48. Indie
Chapter 48
Indie
“ W ould you come with me?” Tripp asks me the next morning after we’ve had breakfast. French toast, eggs, and bacon. Even that simple meal Tripp had made taste better than anything I’ve ever had before.
“Where are we going?” I ask, pulling on my boots. Luckily, it didn’t snow again, so the driveways are still clear even if they’re still working on the highways. We’re not the biggest town to worry about so it doesn’t have priority, but they’ll get to it eventually.
He touches my chin and leans in for a kiss. “To talk to my dad,” he murmurs. “And probably my sister.”
I tense and pause in the middle of lacing my boots. “Are you sure you want me there? That seems like something that’s pretty personal.”
“There’s no one else I’d rather have with me,” he murmurs.
“Well fuck us then,” Ram teases, his eyes crinkling.
Beau laughs. “Yeah!”
Tripp snorts. “I’d rather not subject you two to more time with the asshole than you’ve already suffered honestly.” His eyes flick to Ram. “And you don’t deserve the racism.”
Ram nods. “I’d go with you anyway. If it would help you.”
“I know that,” Tripp says, moving over to clap him on the shoulder. “And I appreciate it. I always have.” Ram tugs him into a hug.
Their dynamic has always interested me, but now that I know more of their history, it makes so much more sense. Tripp protects Ram and Beau here. Outside of these fences, Ram takes the lead, protected the other two. Beau protects with violence if given the chance, but together, they form a triad, a family as tightknit as any I’ve ever seen.
I’m still not sure how I fit within it. A triad seems more stable than four.
Beau comes over and hugs him then leans back and holds his fist out. When Tripp tries to fist bump him back, Beau turns it into some elaborate handshake that Tripp just stares at.
“Come on, Trippy!” Beau teases. “Your inability to learn complicated handshakes is tearing this gang apart!”
I laugh at his antics before Tripp eventually attempts to copy Beau before giving up halfway through. I don’t blame him. By the time Beau does the jellyfish with his fingers, I’ve already lost the pattern.
“Only if you’re sure you want me to come,” I murmur, knowing that I’d go with him regardless just because he asked.
That’s how I find myself in the passenger seat of Tripp’s truck, Bilbo in the middle of us. Again, he doesn’t wag his tail as we close in on the house, as if he knows the kind of man who lives inside it.
“He doesn’t like my dad,” Tripp tells me when I smooth my hand down Bilbo’s back. “Never has.”
“Dogs always know,” I murmur, patting him gently.
We climb out of the truck and Tripp pets Bilbo on the head. “You stay in here, boy. Don’t want him tryin’ to kick you or somethin’ stupid.”
I come around the truck and he takes my hand, threading his fingers with mine as we both climb the stairs. My adrenaline is pumping, which is strange since this isn’t my battle to fight. But it is Tripp’s. And it’s been thirty-two years in the making.
The fact that I’m here at his side says a lot about how he feels about me. I just want to protect him. I wish I could cushion him from all the things his father did to him, said to him, for the way he was treated. He didn’t deserve this childhood. None of them did.
“You ready?” Tripp asks me, looking over as we stand in front of the white door.
“No,” I answer honestly, before taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
He doesn’t bother knocking. Instead, he just turns the knob and steps inside. “Hello,” he calls, “it’s Tripp.”
Darla appears from around the doorway. She doesn’t smile. Dark circles ring her eyes, and she looks far more tired than the last time we’d seen her.
“You good?” Tripp asks her, clearly seeing the same thing I am.
She nods. “It’s a good day. If you wanna talk to him.” She gestures behind her to the living room.
Then she steps out onto the porch and leaves us to it. As if she feels the heaviness in the air or she desperately needed a second to herself.
“I’ll talk to her after,” Tripp says, staring at the door where she’d disappeared. Clearly, he’d seen what I’d seen, too.
He tugs me toward the living room, and I trail alongside him, my steps light where his is heavy.
“Who’s that?” his voice says before we enter the room. When he sees us, he sniffs. “Ah. Tripp. Shouldn’t you still be chasing the circuit?”
Tripp shrugs. “Decided to take a break.”
The old man’s face twists up. “Savages don’t take breaks. I suggest you get back out there and earn your fucking keep, boy. All these years of training ain’t gonna pay for themselves.”
“I’d say he’s already earned that back and more,” I comment, forgetting for a second that I should be quiet. When those blue eyes focus on me, I don’t shrivel like my instinct says to. Instead, I remain straight with my chin up. “He’s a multi-million dollar cowboy,” I add. “He’s made a hell of a lot of money.”
“And who the hell are you?” he growls. “And what are you doin’ in my house?”
“My house,” Tripp corrects, his eyes hard. “She can go wherever she pleases.”
Fred Junior sniffs and glares at his son. “I clearly didn’t beat you hard enough to fix that attitude.”
“No,” Tripp replies. “You didn’t. And that’s why I’m here actually.”
His dad stands from his seat to look Tripp eye to eye. His lip curls up. “I see.”
“What is it you think you see?” Tripp asks, not backing down.
His lip curls further into a scowl. “Your mother,” he spits. “She often had that look in her eyes up until God took ‘er.” For a second, he seems to forget himself, and he looks over his shoulder. “Where is that woman? I ain’t seen her in too long. Bet she’s up to no good.”
“Dad,” Tripp says, but Fred continues to mumble, so he reaches out and touches his arm. Fred jerks his head and looks back at Tripp, his eyes full of hatred. “Look, I came here to tell you?—”
“I don’t care what you came here to tell me!” his dad snarls. “You get back on that circuit and earn your fuckin’ keep! Or else I’ll toss you and those rat friends of yours out on the streets!”
