Page 83 of The Blessing

chapter 32

hurt

My father always stood up for me, always believed in me, when no one else did. That’s what makes hating him so hard. The truth is, I could never truly hate him; no matter what he’s done or what he will do. My father had so many chances to turn his back on me in the past. So many chances to look at me and my fucked-up actions and think “this kid just isn’t worth the trouble,” but he didn’t. For some odd reason, I was always worth it to him. My father and brother were the only two people in my life who really gave a flying fuck about me. My mother didn’t give a damn—never did—and yet, I feel this need to protect her. I laugh because looking back she never felt the need to protect me. Hell, she didn’t even want to be around me. I was no more than a nuisance to her.

Sneaking across the carpeted floor, I try desperately to stay quiet so I won’t be detected. I just want to get my fix and be left the fuck alone. What I wouldn’t give for a nice moment of peace without someone breathing down my fucking neck. My dad’s voice stops me in my tracks; he’d be so disappointed if he knew I was stealing from his stash in the kitchen again.

“Evelyn, we can’t just leave him behind. How’s that going to look to him?”

“Arthur, we can’t keep coddling him. How much trouble does he have to get into before you can see this? I don’t want him to ruin our vacation, okay? He has an attitude problem everywhere we go, and I’m not going to put up with it this time. I just want a nice, quiet vacation. Is that really too much for me to ask?”

“You really want to leave him behind?” my father asks incredulously. “You’re so worried about him getting into trouble, yet you want to leave him here alone with our house at his disposal? Which one is it, Evie? Are you worried about his well-being, or not?”

“Don’t give me that look, Arthur. You know what your son is like.”

I roll my eyes at her tone. She always calls me “Dad’s son,” whenever she’s fucking pissed at me for something. When is she not fucking pissed at me for something, though? I’m always my father’s son. While she’s never been “nice” to me, now, she doesn’t even bother hiding her disapproval and contempt. I suppose I have been shitty lately. I did just get another in-school suspension for fighting, but fuck, she could try to be a little less icy towards me every now and then. Honestly, I wish my school would just fucking expel me already. What are they waiting for? It seems imminent at this point. I’d rather get kicked out now than have to go back to that hellhole school.

“I know he’s been a bit much lately but leaving him here alone isn’t going to help a single thing. I think you know that, Evelyn. You just don’t want him to be there to interfere with your vacation.”

“You’re always defending him. We can’t ever have a nice time without you bringing him up and worrying about him.”

“How can I not bring him up? He’s our son!”

There’s a heartbeat of a pause before my mother says, “I just need a break, Arthur. I think I deserve that much.” She’s so sweet sounding now; she’s obviously changed her tactic because she knows my dad will give in. When I hear him sigh, I know she’s won again.

So, they’re leaving me behind. I can’t say I’m fucking surprised, or even sad about the fact. It will give me a nice break from them, too. Growing bored of their conversation, I quietly saunter back toward the kitchen and pick up my dad’s bottle of Jack. I pour the contents into a black coffee mug and throw the empty bottle in the trashcan in the garage, making sure to hide it under the mountains of trash bags. Thank fucking God, no one in this house pays much attention to me. The only time they hover is when they want to get on to me about something. Otherwise, I might as well be a ghost. Since Dean’s at practice and my parents are arguing in the study, I practically have the whole house to myself.

I take a long drink of whiskey as I walk back to my room, smiling as it burns its way down my throat. The taste of Jack has always been so fucking comforting. Its familiar bite always makes me feel like I’m home. As fucking cheesy as that sounds, it’s still true. I jump onto my couch and flick on the television. I can hear dad coming up the stairs, and I’m sure he’s probably going to come up and apologetically tell me what’s going on. Whatever. I don’t care about going. I don’t care about anything.

I’m used to feeling like the family’s fucking nuisance. I’ve grown accustomed to it and now I know how to deal. However, part of me could only stomach it because I knew I had at least one parent who loved me. Now that things with my father are on shaky ground, I don’t know how the fuck to handle anything. I can’t help but think that I grew up living a lie. That thought makes me so fucking pissed because my father was the one person I could always rely on. He was the one man I could always look up to. Now he’s just—well, now I don’t know what the hell he is.

