20. Chapter Twenty
15 years old…
I slam my door shut, jump into bed, and pull the blankets over my head.
I’m so angry my entire body is vibrating.
I’d spent hours on that drawing. Hours! I got first place and won an award, and all he did was tell me I’m wasting my time. That art is useless and won’t get me anywhere in life.
Why does he have to belittle everything I do? Why is nothing ever good enough for him? I know I’m not the best, but my art is better than a lot of other kids my age. I won an award, for crying out loud, and this is what I get?
My phone dings from my pocket, and after a few steady breaths, I pull it out.
Cole: That’s great work, Bryson. Congratulations! I’m so proud of you.
I wish I had a different father. I wish mine wasn’t so cruel!
I wish Christopher and I could trade places.
Present day…
The sun beams down on me and I blink my eyes open, rolling onto my back. My mouth tastes like old beer and my body is stiff. I crawl out of bed and into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I stare at myself in the mirror.
“You’re an idiot, Bryson. A fucking idiot,” I tell myself and force a smile. “Congratulations.”
Last night replays in my head over and over, and the more it does, the less I want to go downstairs.
But it’s Sunday. And Sunday morning is breakfast.
Unless…
I wipe my mouth and head back into my room, looking for my phone. I find it under my bed and at only 6%. It’s 7:30, so they haven’t left for breakfast yet.
There’s a knock on my door, and I stare at it like I can see Cole on the other side, ready to tell me to pack my shit and get the hell out.
He knocks again, this time louder, causing me to jump.
I know it’s him because Chris would walk right in. Or try to, since I locked the door.
“Bryson, let’s go! Get ready for breakfast.”
For breakfast…
He’s gonna feed me before he kicks me out? Why am I not surprised? He’s too nice to do anything else. Send me packing with a full belly. He’ll probably hand me cash too. Well, I won’t accept it. I’m not taking anything from him.
I move to the door and pull it open.
“I don’t think breakfast is—”
“You’re going, whether you like it or not,” he says firmly, turning on his heel and heading down the stairs. “We don’t break traditions in this house!” he calls out.
He sounds pissed.
Like actually pissed.
I step into the hallway and go to Chris’s room, but don’t see him in it. I move inside, glancing into his bathroom, but the door is open and empty. I move to his window to look at the driveway. His car isn’t here.
Fuck.
Please let this fucker be alive.
I call him, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. I try again—same thing.
I call Mila, knowing she’ll be awake.
“Morning, Bryson,” she chirps. Bet she’s been up for hours already.
Fucking morning people.
“Please tell me Chris is still at your house.”
“Oh, he’s here all right. Cuddled up with some redhead bimbo.”
“Thank fuck…” She scoffs into the phone. “No, I just mean—he wasn’t here, and I was worried.”
“Oh,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry, I should have let you know.”
“It’s not your fault, Mila. He’s an adult. I’m just glad he’s okay.” I say the last part more to myself.
“Well, I’d say I’d wake him up for you, but I already tried. Twice, actually. He fell asleep on top of the blanket you bought me, and I want it back. But he isn’t budging.”
Shit…
“Thanks, Mila. I’ll call you later, okay?”
I end the call and hurry back into my room to find something to wear. Once dressed, I wet my hands and comb my fingers through my hair to tame it. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll have to do. I owe it to Cole to go for breakfast now. If I let him down, he won’t have anyone to go with. I messed up last night. Now I need to suck it up and deal with it. If he keeps me out, so be it.
When I get downstairs, I find Cole already in his truck. I head out and hop in. The tension is so thick I could cut it. I’m careful not to breathe too loudly on the ride to the diner. I want to put the radio on to help cut out the silence, but I don’t. We get to the diner and I reach for the handle, but I notice Cole doesn’t move, so I put my hands in my lap instead.
We just sit there.
“Cole, I—”
“Don’t,” he says with a sigh, running a hand down his face. “Don’t apologize.”
I furrow my brow, wanting to look at him, but can’t bring myself to do it.
“I’m not mad at you,” he says, emphasizing the you.
I grow even more confused. How can he not be mad at me?
“Okay…”
“Tabitha and I started this tradition with Chris when he was just a baby. We both agreed that traditions were important when it comes to family and made sure we started as many as we could. This is the only one we have left. The only thing I have left to make sure my son spends time with me.”
