CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
My wife. My wife. Where is my wife?
LAKE
Going to rehab today is one of my toughest challenges. I strutted into the building today like I didn’t have heroin waved right in front of my eyes. I could almost taste the peace washing over me, but I chose to almost get shot in the head instead of taking the baggies and running.
Gotta keep that same mentality so I can pass a drug test, for Serenity’s sake.
Everything I do is for Serenity—her safety, giving her the great life she deserves—and that’s the reason I pulled myself back to rehab today. If I stay sober, I’d get my letters and inheritance from River, but I’ve barely been worrying about that. I know my sister must be smiling wherever she is, at least a little, knowing my mind is consumed by a beautiful woman instead of drugs.
I can’t believe that angel loves me. Can’t understand why.
I sound like a child saying this, but I’m not heading home to Serenity. Maybe if I kept myself sober, and I could stand on my feet without someone feeling forced to hold me there, I’d walk through that door, but the chances of that day ever happening are slim and stuck at the summit of a rocky, unreachable mountain.
Cause I hate to admit it, but my dad is right. I’m nothing, and I’m just like him. I can’t go back to my wife and allow her to live life where she feels second best, or small. She’s more than that. She’s my sun. I refuse to be the tragedy that dims her.
My thoughts disperse for a split second as I sink my teeth into a gooey chocolate brownie, and I melt into a plastic orange chair in my usual corner of the room.
I take another bite in complete peace, because Sally hasn’t been around. Rumor is she got bopped at some party, ruined her parole, and tossed behind bars.
Marco’s still here. He’s sharper at every meeting. He sits next to me and catches up before Rebecca goes on random tangents.
Recovery’s a bitch for both of us, but Marco keeps sober on the tiniest things he can find. Today he told me he only got through a breakdown last night because he planned to rob me of half my treats. It made me think I keep going off of small things too, because sometimes I feel like I’m slapping a bandaid over an open wound that needs thirty damn stitches—I question if I’m making progress at all, but I keep moving.
I chow down on a tiny date square, catching sight of the ring still bound to my finger. After I smashed it into my dad’s face, I spent thirty minutes polishing it clean without pulling it off.
Still no damn husband, though.
“Sir!” Rebecca’s voice grabs everyone’s attention. I watch her race past the window that showcases the main hallway, but before she reaches whoever she’s shouting at, the door to our large meeting room flies open.
“Oh no,” I mutter.
My brother scours the entire room. He looks livid. His eyes are throwing fire and he’s puffing steam out of his nostrils. He finds me, and all he says is “you,” while stabbing his finger in my path.
What the hell is he doing here and why am I still in trouble? I’ve been doing everything right despite the loud, aggressive urge to fall backwards.
His thumb hooks behind his head. “Out here, now.”
I pop another treat in my mouth, and like a kid getting suspended, I sluggishly stroll from the corner to meet my inevitable demise. My paper plate lands in the trash, and I follow Brooks into the hallway.
“What—”
Everyone watches through the window as he grabs onto my arm and drags me off. I spot Marco smirking through the glass, biting into the last cupcake. He wiggles his eyebrows and waves me off as I’m pulled from his sight.
Brooks throws open another door, hauling me into a much smaller square.
“Dude!” I shout.
He whips out an empty chair and shoves me into it. “What the hell are you doing?”
I hold out my arms. “Um, going to rehab?”
My brother does his classic move he’s been doing since we were kids. He pinches the bridge of his nose, until the tips of his fingers lighten three shades, and he follows it with aggressive huffing. He’s gonna blab some bullshit I don’t wanna hear, but I got no damn choice.
“Why haven’t you talked to Serenity?” He keeps pinching his skin. “Why is your crap still in my apartment?”
Oh, hell no. It’s about Angel. “Told you, I can’t, Brooks.” I slouch into my new chair.
He shakes his head. “You are such an idiot, Lake.”
I stare up at him through my eyebrows. Maybe he’s not wrong. Maybe I’m a complete moron, but I’m doing the right thing. I’m not good for that woman and I’m not built for that type of life. I’m unstable and borderline crazy.
