick me out before I graduated from high school.”
Neither he nor his parents have mentioned this before. Dad, in my head, has always been excruciatingly perfect. “What stopped him from doing it?”
“Your grandmother.” His eyes become distant and so does the grin on his face. “Just like your mother would have stopped me if she wasn’t involved with Rachel at the time. She’s still mad at me—for kicking you out.”
I massage my neck. The muscles tighten there, creating the sensation of choking. “You messed up? When you were my age?”
“I messed up then...and I messed up now.”
Is he apologizing? I glance over my shoulder to see if Mom is there, coaching him. The door is shut and it’s only the two of us. “How bad did you fuck up?”
“Worse than you.” Dad picks up the report card. “I never made straight Bs. I never voluntarily worked a job or kept one and I never found something to focus on like you have...When was the last time you hung out with any of your old friends?”
I shrug. “A while.”
“You spend a lot of time at the gym.”
“Yeah.”
Dad slides over a brochure for top-of-the-line equipment for a home gym. “Rachel will be spending most of her time in physical therapy, so I’m converting the front living room into her own gym and I’m hiring someone to personally oversee her recovery. While I was researching, I found this. I thought you’d like to pick out a few pieces.”
I have the same heroin-induced haze as when I talk to Abby and fall down the rabbit hole. “Thanks, but I like the gym.”
“Your mother would like to see you home more since you’ll most likely be going to college in the fall and...so would I.”
“Did you get hit in the head recently?” I hold out my left arm. “Shooting pains down this arm accompanied by chest pain? Numbness on one side of your face? New medications or just dabbling in recreational meth?”
Dad chuckles and his dark eyes shine. He’s given this look a hundred times to my brothers, but never to me. Fuck me—is that pride?
“I’ve talked to the administration at Worthington. You can return to school, and I’ve talked to the admissions office at the University of Louisville. They’re willing to review your application again.”
Gaped mouth. A couple of breaths in. “You know I was suspended for fighting, right?”
“Yes. But over the last few weeks, something has happened inside you. Something that didn’t happen inside me until I was in my twenties. You’re coming alive and I want to be a part of it.”
Wait... “Twenties? I thought you and Mom met in your freshman year of college.” The tale was one of those all-American love stories. The well-brought-up boy and girl fall in love over a shared love of education, money and extracurricular activities.
Dad’s eyes flash to mine and I slump back in my seat. “You lied.”
He rolls his neck and his silence confirms the truth. “Did you even meet at college?”
“No,” he answers. “I know what I’m talking about and I don’t want you to repeat my mistakes. Let me help you.”
For the past two months, everything has been bleak and dark and now there is light. I was stupid before. Made stupid choices. Had a future I willingly threw away. Then I discovered hunger and loneliness and my lone salvation was Haley.
Haley. “I’ll stay at Eastwick and graduate there.”
His face falls. “Worthington is one of the best schools in the state. A diploma from there will open countless doors for you in the future. Eastwick has nothing to offer you.”
It has Haley. “I’m staying there.”
“Are you scared you can’t make the same grades at Worthington? Apply yourself like you have there. The problem has always been within you, and you’re finally motivated.”
My skin crawls like I’m being cornered in a dark alley. “I’m motivated at Eastwick. I like it there and I’m staying.”
“Is this over the girl?”
My chin lifts. “You mean Haley?”
“I sent you into a situation where you could have made every wrong choice and instead you found a way to clean your life up. If we’re mirrors of each other, take my advice. This is a honeymoon perio
d. You’ll do well at first but then sink under the bad influences. You’ve got the motivation now. Let’s get you back to where you belong and keep you from backsliding.”
“I won’t backslide.” Haley is the reason I’m halfway decent.
“From where I sit, the fight today at school is the beginning of the backslide.”
“If we’re mirrors of each other...if there’s more to you and Mom’s story than what you’re saying, then you’ll understand that I have a reason to not backslide.”
“I’m telling you, from experience, a girl can be your worst downfall. It can change your path, but not always in the way you think.”
