Chapter Twenty-Five

Jake

I didn’t go back to sleep after she left me this morning. There’s no school today, and no game tonight, so I’ve spent the whole morning driving around to nowhere. I’m still not really sure what happened. We were good, great, even, and then Howell punched me and broke everything. Jamie told me to tell him. I reckon I should’ve listened. But I liked having Haley to myself. We were still figuring out what we were, what we wanted; now we’ll never get the chance to know what we could be.

Dad’s car is in the driveway when I get home. He avoids this house like the plague, and he definitely never parks the Volvo in the driveway. The damn porch ramp is crooked again, but today I step over it the same way he probably did. He had to walk the same path; it doesn’t seem to be worth any of his trouble.

“Jamie? Dad?” I call when I get inside.

“Here,” Dad rumbles.

It’s been a while since I’ve actually seen him.

Dad’s sitting at the dining room table, suit jacket slung over the back of one chair. Sleeves on his shirt rolled up to his forearms. His tie is undone, hair mussed up, and a bottle of scotch in front of him. It’s not even 10:00 a.m. I haven’t seen him this way since Jamie had the accident.

I stand on the other end of the dining room table, curl my fingers in the back of it. He looks at me, eyes really blue and the whites redder than usual. It almost looks like he’s been crying. My dad doesn’t cry.

He twirls a glass with a tiny bit of amber liquid in his hand.

“Rough day already?”

He gives me this dark chuckle. “When is it not?”

I’m not sure what to do here. Dad and I aren’t really the ones who talked. It was no secret Jamie was his favorite and I was Mom’s. They’re more alike. They get each other. Jamie was the one Dad didn’t expect, but when he came anyway he was the one Dad pinned all his hopes and failed dreams of football stardom on—I was the backup he never thought he’d have to use. It’s not really his fault, I guess. We came along his second year of college, the beginning of his football career lost by a blown knee and a pregnant girlfriend. Granddad brought him home, trained him in the family business, and all that cliché stuff that forces adults to take on roles they never wanted that you see in movies and shit.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” I say.

“I live here.”

“Okay,” I say, and it sounds kind of like I’m an asshole. Maybe I am. I never see him here for someone who lives here. I see Jamie’s aides more than him. He’s always on business trips. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a bed in the office.

“I had to take your brother to his checkup with Dr. Rausch.”

Shit. “That was today?”

“Yup,” Dad says, swallowing down the rest of his scotch. He gets up to the bar, grabs another glass, and sets it down. “You want one?”

I almost say no. I should say no. But everything kinda sucks right now, and this is the longest conversation we’ve had since I was five. So, even though I don’t want it, I do want it. “Yeah,” I say, and even the word is a betrayal.

He pours in some of his scotch and slides the glass over to the seat next to him. I move to sit there. “Where is Jamie?”

“Asleep,” he says.

“I guess the doctor wasn’t good. What’d they say?”

Dad takes a sip of his scotch. Even though he hasn’t played ball in years, he’s still got a player’s body. Wide shoulders, big neck, large arms. He almost seems like he’s strangling himself in that suit, even with the collar undone.

“He’s never walking again.”

I sigh. This fucking sucks. One more punch to the gut. “We both already knew that.”

And even though that’s true, there was still room for hope. Dad clung to the hope, wrapped himself around the possibility and snuggled into it like a warm blanket. Jamie and I didn’t acknowledge it, but it was there. An escape hatch right under our feet, potentially ours if we could unlock it. Now it’s gone, forever.

He downs the rest of his scotch, pours another, and looks at me. I haven’t touched mine yet. I want to, but I don’t want to. I shouldn’t.

“I thought the treatments and the therapy might improve it. That’s what the doctors said. They gave me hope for something else,” he says, and then he pauses. “I wanted something more for him.”

I nod, but the guilt builds up inside me. I can hear what he’s not saying. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. Or maybe he thinks it should’ve been me. Either way, we both know it’s on me—he can barely even look at me.

“At least he’s alive,” Dad adds. “It’s not the life he deserves.”

I can read the subtext there, too. I deserved this, not him.

I pick up the scotch and look at it. It’s funny how so little of something has the power to make you feel everything or nothing at all. How long has it been since I had a drink? Like, a real drink? I don’t even know.