Tripp tenses, seemingly understanding that this conversation isn’t going anywhere. It may be a good day, but the man still is who he is. There won’t be any changing that.
I squeeze his hand. “Tripp,” I whisper, letting him know I’m here.
He stares at the man who raised him, who beat him within an inch of his life, who branded him, and I see the realization that it’s too late to speak to him. He’s too far into cognitive decline. A good day just means he sees Tripp at thirty-two. But in a few minutes, he could be someone else, or a stranger. It’s too late for this talk, but it’s not too late for Tripp to open the box inside him and start to heal.
“You know,” he says, staring at the old man. “I don’t think you’re a good person, Dad.”
His dad’s face flashes with anger. “And you are?” he snarls.
Tripp doesn’t get angry back. He doesn’t take offense. He just stares at him and slowly shakes his head. “No,” he admits softly. “I’m too much like you for that.” He glances at me. “Come on, scribbler. I have no business here.”
Fred doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that at all.
“You come back here, boy! You can’t come marching into my house like you own this place! I raised you! You’d be nothing without me!”
“Maybe not,” Tripp says as he tugs me toward the door.
Fred slams his fist into the table lamp, and it shatters across the floor. Tripp doesn’t react, but I jump a little at the sudden sound.
“You’re just like my father!” he snarls. “Just like him.”
Tripp glances over his shoulder at him. “Yeah. I’d kill myself to get away from you, too,” he drops.
My hearts squeezes painfully. That’s a fact I’ve never uncovered, never been told. Fred Senior had killed himself? Holy shit. But what’s even more terrifying is the reaction that Fred Junior has. Full tilt anger fills him, and he starts raging through the living room, breaking what he can. Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be much left. This must happen all the time.
We step outside and Darla is sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette. She doesn’t look over at us as we close the door and seal the raging shouts behind us.
“Sounds like you ruined the good day,” she mumbles.
“Don’t worry about cleaning it up,” Tripp replies. “I’ll have someone come take care of it.”
She glances over at him, distrust in her eyes. “Why would you do that?”
He shrugs. “I’ve spent a lot of time blaming you and your mama for something that wasn’t your fault,” he admits. “This place, ain’t a one of us should have been here.”
She stares at him and then her eyes flick to me, curious. “This is very out of character for you, big brother.”
“And I’m sorry about th?—”
She leaps to her feet and sends the rocking chair crashing back into the wall. “No! Fuck you!” she snarls, before stamping out her cigarette on the floor. “You don’t get to do that!”
Tripp frowns. “Do what?”
“Apologize,” she spits, crossing her arms. “You’ve kept me trapped in this house, trapped here with him! You’ve made it nearly impossible for me to leave, giving me just enough money to survive on.”
“Now hold on,” Tripp growls. “You get five grand a month and pay no bills! How is that not enough to—” Her face crunches up and he cuts off. “Look, Darla. I didn’t come here to fight. I just came to tell you that I know I fucked up. That I’m tryin’ to make amends for my avoidance of the problems. I’ll be hiring someone else to take care of him, even if we gotta ship him off somewhere.” I glance toward the door. “It’s time we all be free of that asshole.”
“So what? Happily ever after?” she spits. “You want me to keep living in this hellhole for the rest of my life?”
“No,” Tripp says, shaking his head. “You want a house, I’ll build you a house on any part of this land you want. This house?” He glances up at it the large pillars. “I’m burning this house to the fuckin’ ground.”
She blinks. “And if I say I don’t want to stay?”
“Then I’ll build you a house wherever you want,” he says. “I’ll help you as much as I’m able.”
She bares her teeth. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” he says, and I watch him resolve himself. “I really am sorry, Darla.”
“You don’t get to apologize,” she growls. “I don’t want you to apologize. I want the guilt to eat you alive. I want you to drown in your thoughts like I drowned in mine.” She storms forward and pokes him in the chest. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re no better than the man who brought us into this hellhole.” She glances at me. “I hope you’re stronger than you look, lady, because if I was you, I’d be running, screaming for the hills right about now.” She glances back at Tripp. “I’ll pack my bags. I expect someone to come take care of him.”
She storms inside the house and leaves us standing there. Tripp stands tall, but he’s not tense.
“She’s angry,” I murmur. “She’s just as much hurt as you are.”
“I know that,” he whispers. “I just wish it didn’t take me so long to see her as an ally rather than my enemy.” He shakes his head. “He pinned us against each other. I never realized it before but. . . it was one of his favorite tactics. It just didn’t work on Beau, Ram, and me.”
“This is the start of healing that relationship,” I nod. “You have a lot to make up for. I hope I’m around one day to see you two see eye to eye.”
“Maybe it won’t happen,” he shrugs. “But I’ll try my best.” He glances at the door. “Darla deserves a chance. She used to wanna be a dancer. It may be too late for that, but if she still wants to pursue her dreams, I’ll help her.”
I squeeze his hand. But before I can respond, my phone rings. I sigh and glance at the caller id, frowning at the same number that I’ve seen a million times. Frowning, I hit the reject button.
The door pops open and Fred Jr pokes his head out. “Who the hell are you and why are you on my porch? I don’t want nothing you’re selling!” he shouts. “Go on! Get! ‘Fore I get my shotgun out and make you go.”
There’s no recognition in his eyes for his son.
“Yes, sir,” Tripp says. “Sorry to bother you.”
He drags me down the stairs and opens the passenger door for me. My phone rings again and I hit ignore. He meets my eyes and chucks me on the chin.
“Don’t worry, scribbler. He’s only your dad until one of you forgets,” he says.
And then he closes the door behind me, and I’m left with his words lingering in my mind.