What the hell?
Dad’s cell pings and he scratches his head when he scans the message. “I’ve got to cut this short. I want you back at Worthington. We’ll work on getting you into U of L. Quit the job at the bar and I’ll find you a position with me. The gym equipment will be here at the end of the week. You can start working out at home.”
I harden into a statue. “I’m not giving up my life.”
“Not your life. You’re returning home after spending two months figuring yourself out. You’re doing okay now, but the people you’re around will cause major damage. You’re capable of more. I know it and now you know it. Your body is here, but you haven’t mentally returned home. You wanted me to ask, so I’m asking now. Come home. Take advantage of everything I can offer.”
Internally I’m screaming as my insides tear in two. This moment... It’s what I’ve craved for years. To hear my dad say he’s proud of me as a son, but the crushing notion that in order to keep his approval, I have to walk away from a life I like... I stand.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I need to go to Eastwick. I need the gym. I need—”
“Haley,” Dad finishes for me. “You don’t. I understand you think you do, but you don’t. Things between you two will end up bad. Trust me on this.”
“Haley and I will be fine. Besides, she needs me. I’m helping her with a scholarship—”
“I laid off her father,” he says simply. “I’ve had eyes on you since you didn’t come home that Friday night. I know where she lives and I know who she is. I know what she’s lost. I know it all, but does she know my decisions created her nightmare?”
The fear that kept me from kissing Haley the night I stayed in her room resurfaces. “No.”
“I also know about the fight in two weeks,” Dad continues. “I’m sorry, but I can’t permit the fight to happen. I lost Colleen. On the heels of everything that’s happened over the past two months with Rachel, I can’t risk it. Your mother can’t take anything else. I can’t take anything else.”
“I’m eighteen.” My voice sounds far-off as I comprehend what he’s telling me. “I don’t need your permission to fight.”
“No, you don’t. But I think you’ll want to wait on your decision until you consider what I’m about to offer. If you walk away from the fight, if you return home and leave Haley and this entire new life behind, I’ll give her what her father can’t. I’ll pay for her college tuition.”
Haley
I step out of the back door with a full trash bag in hand and stare up at the rolling gray clouds. It’s been sunny for days, but tonight thunderstorms are supposed to move in. Small drops of water sprinkle onto my arms, but I don’t care. I’d rather be wet than inside.
Besides West getting kicked out of school for harassing Matt, today was a good day. I finished the paperwork for the scholarship and my teachers let me skip classes so I could work on the video at the computer lab. Now all I need is the ending: the fight between Matt and West.
West winning would be a fabulous ending, but my hope doesn’t lie there because that is the stuff of fairy tales. This is reality and I’ve built my whole premise around taking a scrapper and training him in a few techniques in the hopes he could listen during a fight and last one round.
The ultimate irony: my advantage is I know how Matt fights and I’ve taught West how to use Matt’s weaknesses against him. I’ve given West the best ammunition I have. The rest, unfortunately, is up to him.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Matt turns the corner of the house and I jump out of my skin. The instinct is to throw the trash at him and run back inside, but heading in isn’t much better.
I toss the garbage into the can and wipe at the drizzle gathering on my forehead. Avoiding Matt is what I should do, but I’m done running from him. I’m done being a coward. “What do you want?”
Matt rubs a spot over his eye before shoving both of his hands into his pockets. “We’re two weeks away from the fight. Have you considered my offer?”
“I’m with West now. We’re over, Matt.”
“Did you know he’s a Young?” he asks.
I curse internally. West has tried to keep people from knowing his roots, afraid his family’s money would complicate matters. We both knew the truth would eventually surface. “I know my boyfriend’s last name.”
“No, Haley. He belongs to the Youngs.”
Crap. “He doesn’t have any money. His dad cut him off—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the money. I give a fuck about you.”
“He’s good to me.”
“I was good to you and I screwed up one time. I’m curious if you’ll hold a grudge against him like you’ve held a grudge against me.”
