Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
HENDRIX
After an hour-long drive to a place I swore I’d never return to, I sit in my truck, looking across the road at the pathetic four walls I used to call a home.
With a random piece of shit in the driveway and only one light on, my fists wrap around my steering wheel, and with each passing second, I grow more fucking angry.
After what happened with me and Isla yesterday, I just keep thinking how much I’ve let the past rule my present for too long.
Isla Hardy doesn’t deserve the angry, fucked-up kid who came from the house across the road from where I’m parked.
She deserves way more, and that’s who I want to be.
And for some stupid fucking reason, before I knew it tonight, I was driving here.
Like I’m looking for closure or some fucking shit that I probably won’t get.
Memories of my sister and me sitting inside that house, both of us so fucking hungry that we hardly had enough energy to stand up, flood my brain.
We could always count on Juliet to feed us, but sometimes, our dad wouldn’t let us go there.
He always said she was a nosy old lady, trying to get in the middle of his business.
It hadn’t helped matters that she tried to report him to the state multiple times, but he somehow always got away with being an absolute shit parent, though I’m not sure how.
She’d find ways to make sure we were eating enough to survive though. Whether that be hiding things for us in random places or slipping us some cash to run to the store. She, herself, didn’t have much money either. But all her extra went to helping me and Lilly survive our childhood.
That’s why I had to make sure when One Wish helped me, they helped her, too. They made it so I was able to afford the costs to put her in a nursing home that, at the time, was close to Casco Bay College, and now, she’s in one not far from NEU.
Brody O’Brien didn’t just give me life; he made sure that I gave Juliet—the one person I could always count on—a place to live once she couldn’t live alone anymore.
And looking back, I know all I would have had to do was ask Brody to help me find my sister, and he would have done that too.
But I guess in a way, I’ve been afraid to see her …
out of shame because I know that I failed Lilly because as her big brother, I should have kept her safe.
I shouldn’t go up to the door. I know the type of people who visit my dad, and if one of them were to roll up when I was there, who fucking knows what would happen?
But I haven’t seen that motherfucker since the day I left for juvie.
Because on that day, he was arrested on drug charges—though I heard he had been released before even I did because, of course, he’d ratted someone else out.
So, while I don’t want to look at his face, I want to move on with my life and stop leaving pieces of myself here, in this shithole.
And I need to look him in the eyes when I tell him that he’s dead to me.
As terrible as it is, inside, there’s a small piece of me that hopes that he’s dead and that I just haven’t gotten the notice yet.
Pushing the door open, I shut it before crossing the road. There are a million voices screaming inside my own head, telling me to turn the fuck around. But I don’t listen. Instead, my dumbass walks right up to the door.
I lift my hand, making a fist, but then stand like a statue with it inches from the door. My brain is sending the message to my hand to fucking knock, but my hand isn’t cooperating.
You’d think I’d take the hint that this is a bad idea and leave. But fuck no. Instead, I wait for a moment or two before, finally, my knuckles smack against the old door.
The second it’s done, my heart begins to pump harder, and the feeling of panic sets into my body, injecting into my bones.
Fear paralyzes me, and I remind myself over and over that I’m not the scrawny kid who my dad can beat the shit out of anymore.
I’m stronger now. And not scared of anyone—him especially.
I see movement behind the curtain before, slowly, the door cracks open, and a set of familiar eyes peers at me through the crack in the doorway.
“Hendrix?” My father says my name like a question before opening the door the rest of the way to look me up and down. “It really is you, son.”
He isn’t the skinny, strung-out, dirty-haired man I recall in my memory.
Instead, he’s probably thirty pounds heavier, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to die at any given moment.
My expectations—however I assumed he’d look and whatever I thought the motherfucker would say to greet me—are now gone, and so is my ability to speak.
With my feet planted, I stand, frozen on a set of steps that aren’t quite as broken as I remember them being the last time I was here.
“Come in, son.” He steps back, waving inside the house. “It’s freezing out there tonight.”
Despite it being a cold October evening, my body is too numb right now to feel the chill. Even though I don’t take a step inside, I let my eyes roam past him and into the living room, and I can’t believe that it’s actually clean.
I know I have yet to say anything, but I don’t even know what to say. And right now, I feel like I’m in a fucking dream or some shit.
“I don’t …” I choke the words out, my entire body concrete. “I don’t know why I came here. I fucked up.”
Backing away, I turn quickly and take the few steps until my feet hit the ground. I don’t make it halfway across the lawn when his voice stops me.
“I’ve been clean for over two years, son,” he calls behind me, and I can tell he’s following me.
I don’t turn around right away, but instead wait for him to say more—though I don’t know why. Whatever he’s going to say doesn’t matter and yet, here I am, wanting to hear it anyway.
“Since that day when you and your sister were both taken away and I went to prison—” His voice cracks, and I wonder if this is an act to get money or something. “Haven’t even touched weed since, Hendrix.”
So many thoughts run through my head, but I don’t scream at him; instead, my eyes fucking fill with tears even though rage fuels my veins.
I turn around, glaring at him.
“You’ve been clean for two years, and you’ve never once come to me to apologize for all of the fucked-up shit you did?
” My body trembles with rage, and I drag in a rough, unsteady breath.
“How do you fucking look at yourself sober, Jeff?” I use his real name because he doesn’t deserve the title of Dad.
“You were willing to let a drug dealer kill me just to get your fix.” My vision becomes blurry, and my heart hurts from pounding so hard.
“You were going to let that scum hurt Lilly.” I drag in a breath.
“You should have died that day. Everyone’s life would have been better. ”
I can see something I’ve never seen in his eyes—pain and hurt—as he flinches with each word, though it almost seems like he expected everything I said, which only enrages me more.
“I know.” The words come out in a pathetic croak, and he looks down. “My addiction … it took over every part of me, son. Made me into a monster and left nothing good behind.”
“Fuck your addiction,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You didn’t have to hit me when I asked you for money so that I could get Lilly food.
Or shove me down after I closed a door too loud when you were high as a fucking kite.
” My chest is heaving, and I can hardly breathe.
“Addiction doesn’t make you neglect and abuse your kids, Jeff. That’s just who you are.”
“Not anymore,” he whispers. “I’m … I’m so fucking ashamed that I became that.” He stops, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hendrix. I’m so sorry.”
He’s crying now, and the fucked-up thing? I almost feel bad. Like this man didn’t ruin me.
Before he can say anything else, I hold my finger up.
“Coming here was a mistake,” I growl and turn away from him.
Before he can follow me or say anything else, I rush across the road and get into my truck, and even though he’s still in the yard, watching me, I speed away.
It really hits me that even after he got clean, he didn’t care enough about me to hunt me down and try to make things right. Which means one thing … it wasn’t just the drugs making him not give a fuck. It’s just me altogether.
Clean or high, my own father doesn’t give a shit about me.
I think it would have been easier if Jeff had been high.
Or dead.
And suddenly, I regret coming back here with every fucking cell inside of me because now, I’m reminded that I will never belong in a world with someone who is so lovable that even a man who isn’t her flesh and blood loves her like he is.
The right thing to do would be to let Isla go because I’ll never be good enough for her, and I know that. But I’m too selfish. I need her like a drowning man needs a life preserver.
And in this case … I’m that drowning man, clinging to Isla because she’s the only thing keeping me from sinking under the surface.