Serenity is glorious light, secure in a crystal-clear bottle. Nothing unstable, nothing crazy, should be anywhere near her.
“I want an actual answer,” he demands. “Tell me why you’re not going home to her. Explain to me why you’re running away.”
“Running away?” I scoff.
“Yes, Lake! Running the hell away,” he says, ripping his hand away from his nose, “that’s what you’re doing, so please enlighten me.”
“Not doing this.” I stand up, attempting to shift past him, but he slams me right back into the chair.
He doesn’t say another damn word, just folding his arms and glares. He’s letting me boil, but I don’t blow. I stare back at him. There’s nothing I have to say, even as the damn anxiety floods and smothers the air.
My brother talks first. “You don’t think you deserve it, huh?”
Think? It’s not a question. I don’t deserve her. “We both know the answer to that, Brooks.”
“You—” He silences himself, the muscles in his arms tensing, and he slaps the back of his hand into his palm, saying, “why, Lake? Tell me why.”
I scrape my tongue across my cheek. “I don’t want to talk.”
We go back to having a damn staring contest. I’ve taken a lot of lessons from rehab, but I’m still not much of a talker. It took every ounce of courage I could find to open up to Angel. Facing my shit internally is hard enough.
“When did you become such a pussy?” He snaps. “You used to jump into everything head first. When did that stop?”
I don’t know. I got tired.
“Why do you run from everything that’s good?” He glances at the ceiling and takes a moment. “Tell me why you think you don’t deserve a good life.”
“I have my father’s eyes.” The words escape my mouth without me wanting them to. “I have my mother’s hair.”
Brooks’ mouth stays apart. His body language shifts from rigid to soft.
I look my brother in the face and motion to the scars on my arms. “You and River did everything to keep me from turning out like this, but I did anyway.”
I take in the suit he’s got on. He’s not wearing a suit jacket, but there’s no doubt he left it in his glossy SUV. The suit, the car, the responsibilities, all of it shows the trauma he utilized to build something better. He made something of himself. I never did.
“There’s nothing for me to show about my life. Not a wild spirit or a big company.” My shoulders lift, and I shrug. “I’m a failure and I’m just like my parents. The people I needed to not be.”
“Lake.” Brooks sways his head. “Listen to me for a moment, okay?”
I stare past him at the door. It’s impossible to face him when I’m feeling small and embarrassed. I don’t know why I bothered opening my mouth.
“You throw away every opportunity at a happy life because your parents have shoved their opinions so deep into your skull you can’t get yourself away from it.”
I close my eyes. “Shut up, Brooks.”
“No, no, I won’t.” His voice stays strong. “You’ve made mistakes, Lake, but you are not a bad person. You are so far from being that. Let alone a failure.”
He crouches into a squat, and he grabs onto my forearm, keeping my fingers from scratching or fidgeting. “Your life has never been easy. Look at your parents. Our mother, she, your dad, they never cared.”
My leg jitters. “They should’ve cared.”
“Lake,” he says. “Your childhood is gone. All that abuse isn’t happening anymore. It’s gone. River’s gone.”
I didn’t notice them coming, but my nose stings and my eyes crowd with tears. I’m not given a chance to keep them inside. They roll right down my cheeks.
“River was just a girl.” I swallow. “She had so much—”
He cuts me off. “River was a grown woman, Lake. She lived her life.”
I recognize that, but it still aches me to my core. She missed out on so many possibilities. I hate that she’s dead and I’m still breathing. I hate that I’ve taken countless opportunities from both my siblings because they had to chase me around. All the time, I wished they’d stop loving me how our mother did.
“Listen.” He scoots closer on his toes, holding onto a desk to support himself. “She wasn’t mad at you. You didn’t even hurt her, Lake.”
Why do I see myself shrinking? I don’t feel twenty-five. I’m twenty years younger.
Brooks continues speaking, “she went on living her life without you talking to her. She just wanted you to be happy.”
