Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
kane
“Thanks, Mr. D,” Sam says, sitting across from me.
“I know how it is, trust me. When you live in a functional dynamic with an absentee father and an emotionally immature mother, it puts a lot of pressure on you to be the caretaker of the house. The one who must be responsible for everyone else’s emotions, walking on eggshells to avoid a blowup of any kind.
You make yourself so hyperaware of every shifting emotion that you try to predict what could happen next.
But you deserve to go to the school of your dreams and live the life you want.
You do not owe your parents your future just because they may need you.
” I rest my elbows on the desk, watching her carefully to make sure she hears me.
Sam is a strong student, and she was able to secure a full scholarship to an out-of-state college on the West Coast—in English lit—and has been in my office for days ruminating over her acceptance and how her parents have handled it.
It’s been jarring to have a mirror reflection of my own parents staring back at me, but it gives me the right background to guide her moving forward.
To remind her that she still has time to heal, to move beyond them, to find herself and be her own person.
I’m grateful she showed up at my door a few days ago to talk about this. When she leaves at the bell, I sit back in my chair and blow out a breath.
The day has had an easy start. I’ve been riding the high of Avery agreeing to move in all morning. I haven’t gotten to see her yet, but the smile has been permanently fixed on my face since. After my talk with Sam, I feel more conflicted.
One half of me is so happy with the way my life is shaping up. The girl of my dreams back in my life, the career I have worked so hard for, the acceptance to my own master’s program hitting my inbox just this morning. But the thought of my parents brings me down a few levels.
My phone has been dry from them since the fallout, which is to be expected.
But the first few days I had hope. Maybe just a text message that they’d heard me.
I must have checked my phone a thousand times to see if I missed anything.
I went most of my life avoiding their texts and calls, mostly from my mother, to now hoping for something.
It’s been weeks, and I think I have finally given up on them, or at least accepted that this is the way things will have to be. I don’t need to be good enough for them, because really, they are not good enough for me.
Steve and I have really been digging into how much they have impacted me and the core beliefs I have about myself, and I feel lighter.
I feel less weighed down by all they have done—and didn’t do—in my life.
I haven’t forgiven them. I’m not sure if I ever will, but I’m ready to move forward.
I’m ready for my future to be my focus and my past to be just that, my past. My hands itch to check my phone, like maybe there’s something I could have missed from them, but I know all that waits for me is crushing disappointment.
I turn back to my computer and browse the emails I missed during my last appointment.
Nothing is urgent enough to require an immediate response, so I push back away from my desk.
I reach up and stretch out my back from the position I’ve been in for the past few hours when my office phone rings.
The sound is sharp and piercing in the once silent office, the red light blinking to show me it’s an interoffice call.
“Hello?” I answer, the corded phone pulled tight as I stand behind my chair, ready to eat lunch.
“There’s someone at the front for you, with food,” Dawn greets and then hangs up.
Confusion wars through me because I don’t remember ordering any food. I hang up the phone and grab mine, slipping it into my back pocket on the way. I head out of my office and hang right toward the front, and as the hallway comes to an end, I see her.
An angel wearing jeans and a Second Chances T-shirt, holding a bag of food with the brightest smile on her face.
Warmth fills me up as I stare at her, my biggest dream brought to life before me.
Her brown hair is down and hanging to her waist, thick and slightly waved, begging for me to tug on it.
The light makeup she wears for work makes her eyes pop even more. I stare at her as I come closer.
“Hey, I brought—” she starts as I grasp her face and kiss her—maybe a bit more than I should at my place of work, but I can’t help it when she stands there looking like that. As if my heart is walking around outside my body.
“You’re here.” I smile in reverence pulling back, my hands still on both of her cheeks as I take her in again.
“Well, you came to visit me the other day, so I thought…” she trails off as she holds up the food. The spicy aroma hits my nostrils, making my stomach grumble and a moan come up my throat. The name of our local Mexican place is printed on the bag—the one we always use to gorge ourselves.
