Chapter 17
Iopened my eyes to the extreme neatness of my childhood bedroom, and I knew in the back of my mind I was having the dream again. For a moment, I struggled, trying to wake up, but I sluggishly climbed out of bed and reality faded to a thought bubble tucked securely away from my consciousness.
The hallway was dark, though sunrise had happened a while ago judging by the bright gray light streaming through the windows in the living room. I could see the Christmas tree from halfway down the hall, and my kid brain started to slowly panic.
It was bare. No presents. Nothing from Santa. Even the ones that had been piled up there the night before in a false display of family happiness. I frowned, not sure how I knew the brightly wrapped gifts were all for show, but I definitely wasn’t happy.
My hand, smaller than it had been in a long time, trailed along the wall as my footsteps slowed. A flash of shiny red caught my attention outside the first window, the one that overlooked our side yard with the trash cans.
With a quick glance, I confirmed the worst. The presents were outside, piled around the green trash cans as if Santa had gotten confused last night.
Not that I believed in Santa. Dad had made it clear he was the only one buying me presents, and he could take them away at any time.
I must have done something to make him angry.
My hand shook, so I tucked it behind me. He hadn’t woken me up. Not like usual. A tiny sob got stuck in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Crying would only make things worse.
I couldn’t go back to sleep. Dad would find me, and it would be so much worse than if I got up on my own. He didn’t abide by laziness. I winced as I remembered the last time he’d found me in bed after I was supposed to get up—and the pain in my shoulder that had only recently stopped hurting.
Mom was usually up before him to make sure I was out of bed, but she’d accidentally slept in. He’d been furious I wasn’t up and ready for hockey practice. As soon as he started unhooking his belt, I knew I’d have to stay quiet. If I didn’t, Mom would come running, and he’d turn on her.
I bit my lip until it bled, but I didn’t make a noise. Not even when the buckle dug into my shoulder. By the time Mom got up, he’d left for a meeting, and I’d cleaned the blood as best as I could. We’d had to skip practice that day.
Today—Christmas—Mom was nowhere to be seen, even though she usually tried to make the day fun for me. The tree lights weren’t even on.
Dad sat at the formal dining room table, nursing a tumbler of whiskey, with two other glasses in front of him. He never drank from the same glass twice. It was a quirk that conveniently helped me keep track of how angry he might be. Three whiskeys meant I should tread carefully.
On silent feet, I crept into the room, hovering in the doorway like a ghost and purposefully not looking at the dark tree.
“Where’s Mom?”
“She left. She’s not coming back.” Nothing more. He didn’t even look at me, just stared at the amber liquid as he swirled it in his glass.
My eyes tracked to the tree, the lack of presents, and back to him. My hands started to tremble again. She’d left? For good? I knew she wasn’t happy. I’d heard her cry in her room when he wasn’t around. I’d seen her bruises just like mine. But she’d left?
Without me?
I hesitated in the doorway, afraid to breathe too hard before I could get a handle on the situation. Dad didn’t seem angry, more like he was tired. My heart pounded so loud I was afraid he’d hear it. I couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to do in this situation to not make him worse.
Why would she leave me here alone with him?
The question climbed my throat and threatened to suffocate me as my panic rose. Maybe it was a test. If I waited quietly and stayed out of trouble, she’d come back for me. I repeated the sentence until my heart stopped trying to beat out of my chest and I could take a full breath.
She’d come back for me. I just needed to wait.
Finally, I gathered the courage to ask Dad the obvious question.
“What about Christmas?”
He plunked his glass down on the table and stood, glaring at me. “Christmas is for suckers. It’s a waste of time and money. Get your gear. We’re doing drills.”
I nodded, relieved I’d chosen the right approach. He didn’t look my way as I hurried back down the hall. I scrambled to change out of the snowman pajamas Mom had given me last night. A tradition between me and her every Christmas Eve once Dad left to celebrate with his work people.
She’d acted normal. Smiling, even though the lines around her mouth were deeper and her eyes were sad. In my room, I took the extra second to make my bed and put my Nintendo DS away.
Dad didn’t like clutter, and he thought video games were a stupid waste of time.
Like Christmas, apparently. At bedtime, Mom had whispered she’d gotten me a special surprise this year.
When I asked if it was the new game I’d wanted, she’d winked and kissed me.