The rain picks up and beats against my uncle’s car. The air is warm, but the drops are cold. I shiver against them. “Is there a point before I drown?”
“You know my dad was also laid off with your dad, right?”
I nod. My dad worked in the office. His dad on the line. Fortunately for Matt, his dad found work at another local plant.
“The Youngs are the reason why our dads lost their jobs. They’re the ones that bought the company, then sent the lines to Mexico. Ask your boyfriend how long he’s kept that from you.”
West
A bluish light glows from Rachel’s bed and I freeze in her doorway. It’s late and she should be asleep. The clothes I let Haley borrow are in my hands. Sheets shift and, with a click, the lamp on Rachel’s beside table illuminates. With her head propped against a stack of pillows and the covers pulled up to her chest, Rachel squints against the light. “You okay?”
I slip into the room and close the door behind me. Mom sleeps lightly, attuned to any sound in case Rachel should need her. “I was hoping to sneak in and put back your clothes.”
“Hold on. I need proof. Ethan won’t believe me.” Rachel raises the phone in her hand and snaps a picture. “Didn’t see the whole cross-dressing thing happening. Maybe I should have. You are pretty for a guy.”
I smile, forgetting how much I love her dry sense of humor. “Sorry I woke you.”
“I was already up.” Her cell buzzes and a silly grin plays on Rachel’s lips as she reads the text. Her fingers type a response and then she shyly glances at me. “It’s Isaiah. My sleeping patterns are insane so he...” Her cheeks turn red. “He keeps me company.”
Isaiah—the guy who hasn’t left my sister’s side and walks around school like a zombie. The guy who attends every single physical therapy appointment and follows every rule my parents have created. The guy who loves her. Just like I love Haley. “You love him?”
“Yes.” The answer is swift.
Before the accident, I would have flopped onto her bed and messed with some breakable item in her room to get a rise out of her, not skulked near the door. I lost that right the day I waltzed into this room and took the money she needed. “I’m sorry. What’s happened to you...it’s my fault.”
All of Haley’s warnings over the past couple of months crash in my head: I act without thinking, I’m impulsive and my impulsiveness hurts not only me, but the people I love. It hurt Rachel and now it’s hurtin
g Haley.
I recklessly wound my way into Haley’s life, reacting each time, thinking I knew more, but the truth is I’m an idiot. Haley once wondered if we were nothing more than actions to reactions—helpless against our own fate. It’s true. I react and others pay.
“I did this,” I say to Rachel. “I’m the reason why...” And my eyes snap shut with the burn.
“West.” The hurt in Rachel’s tone scrapes at the already pulsating wound. “You have to come here, because I can’t go to you.”
The impulse is to leave—to run as far as possible—but I’m done with impulses. I’m done doing what feels good. Everyone has told me my sister needed me, but I was too selfish to listen. I was too concerned about the ache.
I sink to the floor with my back against her bedside table, not because my sister needs me, but because I’m a bastard and need her. I fucking need my sister and the past two months without her have almost driven me over the edge. Rachel rests her head on a pillow and stretches out her arm. Without looking at her, I take her hand.
“It’s not your fault,” she says.
The muscles in my face pull down. “It is.”
“It’s not.”
“You can’t walk,” I snap and I feel her hand flinch in mine. “I stole your money and now you can’t walk and there is nothing I can do to fucking fix it.” I suck in a ragged breath and nausea creeps into my windpipe. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Rachel pulls on my hand and, like a house of cards, I tumble. I hurt Rachel and I’m on the verge of hurting Haley. When will I stop paying for all my past sins? How many things will I lose that I love in exchange for all the pain I’ve inflicted?
“I don’t cry,” I say. I don’t. Men don’t fucking cry, but as Rachel touches the top of my head, I fucking lose my shit.
“I know,” she answers.
Yet we stay that way until Rachel squeezes my hand and I eventually squeeze back.
Attempting to reclaim my pride, I sit up and wipe at my face. “If I could fix this, I would. If I hadn’t stolen the money...”