20. Chapter 20
The first time his thick lashes separated the crust in his eyes, fuck was all Jase could think.
This was worse than waking up to Paula’s ugly mug in Nebraska.
Worse than the morning after Santa Cruz, after he drank himself silly and almost got clipped by a car while stumbling across a two-lane highway to the bar where he left his bike.
Worse—physically, at least—than opening his eyes in Chloe’s apartment to a world that no longer included his father.
Jase fucking hurt.
The second time he opened his eyes, he noticed the wooden slats of the open blinds on his bedroom window. Home. He was home. How? The last thing he remembered was plowing through bourbon at the Haunt with Graham.
It wasn’t until the sun coming through the slats was orange and low that Jase peeled his sweaty back off the mattress, slid his legs out from under the sheet, and set his feet on the floor.
Bare back. Bare legs. Bare feet. A sheet wrapped around his bare ass. No idea how any of that happened, which wasn’t entirely uncommon for him. Christ, he was getting too old to get blackout drunk.
His foot knocked something over on the floor.
It was the trash can from the hall bathroom with a fresh bag in it. Beside his bed was a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. The idea of putting either in his body churned his guts and he understood the trash can.
He ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes catching on the partially open drawer of the bedside table. On top of a pile of junk he hadn’t touched since high school—skin mags, a couple pens, an old tube of Chapstick—was a crisp white envelope with his name on it.
Inside was a letter.
Jase,
How are you doing, kid?
I’m counting on you finding this when you clean out your room.
I didn’t think you’d mind giving up the house since you got out of here as fast as you could.
In my experience, women don’t react very well to money but can’t resist two stories on a pond.
It was the only piece of me I could give the girl that felt worthy of what I was about to put her through. I think you know what I mean.
I love you, son. Maybe I never said that enough, but I do.
I love you. I’m an old man weeping into a handkerchief while I write love letters to the people who matter, and you’re the first, kid.
My one wish for you is that you find something worth living for.
Something you love. It might be the road, it might be doing something that lights your fire, it might even be a woman.
Anything’s possible. Yes, even finding that one great love.
Scariest thing you’ll ever do, and I get it.
I ran from your mom at first. But she was a homing beacon, and no matter what other fluff I had on the side, the needle of my compass kept pointing at Theresa.
She didn’t want anything to do with me. Made me work for it, and it was worth it. Who doesn’t love a good chase?
You’re a good man, Jase. Maybe I never said that enough either, and that’s my mistake, but you are.
Your mother would’ve been so proud of you.
I am too. Even though I did my best by you boys, my best wasn’t always great.
We should’ve ridden together. Wouldn’t that have been the shit?
I just couldn’t bring myself to get back on a bike.
Another mistake.
Take care of yourself, son. I’m counting on you to stand up and be the man I know you are. You can’t fail. Just show up. Every day, even when it’s hard, and even when you don’t want to, just show up. I love you.
Dad
Jase stuffed the letter back into the envelope and rubbed the wetness from his eyes. If his dad could see him now, reeking of sweat and puke and alcohol, crying into his shaking hands, Jason would probably take back everything he’d written to him.
Had Jase ever done anything worthwhile that mattered to anyone besides his old man? When, and with who, had he ever been a good man?
Jase set the envelope back in the drawer and walked naked to the laundry room with the duffel bag full of stinking clothes slung over his shoulder.