“You’re perfect.” I smile, an awestruck as I stare down at her, wondering what I could have done to have this girl in my arms again. Her lemon scent hits my nostrils, and I feel greedy as I drink her in, letting myself melt into her presence.
I pull away to grab the food when something at the door catches my eye: a figure shadowed by the light behind him. He walks through the door, the shape of him sparking recognition in my brain.
Before I can place it, he’s inside and staring right at me. I look down and see a glint of something in his hand as his eyes search around. When they land on me, a menacing look takes over his face as he sways slightly on his feet.
“Aye, we have some talkin’ to do,” Trevor’s dad slurs, raising the gun in his hand and pointing it in our direction. I hear a gasp from Avery as I shove her behind me, dwarfing her with my large frame.
“You need to leave, right now,” I demand as my vision snaps into focus, everything hazy except the man standing in front of us with a gun. The black metal gleams when the light from outside hits it, making it more menacing.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” he booms his accent thick, slurring slightly on a few words, waving the gun around. Gasps come from the front desk and to the right, but my stare stays locked on him.
I raise my hand toward him, trying to somehow defuse this situation. I feel a small hand grip the back of my shirt holding me, her forehead resting on my back as I take easy breaths, trying to keep the rising panic at bay until I can figure out how to get her out of this.
“You think ya so much better than me,” he slurs, waving the gun and stepping closer. I take a step back to match his step, trying to keep enough distance between us.
“Mr. Wilde, let’s put the gun down so we can talk about this,” I try to reason.
He looks drunk as he sways on his feet. His stained shirt and ripped pants hang off his frame, his hair beyond disheveled, the strands stringy and limp around him.
He looks unkempt and unbathed. He looks older than his years, the alcohol clearly taking a toll on him as his body fights to stay upright, his finger on the trigger. My body tenses every time he moves.
“You want a threat, I’ll give ya a threat!” he says, swinging the gun around, making the gasps rise around us. I take a step forward, hoping to reason with him.
“Give me the gun, and let’s talk about it.
No more threats. I just want to do what’s best for Trevor,” I caution, hands up as I take another step forward, trying to do anything to defuse this situation.
Unable to look around, I don’t know how many people are here.
All I can focus on is keeping his attention on me and off Avery.
He looks around me, and his eyes change when he spots Avery.
“Who’s the cunt ya have there?” he says with a gleam in his eye as he focuses on her. I see red and take another step forward, trying to block her from his sight, hoping he loses interest and focuses back on me.
“Don’t fucking look at her. Your problem is with me, so point that gun at me, you abusive piece of shit,” I taunt, wanting him to forget her.
“You think ya can talk to me like that, like ya the fuckin’ king of the world,” he slurs further, swaying on his feet,
“I can do what I want with ma own fuckin’ blood, ya hear?” he screams, his face turning red as he waves the gun around. I must keep my own face firmly in place to keep myself from flinching at the move.
“Mr. Wilde, put the gun down and we can talk. We can work this situation out. No one needs to get hurt,” I plead with him, hoping there is some way I can break through his alcohol-induced rage.
I hear a faint sound of sirens in the distance, my heart leaping at the hope that this will be over soon.
Trevor’s dad must hear it too because he whips his head toward the front door, trying to see behind the bright glare of the sun shining in.
So far, the coast is clear, but the seconds are dwindling as the sirens get louder.
“Who tha fuck are ya to call the police? Ya think they gonna save ya?” He screams, the gun raised at me, the barrel in my focus.
I see my life flash before my eyes, the day I met Avery the first thing in my mind, her lips wrapped around the pen, our first date in the park, the leaves all around us creating a beautiful backdrop.
I think of our dance at prom and the first time she told me she loved me.
The smell of lemons every time I sink my face into her hair, when I wake up and we are wrapped in each other, unable to tell where she ends and I begin.
I feel her curves and the way those baby blues shine when I play her a new song, letting her feel the chords and how desperately I feel the lyrics in my voice.