I watch my brother shrink with me. His twists change into cornrows on his scalp, and his worry wrinkles disappear. The world’s unfinished, and he holds out his palm, the shiny action figure resting on his fingers. His smile has holes in it from missing baby teeth, but it gives me hope.
“You need to stop being so hung up on all of it.” His voice breaks. “I’ll get you therapy. I’ll get you whatever you need, because I’m right here, Lake.”
I can picture my hand, my knuckles still smooth, and I grasp the Spider-Man toy. A sense of worth radiating from it. My brother offers me that worth, and I feel River’s hand pat on my shoulder, securing that worth in my bones.
“I’m your brother. You’re never going to be alone. Do you get that?”
Tears fall onto my hands and my jeans. I don’t nod or shake my head. I’m frozen in this moment as every puzzle piece finds the crevices it belongs next to.
“And you know who else is here? That girl you love. I know you love her. You’ve loved her since she got your heart pumping again.” He gives me a weak smile. “I think you’re only alive because she put her hands on your chest and you started to beat for her.”
I meet his eyes. The same brown color as mine, showing me he’s my blood, but blood doesn’t mean shit, does it? Family is a choice. Serenity chose me when she held onto my dead chest and refused to let me go. I chose her when I came back from nothing and let my heart beat against her palms.
“Do you know where she’d be if it wasn’t for you?” He doesn’t give my mind a second to doubt before he’s filling the room with his speech again. “She’d be serving a life sentence, and from what I know, she wouldn’t have flowers in her dining room, or a bookshelf for her books. She wouldn’t feel the love you have given her.”
He returns to his original self, and I follow. We’re our tall selves, worry wrinkles and carved skin, memories and setbacks—everything resting on our withered minds and bodies. Twenty years later.
“You are not protecting her from anything when you’re not there, Lake.” This time, when his voice snaps, it’s like a glow stick. His eyes gleam as tears build up on his waterline. “You are the whole reason she had any protection, any love, to begin with.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, Brooks—”
“I know you’re scared.” He bows his head. “A lot of this is your addiction and fear talking. It’s trying to make you give up, but you’re not going to.”
He’s right. Although it doesn’t make me any less afraid.
“Go home, Lake.” He presses a finger to the corner of his eye, absorbing a tear. “Just go home to her.”
I tuck in my bottom lip to stop its trembling. “I don’t want to screw this up. What if I fuck it all up?”
“Then you’ll try again, because you love that woman.” He smiles. “Go get your wife, Lake, and just be yourself. You’re not your dad. Or mom. You’re just you.”
Just me. I’m starting to like who I’m becoming.
***
I’m heading home to my wife. First, I’m stopping at a flower shop to buy her flowers. Then I’m gonna get on my damn knees and beg for her to take me back. And if she does, I’m gonna stay on my knees and beg a little longer.
My brother is a piece of work, but I admire his persistence. He’s gotten me this far, and I got no clue how he’s done it, even now. Cause I’m not sure how or why my feet are moving with countless thoughts swirling around my brain, but I’m doing this.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out from the console once I park my truck, and I raise my eyebrow at the unknown number.
?: We need to talk.
No thanks. I tuck it into my pocket along with my keys and I head through the parking lot. I open the door to the flower shop, and all I smell is Serenity. Every flower in all their colors looks like Serenity. I’m thrilled that I’ll be home soon enough to that smell and her pretty face.
Am I a perfect husband? No. I’m far from it, but I think that’s the point. She loves me like this. I’m enough like this. I can still be her husband, and keep growing, but I can do it all, loving her as I am now.
I roam around the entire shop, contemplating the colors to get her. Then I spot a cluster of yellow daffodils. I hadn’t noticed flowers in damn near forever, but she stuck flowers in my room to welcome me. That ounce of sweetness was the kindest thing I’ve ever experienced. No clue why she chose daffodils. I think she just likes them, so I’ll be bringing them to her until I’m dead.