I wondered if I could be sneaky enough to check the trash bins.
My heart thumped again. If Dad found out, he’d hurt me. I changed my clothes, and my courage rose as I tossed my pajamas in my hamper. Mom had gotten it for me. She’d be sad if I didn’t have it when she came back.
I got dressed in my underlayers and gathered my hockey gear. Dad sometimes made me drill for hours, but he usually took a nap once we got home. I could look then.
At the doorway, I stopped and glanced back at my tidy room.
The Nintendo DS sat on my bedside table where it usually did, but a bad feeling came over me.
I could hear Dad still moving around in the kitchen, so I took the chance to hide it in the little nook in my closet where the walls didn’t quite line up.
Mom had shown it to me when we moved in. Just in case I needed to keep something secret.
On top of my collection of rocks and treasures, I found a note.
Mason,
I’m so sorry. I love you. Be strong.
Mom
Like Dad, she didn’t offer me an explanation. The paper crinkled in my fist as a tear fell down my cheek. That was all I got? Three sentences? I sucked in air as my eyes burned.
It was a test, I reminded myself. She was making sure I did as I was told.
The closet was blurry, but I could still see well enough to tuck my Nintendo DS in place and pull the bin back in front of the gap. I wiped my nose with my arm and blinked away the rest of the tears. There was no more time to be sad. Dad wouldn’t like it if I made him wait.
She’d come back. She’d come back to get me, and she’d be so proud of how strong I was.
“Mase?”
Someone was shaking me, and I tucked in on myself out of habit, curling into a ball to protect my stomach.
“Mason?”
The woman’s voice slowly penetrated, and when she called my name a third time, I recognized Taryn.
I sucked in a breath and opened my eyes.
The room was still dark, still lit by the futuristic glow of LEDs.
Nothing like the bedroom I’d had as a kid with the framed hockey posters and the heavy wooden furniture.
We were in her bed. In her room. Sunny peeped from her nest in the corner, but she didn’t get up to check out the action. I was balanced at the very edge of the mattress, as far from her warmth as I could get.
My hands shook. I blinked at them, curled into fists, then turned to find Taryn leaning over me with her fingers on my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes were wide with concern, but I couldn’t answer yet.
I opened and closed my jaw, stretching out the sore muscles from clenching it during the dream. “I’m fine,” I croaked.
The rest of my body was just as tight. Taryn continued to lightly touch my shoulder, but for once, I didn’t want to fling her hand away. Carefully, I unrolled and collapsed onto my back.
Her frown didn’t fade. “You were muttering in your sleep like you were upset.”
I was fucking tired. The dream wasn’t new, and it was basically what had happened when I was eleven. My brain helpfully replayed it for me occasionally, usually when I was under a lot of stress.
Mom had never come back. Now I knew why.
“Mase?” Taryn’s worried voice cut through the thick layer of panic and hurt lingering from the dream.
I tilted my head to face her. “What time is it?”
“Almost six.”
I cleared my throat, trying to get some moisture down there. “Sorry if I woke you up.”
I’d slept longer than usual, which explained why I wasn’t completely useless the way I usually ended up after the dream. The fatigue wouldn’t leave me alone though.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She linked her fingers with mine and scooted toward me.
I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close and breathing in the scent of her hair. “It won’t change anything.”
“How do you know until you try?” she countered.
I’d never told anyone before, but something about her smell, her warmth, her soft touch made me want to spill everything.
Not because she deserved to know, but because I wanted her to know.
I wanted her to see the worst moment of my life and understand why I was the way I was. Maybe she’d even accept me this way.
With a deep breath, I let go of the stranglehold I had on the memory. “My mom left when I was eleven, on Christmas Day…”
Taryn listened quietly while I poured out the whole story. By the time I’d finished, tears streamed slowly down her face, creating a wet spot on my shirt. I felt cleaner. Empty. Sore. As if I’d scraped out my insides, but I’d also gotten the rotten part slowly ruining the rest of me.
I took a deep breath, and it finally felt like the air filled my whole chest.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Sunlight started to creep into the room as we lay in silence for a while after her comment. I felt… good. Taryn traced an intricate pattern over my stomach, consumed by her own thoughts. She hadn’t left. I’d given her the worst part of me, and she hadn’t left.