Chapter 8 #2
So how did I end up here, hungover, eating a McDonald’s breakfast platter and drinking coffee with too much creamer on a front lawn I no longer owned?
I didn’t remember much from yesterday, but there was a hazy recollection of accusing Kalea of ruining my life.
There was absolutely no denying that she had a hand in it.
My eyes scanned the neighbors’ houses, wondering if Pualani’s makuakāne, her birth father, lived in one of them.
Had one of the neighbors I’d wanted to surround my family with betrayed that trust and seduced my wife?
Was he looking out his window now with a smug expression on his face after making a cuckold out of me?
Was he enjoying witnessing the pathetic mess I’d become?
But Kalea’s adultery was only one factor.
A big one, but not the only one. I had to face the responsibility of my actions.
I put my coffee cup down in the grass next to me and patted my pockets.
I was not surprised to find them empty, but frustratingly disappointed.
I needed to reach out to Doodles and figure out what the procedure entailed to remove a tattoo.
Clearly, Kalea had taken away my whiskey bottle at some point, though she’d still left me passed out on the side of the road.
But she did deliver me breakfast and coffee.
Then again, she slept with someone else and tried to pass their child off as mine, so maybe I wasn’t quite ready to forgive her yet.
Getting to my feet was harder than it should have been. My breakfast and coffee almost made a second appearance, and fuck me, I was sober enough to know I couldn’t take a shit on my ex’s front lawn.
Regardless how tempting it may be.
Trash in hand, I made my way up the lawn I used to keep so meticulously manicured. Not like Jones had with his lawn, who only did it to be admired by his neighbors. I’d always liked lawn work. Gardening in general, actually. No doubt the small veggie garden I’d had in the backyard was destroyed.
There used to be a lot of things I enjoyed that I no longer took the time to. But for a long time, I’d avoided anything that reminded me of Kalea and the life we’d had together. I’d deluded myself into believing I didn’t want those things anymore.
But I’d also been deluding myself about a lot of things recently.
Head pounding, I squatted down in front of the bush to the right of the kitchen door at the back of the house.
I fumbled in the dirt for a minute before I managed to find the hide-a-key rock I’d put there over a decade ago.
I had no idea if Kalea had switched the locks after I moved out, and if she had, if she’d replaced the key in the fake rock. But it was still worth a try.
Thankfully, the key turned without a hassle. I pushed open the door, the squeak of the hinge oddly familiar. I didn’t see any sign of Kalea or Pualani, which was probably good. I certainly wasn’t in any condition to be seen by anyone, let alone my ex and her love child. But I needed a shower.
I spotted a half-filled coffee pot on the kitchen counter.
After tossing out my trash, I went into the cabinet to the left of the fridge to pull out a mug.
I was grateful my “World’s Best Dad To Be” mug was nowhere in sight.
Despite doubting Kalea’s presence, the coffee pot was still on.
I didn’t know why it felt reassuring to know that some things hadn’t changed.
Mug in hand, I made my way up to the second story of the A-frame house. I didn’t bother with creamer. After the cup she’d left me from Mickey-D’s, I was creamer-ed out for the next week. No doubt she’d done it out of spite. She knew damn well how little I took in my coffee.
I did not go into the bedroom I’d shared with Kalea.
The door was propped open, the same comforter still on the large bed, but there was no way I was stepping into that room.
I might end up destroying it, and that certainly would not help my hangover.
My current goal was to not make my head explode.
The shower physically felt good, but emotionally… Fuck, I was a wreck. Memories of my last shower bombarded me with each drop of water. Phantom hands, so delicate and feminine, trailed along my flesh like ghost breath tickling my ear.
I could not remember a time when I was so unaroused in my life.
I felt broken, castrated. An argument could be made that I had so much alcohol in my system it was a wonder I could even find my dick.
But I’d been drunk before. This was different.
I’d never been so disgusted with myself, and could even go as far as to say I hated myself.
What she must think of me right now. How she must hate me for taking advantage of her when she was so young and vulnerable.
I barely registered the fact that the shampoo bottle was in the shape of a watermelon with a smiling face on the front. Even with the extra cup of coffee, my head still felt like someone was driving a stake through my brain.
