Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AIDEN
An hour later, I was pacing in my bedroom, hands on my hips as I grilled Quinn—again—on whether she was sure Avery didn’t have a concussion or needed to be admitted for observation.
“Aiden,” Avery sighed from where she lay in my bed, exasperation in her tone. But she had a giant fucking bandage on her head, so I got to be a little overprotective.
“What? I want her to be sure.”
My sister, for the first time in recent—or even distant—memory, nodded in agreement from where she sat on the edge of the bed next to Avery.
“For the fifth time, Aiden. Yes, I’m sure.” Quinn’s voice was hard, her patience with me clearly gone. “I know you’re worried, but I take my job very seriously. I wouldn’t risk the safety of a patient just so I didn’t have to go into the clinic on my day off.”
I blew out a heavy breath. “That’s not what I meant. I just—”
“I know what you just,” Quinn cut in, her tone firm but not unkind. “But trust me. I’ve checked her over thoroughly, and she’s fine. I promise. No concussion, and she doesn’t even need stitches. Head wounds just always bleed like a bitch and look scarier than they are.”
“Okay, fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “What about the fainting, then? Shouldn’t we be worried about that?”
Quinn shook her head as she packed up her medical bag, clearly ready to end this conversation.
“It’s not unusual. The pain from the injury combined with the shock of it all is likely the culprit.
She just needs to take it easy for the next twenty-four hours and manage any lingering pain as best she can.
It would also be good for someone to keep an eye on her.
Make sure she’s still feeling okay, that she’s eating and drinking—no alcohol, of course. She’ll be as good as new in no time.”
I pressed my thumb and forefinger against my eyes. “As good as new with a gigantic fucking gash on her head.”
“I’ll call in an order to Beck to get you something to eat,” Addison said, glancing back to look at Avery. “What sounds good?”
“Cinnamon-sugar toast?” Avery asked, her tone hopeful.
“On it.” Addison left the room, her phone already at her ear.
Quinn stopped by the bed and smiled down at Avery. “I’ll give you a call later tonight to check in on you. But if you start to feel off, just give me a call. I can be here in two minutes.”
“Okay. Thanks, Quinn. I feel all right except for a killer headache, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“I have no doubt.” Quinn walked over to me then, laying a gentle hand at my elbow. “Trust me, Aiden. I would not leave this room unless I was one hundred percent sure she’d be fine. But you have got to relax or you’re only going to make her more tense, and that’s not good for anyone.”
With that, she patted my arm before strolling out of the room.
Addison’s voice carried from down the hall, so I shut the door, closing out everyone but Avery and me.
I pressed my hands against the frame and hung my head, my body still trying to process the rush of endorphins that had exploded inside me the second I’d seen Avery’s face covered in blood.
The sight was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
“Aiden? C’mere.”
I couldn’t do that. Not yet. Not until I knew. “Tell me what happened, bunny. Do you remember? You said a man did this.” I turned around to face her, unable to hide the anger rolling through me. “I need to know who.”
She stared at me for a moment before nodding and scooting over to pat the spot next to her. When I didn’t make a move toward her, she huffed and rolled her eyes. “Aiden Christopher. Come over here and cuddle me, please. And I promise I’ll tell you all about my stupid attempt at sleuthing.”
Just like everything with Avery, I couldn’t deny her. So despite feeling like I wanted to crawl out of my skin, I strode toward her and dropped onto my bed. She didn’t even wait for me to drape my arm around her before she was curling up against my side, a contented hum leaving her.
“Much better.”
“Good,” I murmured, pressing my lips to the crown of her head, careful to avoid the bandage Quinn had placed there. “Now tell me, bunny. I’m going out of my mind here.”
She let out a sigh and tipped her head back to meet my eyes. “You know how I was working on the projections for next year? Well, I couldn’t find any data for Cottage Thirteen.”
At the mention of that particular cabin, I stiffened beneath her, a dozen different scenarios floating through my mind, my anger bubbling hotter with every one.
“Which I thought was really weird, you know? It’s never available to be booked, so I assumed it was always occupied. Except the resort never got paid for it, so I went investigating—”
“What do you mean, you went to investigate?”
She cringed. “I sort of went over there? I knocked, but then the door opened like it wasn’t latched, and I found him—”
“He did this to you?” I asked, my voice cold and low, threaded with an undercurrent of rage.
Her mouth dropped open as she sat up and stared at me. “You know him?”