We meet in a public place because the idea of being alone with him made me feel both vulnerable and uncomfortable. I wanted a place where I could leave whenever I wanted to—just in case our conversation went sour. While I’m here to hear him out and work on forgiving him, I’m well aware of my temper. I know I have trouble putting a cap on it sometimes. If he said the wrong thing or looked at me the wrong way, I know it could easily set me off. I’m walking on eggshells, so it’s best to play it safe.

I pull up to the coffee shop that’s located about halfway between his place and mine and find my dad’s Lexus already parked out front. I’m so thankful he agreed to meet with me so soon because being alone with my thoughts for too long is never a good thing. My imagination tends to run wild and I’d probably come up with ideas that were worse than anything my father would actually tell me. I don’t want to think so much shit about him, but I can’t help it. Not when he gives me so many reasons to.

Today, he appears exhausted, yet, more collected than the last time I saw him. He looks at peace with the situation almost, as if he knows there’s nothing more he can do than to come clean about whatever it is he’s hiding. It would be a stretch to say he looked happy, but he sure as hell doesn’t look as agitated as he was during our last meeting. He smiles as soon as he sees me and stands to greet me as I walk toward his table. I’m surprised when he pulls me into a hug. He’s acting as if I’m going somewhere. As if he believes this is the last time he’ll get to hug me. Moments like these send a chill up my spine. The energy surrounding him shifts and something in my gut tells me that whatever he has to say to me might change everything. I pull back and look at him—really look at him—wondering what on Earth has changed.

When I disengage—I can sense his fear. I wonder if he’s afraid of losing me. I want to assure him he could never lose me, not after Dean’s death. I can’t imagine turning my back on him, regardless of what he’s done. His past is over—my past is over—and it’s time we moved on. I can’t fault him for his past, just like he hasn’t condemned me for mine. I couldn’t imagine what it would do to him if I wrote him out of my life completely. That’s almost worse than if I died because I would still be alive in the world and wanting nothing to do with him. I couldn’t imagine the hurt that would cause.

Wanting to ignore the unsettling vibes he’s projecting, I take a seat at the table and give him an expectant look before he does the same. “How’s it going, Dad?” I awkwardly ask, feeling rattled with anxiety as I continue to sense his unease.

He doesn’t answer my question, but instead asks, “Do you want anything, Trev? I can order you a coffee?” He sounds breathless, so excited I’m here that he instantly goes into his “dad mode.”

I chuckle at him and run a nervous hand through my hair. I came here to smooth things over with him, but I can’t help but notice that something’s wrong. There’s obviously something he’s not telling me. “No, Dad. I’m fine. I just wanted to talk to you. Apologize for how I behaved the last time we spoke.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I understand completely. Your reaction was better than the one I expected, actually. I knew my transgressions would be brought into the light sooner or later… I just hadn’t expected you to find out so soon. When I heard your voice on the phone that night, I knew something was wrong. At first, I thought I was just being paranoid because I had just started seeing this woman again. However, the moment I saw you the last time we met, I knew you had some idea what was going on. You looked so disappointed…” he trails off.

“How recent is this thing with her?”

“Very recent,” he assures me, while twisting his hands on the table. “I asked your mom for a divorce and then moved into my own apartment. About a week later, Felicity came back to town and wanted to settle down here. I couldn’t help but reach out to her. It’s been so long since I’d seen her.”

“Do you think she came back for you? Was that the reason she decided to settle in Evergreen?”

His blue eyes bore into mine, burning with conflict. He looks so distant—like someone else completely. What the fuck is he lying to me about? The look in his eyes makes my heart hurt, but I can’t bring myself to let this go. Mesmerized by his pain and inner turmoil—I can’t look away. Suddenly, I wonder if meeting at a quiet coffeehouse on a weekday was a good idea. I hadn’t realized we’d be airing our dirty laundry here.

“Trevor, all I ever wanted to do was protect you,” he begins reaching out to take my hand in his.

Last night I felt fucking sorry for him, but now it seems like he’s been holding out on me. I pull my hand away from his and shake my head in disbelief. I start to feel the anger within me rise to the surface. “Protect me from what?” I grit out through my teeth.