It had been a long time since I’d been that drunk. Actually, I wasn’t even sure if I had ever been that drunk. With no food in my system, it was a wonder I didn’t end up in the hospital.
I deserved to be in a jail cell.
If I had my phone, I might have even called up Kayl and had him arrest me. Not for selling illegal weapons or laundering money through the brewery or for the unknown number of people I had killed over the years. I didn’t give a shit about any of that.
There’s long been the argument that pedophiles and rapists should get the death penalty instead of jailtime. I’d always argued that both of those options were too good for them, and preferred a much more gruesome fate than any state-sanctioned death involving a nail gun, lighter fluid, and a match.
And now here I was. One of them.
It didn’t matter that she’d been willing or that we hadn’t “gone all the way”.
It didn’t matter that I hadn’t coerced her or forced her in anyway.
It didn’t matter that she was over the legal age of consent; I was the adult, the responsible party.
I should have been in control of my own body and not swept up in a fucking fantasy.
At least she wasn’t alone, though. After leaving her bedroom, I went downstairs to find Aloiki and Lu naked on the couch with a blanket draped over them.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that Aloiki and I hadn’t yet patched things up from the plane ride back from Yonkers, now I’d incurred his wrath in regard to my—the girls.
Fuck, they weren’t mine anymore.
They were under the protection of the Royal Bastards, and had been since the moment we left Yonkers with them.
It didn’t matter that I’d taken responsibility for them.
I hadn’t claimed either, not officially anyway.
Neither wore my cut, nor was I blood related to them.
And now that I’d fucked up, I’d gained Aloiki’s ire.
He would skin me alive before he allowed me anywhere near them again. Which was a relief in and of itself. Aloiki might be busy with Lu and the wedding and their pregnancy, but he wouldn’t hesitate to protect m—the girls. Even from me.
I was banished. I didn’t know what he’d told the others or if he was plotting any other punishment, but I was not allowed to cross the threshold of Bacon’s house.
There should be further punishment. Knowing Aloiki, it would be something awful and painful.
Staked to the ground and left in the sun to bake for a week or buried up to my head in the sand in front of the rising tide or placed in a coffin above ground with a cluster of giant centipedes.
He wouldn’t kill me. Even if I begged him to. And he would protect them with his life, just as I would.
Unfortunately, he was also busy enough where my punishment might not come for a while. Ironically, it would make the weight of the unknown worse. I didn’t even know how many days it had been since I said something similar in a different shower.
Two days? Three?
Having no intention of putting my soiled shorts back on, I wrapped a towel around my waist before heading back downstairs to the laundry room. It looked like there was a load of clothes already waiting in the washing machine. I added my shorts, a detergent pod, and then started the cycle.
Being banished from the house did not mean I wasn’t allowed into the barn.
I wasn’t sure if that was where I had left my phone or if I’d lost it somewhere else over the past—I glanced at the digital clock on the wall with the date, time, and temperatures—two days.
I didn’t even know where my motorcycle was.
I headed into the kitchen. Everywhere I looked in the house I saw evidence that a child lived here. It was like a film had been placed over a television screen. The house still looked just as I’d left it, same furniture and placement, but an entirely different atmosphere.
Framed pictures that had told the story of Kalea’s and my life together were now replaced with the various stages of Pua’s life.
Even Aloiki was in some, and Lu from what looked to be Pualani’s last birthday when she turned two.
I knew damn well what date it was when Aloiki had lied to me that he was taking Lu surfing, but it had been a lie I needed to hear.
Aloiki might be disgusted by Kalea’s affair, but she was still his little sister, and family meant everything to Aloiki. For a time, it had worked out, his best friend and his sister being happily married. Now there was a phisher, a divide, and he had to lie to my face for the sake of my sanity.
I made myself a sandwich while the washer continued its cycle.
I sat in the same seat I had claimed years ago when I bought this kitchen table set.
The deep scratch in the wood where Kalea’s jewelry had marked it was still present.
I touched the ridge, remembering both buying her that diamond necklace and bending her over the table while she wore it.