I call over an employee to ask about prices. My phone goes off again, but I ignore it. “Can I just buy the entire stock?” I wield my hand. “How many are here? Twelve?”
“Think it’s twenty, sir.”
I shrug. “Alright, twenty then.”
The man tries to stifle his laugh, but it gets louder while he looks at my face, so his hand goes from his mouth to his hip. “What did you do? Piss off your wife?”
Kind of.
I watch him gather the first few flowers, then I grab at them myself, attempting to speed up the process. He gives me some tips on how to keep them alive longer, and I nod along, but I just about drag the guy to the cash register. I wanna get home.
“Let me just wrap these up for you,” he says, spinning around and grabbing onto some brown paper.
He lays the daffodils down one by one. I stop giving him attention when my phone vibrates for the third damn time. I take it out from my pocket, and my stomach rips in half.
?: TC has Serenity. I can tell you where she is.
?: Look up at the TV.
I peer up, and the small TV plays the news channel.
There’s a woman on screen discussing the Mancini case. “Dominic Shawne, also known as The Cooker, or TC, is on the run from police.” A picture of TC flashes behind her. “New evidence shows he is the man responsible for the murder of Eddie Mancini. If you have any information on his whereabouts, please call—”
There’s no way.
Everything worked out after Brooks and I met detective Lawrence. I narrowed down a place that seemed somewhat familiar, and while the police investigated the area, Lawrence used my idea to haul in TC to question him.
The Mancini family caught wind of the new information. They tossed thousands at the homicide department to speed up the process. It wasn’t a tough process to begin with. Because of my tips, Lawrence, and the other investigators, a bunch of new leads sprouted.
“Sir?” The guy tilts his head. “Do you want the extra flower food packets?”
Mancini’s friends confirmed Mancini bought from TC often. The hotel confirmed how often he stayed at the Luna, and they found the secret stash in the floor. It was enough to make questioning him easier, but from my knowledge, TC didn’t cave. He wasn’t detained, so he bolted the hell out of there. That’s when Lawrence got approved for a warrant to search his house.
The last thing Brooks told me was something about a gun they found, and it matched the bullet casing Mancini’s hand was shot with. Lawrence put out a warrant for his arrest, and now, apparently, TC’s dumbass is on the run. Stuff is checking out and I don’t like it.
Me: Who the hell is this?
?: You don’t have to believe me. But you’re already aware that TC is strung out.
?: He’s mad that you ratted on him. He thinks Serenity made you do it.
?: Meet me in the PizzaWorld parking lot.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Uh, alright, your total is—“
I whip out my wallet and throw a bunch of bills at the guy. “Sorry. Gotta go. Is this enough?” I toss more, including some coins that slap all around the counter.
The man’s jaw falls apart at the stack of bills on the counter. “Yeah—”
I shove another twenty into his empty tip jar. “Great, thanks.” I take the wrapped flowers and dash outside, cursing everything on this planet under my breath.
This better be a sick joke. If it isn’t, my wife better not have a single finger laid on her.
PizzaWorld is just down the road, but I’m pretty sure that joint is being condemned. So listening to the instructions of a random number, and sitting in an empty, away from the public-eye parking lot, is a terrible idea, but I don’t got the time to worry about it.
My heart is pounding in my head, and my fingers are pulsing. I got tunnel vision on my truck, and I listen to it beep as I click the button on my keys. I throw open the backseat door, lowering the flowers as gently as I can.
Which isn’t very gentle.
Before I shut the door, I hear the click of a gun, then the chilled cylinder presses against my skull. Twice in a week is insane. It’s like I’m playing Russian roulette.
“I’ll be driving.” He snatches my keys from my damn palm, and I don’t even try to stop him. Not because of the gun, but because I gotta be hallucinating. There’s no way I’m hearing the voice I think I’m hearing.
“How’s sobriety treating you?” He closes the backseat door, and I see his reflection in the window.
I’m not hallucinating. “Been treating me well,” I say, trying to piece everything together. “How’s nursing going, Fletch Fuck?”