The hurt in his voice has me angry for him. I grit my teeth, turning my attention out the window. Here I was thinking Cole was pissed at me. I mean, maybe he is, but this definitely trumps what I did.
Chris, you fucking dick…
I feel something warm on my thigh, so I look down and see Cole’s hand. I meet his eyes. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“Of course,” I say. “I—” I sigh, dropping my head. “You’re welcome.”
He pulls his hand away, and we get out of the car to head inside.
When we get back to the house after a quiet and awkward breakfast, Chris’s car is in the driveway. Cole is stiff as he turns his truck off and gets out. I follow him inside and hear clanking around in the kitchen.
Right before we reach the kitchen door, I grab Cole’s arm and give him a reassuring squeeze. He looks at where I’m touching him, then meets my eyes. His face softens the slightest bit, and I feel like he wants to smile, but can’t.
So I smile for him. Then I hurry past the kitchen and go upstairs, knowing this is none of my business. The last thing I need to do is get between them more than I already have.
As much as I want to slap Chris upside the head and tell him off for being an idiot, what goes on with him and his father is out of my control. Besides, I’m supposed to be on *his side.
I head to my room, grab my laptop, and get comfortable in bed. I put my headphones in, start music, and pull up Cole’s website to start working. The first thing I need to do is some research. I search the web for construction companies and look at a few of the successful ones. The first thing I notice is that they all use blue, sans serif and bold fonts, a rating or review, and a photo of their work. These are simple things to integrate into a website. The first thing that was burned into our brains in school was that different isn’t always right. Sure, being different makes you stand out, but it can be confusing to customers. Catching their attention doesn’t mean anything if they don’t know what they’re buying.
When you walk into a bookstore and see a Fabio look-alike on the cover, you know what’s inside that book. If you opened it up and read a mystery thriller, you’d be confused as hell. Designers use colors and images to make you feel things and think things, without you realizing it. We use objects on our canvas to bring your eyes exactly where we want them and when. It’s like magic, but it has to be done right.
But with all that said, I am going to do things a little differently. I’m going to keep most of these aspects, but I’m changing it up a little and not going with the blue. I will, however, use a blue-grey, because I plan to use slate greys, white, and a bit of yellow in his color scheme to match with the harp. Grey and blue can work together, so I think it will be fine in this instance.
I make a short list of things I’ll need from Cole, like an image of work and someone to give a quote or a rating to showcase on the welcome page.
I go into the development page and start editing—picking the color scheme and the overall look of things. I find a random photo on my computer to test transitions. I’ll save whatever I do but won’t publish it yet. Once I have everything I need from Cole, along with his approval, I’ll hit the publish button.
Shouting from downstairs catches my attention and I bring my gaze to the door. I can’t hear what they’re saying, just that someone is yelling. I’m guessing it’s Chris. He has a temper. I’ve never heard Cole yell at anyone. The shouting gets louder and more frequent, so I raise the volume on my music to drown it out. I’ve got most of the basics done with the site when Chris’s door slams so hard I hear it over “Headache” by Motionless in White.
I shake my head, letting out a sigh, and keep working.
It’s none of my business, I tell myself.
I glance at my phone that’s lying on the bed beside me. My fingers itch to pick it up and text him. I should make sure he’s okay. They were screaming at each other, so obviously there are some strong feelings being shared. High emotions.
Nope, none of my business.
I go back to work but can’t focus. So I snatch my phone up and send the text.
Because sometimes people need to know someone is there…
Me: Are you okay?
The moment I send it, I toss my phone to the bed, not expecting a response. He’s obviously pissed and has no reason to talk to me about any of this.
But it lights up, telling me he responded.
Cole: Not really.
That hurts my fucking heart. Cole is a good man. He’s an amazing father. Chris has never done anything like this before. Why is he doing it now? Isn’t the time to rebel in his teen years? Shouldn’t he have done this during the divorce? Why is he acting like a child now? And the biggest thing, what’s really pissing me off, is Chris has seen the way my father treats me. Isn’t that enough to make him appreciate and respect his father?
Me: Is there anything I can do to help?
It’s meant to be innocent. Completely innocent. There isn’t the smallest part of me that is hinting toward anything. I feel bad Cole is upset over his son being an asshole. I know what it’s like to want someone’s attention and not get it. To want love from someone but get the worst parts of them instead. Cole is going through the same thing, only backwards with his son. Chris is being stupid. But the text that comes in from Cole leaves me speechless.
Cole: Yeah. Come suck my dick.