I swoosh around the cup as Dad pours another. I think of Haley, of Jamie never walking, of Seth, of Howell hating me, and I look at my dad. He seems as lost as I am. I lift the glass. The smell almost makes my nose burn. I bring it up to my lips and pause as Haley’s face pops into my head. She said she can’t be the reason I change, and she’s right. I have to want it for myself.

I lower the glass back down and slide it toward Dad. He stares at it, at me, then chuckles and downs it.

Even though it’s Friday, I head to the rehab center. At least it gives me something to do. The kids are already up and moving around, and a volunteer is doing balloon animals and face paints in the rec room. I’m watching when little Gracie Ann Lewis runs up and hugs me.

“Hello, Jake Lexington.”

“Princess,” I say, playing along. “I love that butterfly.” I point to the painting on her cheek, and she grins.

“I wanted it to look like a rainbow.”

“It is very pretty, like you.”

She giggles and runs away from me with another little girl.

I don’t see Seth anywhere out here, so I head toward his room. I hope he’s not still on quarantine from the treatment. A bunch of kids stop me in the halls, and I give them high fives or talk to them. Seeing these kids every week makes you connect, and I’ve gotten to know many.

Seth’s door is closed, but his mom is sitting outside. When she sees me, she stands, and I can feel in the air that something is wrong. “Oh, Jake,” she says.

“Mrs. K. What’s going on?” I start.

There’s a sigh, the shake of a head. I know she starts talking, but I’m not sure what she says because all the words don’t register. “Gotten worse” and “no positive outcome.” My mind is spinning, trying to keep up with what I hear; it can’t be real. Not Seth. He’s a damn kid. A good one.

Her hand rests on my forearm. “I’m sure he’d love to see you. You mean a lot to him.”

I nod, even though the last thing I want to do is go in there. I don’t want to see him like that. It’s like seeing my brother every day and trying to pretend I’m okay. I stand at the door while a nurse finishes up with him, and when she exits, I squeeze by.

Seth looks tired, his eyes dark. He tries to smile when he sees me, but it doesn’t stretch as far as usual. “Hey, buddy,” I say.

“Mom told me you wanted me to come to the game. I wish I could’ve.”

“There will be other games. You can come when you’re feeling better,” I say. There’s a very telling silence that echoes in the room. Like I said the wrong thing, and he knows it.

“I’d love to go to Homecoming. I used to want to be a football player so I could ride on the float. Is it fun?”

“Yeah, man. It is fun.”

“It’s my favorite, besides Christmas.”

“Christmas in Culler is unlike anything else,” I say.

“Mom loves it, too. She’s gonna be real sad without me,” he says, and he looks right at me. “Will you check in on her?”

“Yeah,” I somehow manage.

“And will you teach my brothers to throw a football? They’d like that. They were real jealous of all the stories I told them about you.”

“I promise I will.”

Seth nods real slow, and then his mom knocks on the door. “Can I come back in?”

“Yeah, Ma,” he says. “I’m getting tired again.”

She moves toward him and rubs his head. “You go to sleep then, baby. Mama will be right here.”

I take the moment to excuse myself, and I feel that pulling at my chest. I want to cry. I want to do something that’s not this. He can’t die. It’s not fair. None of this is fair.

I don’t talk to anyone as I leave, even though Ms. Nichols calls my name. Take a deep breath. I’m too mad to breathe, too sad, too tired of watching innocent people get hurt. Jamie, Haley, Seth.

Outside, I kick the tire of my truck again and again and again. One for each of them. Once more for me.

I climb into the driver’s seat and shove down all the feelings. I’m tired of feeling. I pull out my phone to text Haley, on instinct, then I remember I can’t. I do it anyway. Just a unicorn and a sad face.

So I turn the car on and drive back toward town. Not Culler, though, toward Haymont.

I’ve gone a whole fifteen miles and parked my car when Seth’s mom sends me a text that he’s gone.

I stare at the words until they start to blur.

I don’t know what to say back to her, so I say nothing.

I jump out of the cab of the truck and stare at the sign on the door in front of me to Al’s Liquor Warehouse. They know me by Mike in here, since I doctored my dad’s old ID from when he was younger. I look like him.

I’m lingering too long, I should just go inside. I don’t want to, but I don’t want to feel any of this.

I get a text and I hope it’s Haley. I want it to be Haley.

It’s not. It’s Jamie. Where are you today? Come home.

Another reminder.

I shove my phone into my pocket and walk into the store.