Knew him.
Hated him.
And was absolutely going to fucking kill him.
I had thought about this a lot. Had probably spent what equated to days of my life thinking about it.
About what it would be like the first time I spoke to my father again after ten years of nothing but silence from him.
After ten years of unanswered calls and dodged welfare checks.
Ten years of disinterest and abandonment from him while we struggled through the hardest part of our lives.
And during it all, we gave him a place to stay.
We paid his bills, delivered food to his door, took care of his laundry.
Addison switched out the exterior decor and flowers to Mom’s favorites in an attempt to make the cottage feel like a real home for him.
A man who hadn’t even bothered to attend her high school—or college—graduation.
The caretaking we all did for him was a dirty little secret. One we—myself included—held close to our chests. It was something every one of us, save for Levi, took part in but pretended like we didn’t.
Patrick McKenzie was our version of Fight Club—the only rule we had was that we didn’t talk about it.
Which was why I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. Hadn’t warned anyone I was about to break our decade-long silence. Hadn’t wanted anyone there as witness to what I was about to bring to my dad’s doorstep.
When I made it to Cottage Thirteen, I didn’t bother with a knock. Besides the fact that my father didn’t pay for that kind of privacy, he didn’t deserve it after what he’d done.
The door banged open with a sharp thump against the wall, and my dad’s gaze found mine immediately.
Not looking the least bit surprised. Didn’t look surprised when I stormed in and grabbed him by the front of his flannel shirt, either.
I ignored the stench of alcohol that seeped from his pores as I jerked him to stand in front of me.
Then I cocked my fist back, weighed down by years of pent-up aggression toward him.
The fear over seeing Avery covered in blood, having her pass out in my arms. Then everything prior to it.
The years when he’d escaped into himself after his wife died, not caring that we’d lost our mother…
the only parent who’d given a shit about us.
Then there were the years before that. When we were kids and he’d be passed out on the couch by lunch, when he’d miss school conferences and baseball games and family sailing outings because his gin had been more than enough for him.
He didn’t even dodge the first punch I landed. His lip split, producing a not nearly satisfying enough amount of blood. Not when I’d seen exactly what Avery had looked like coming from this place. Not when I could see evidence of her blood still on the fucking floor.
Worse, the punch wasn’t as cathartic as I’d hoped it’d be. It didn’t offer any relief, didn’t allow this balloon that had stretched inside me to pop and release all this bottled-up anger. Especially when he just stood there, not fighting back. Just taking it. Like he deserved it. Like he wanted it.
I gripped his shirt tighter and held him against the wall, my other arm cocked back, fist clenched and ready to drive into him again.
Over and over until this anger inside me was finally gone.
“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t beat your ass right now and give you back double what you gave her. ”
He stared at me for long moments, his eyes full of wonder, as if he didn’t recognize me completely.
Which wasn’t a shock. I’d been barely twenty-four the last time he’d seen me, mourning the loss of my mom.
And while the ten years that had passed since had played a part in my changing appearance, I knew it was really more to do with life.
The life we’d struggled through, even in our mom’s absence, and even without him.
The life we’d had to figure out on our own, because we hadn’t had another choice.
“I’m your father,” he said, his voice tired and scratchy, his breath reeking of booze.
“Bullshit!” I yelled, shoving him hard against the wall.
“You haven’t been a father to me a day in your life.
You weren’t around before Mom died, and you haven’t been around since.
And you sure as fuck aren’t going to start now.
So I’m going to ask you again—give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t lay you out right here. ”
“Because you’re better than this,” Brady said at my back, and it spoke to how pissed off I was that I hadn’t heard him come in. The floors creaked under his boots as he stepped up behind me. “And he’s not worth the repercussions.”
I blew out a humorless laugh. “Guess that means you’re here as the sheriff for a welfare check.”
“No. I’m here as your brother. And you don’t need to go down this path. Not for him.”
I stared at our dad for long moments, my fist still cocked back, his shirt clenched in my hand.
Unsure what to listen to—the part inside me that wanted this man to pay.
For everything he’d done to my family, for what he’d done to the woman I loved.
Or to the voice of reason standing at my back, my older brother…
my best friend. And the one person who’d never steered me wrong.
Brady reached up and rested his hand on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. Telling me without words that while our dad may not have ever been there, he had been. He would be.
And just like that, the fight drained out of me, replaced by the overwhelming need to flee. I needed to get out of there. Needed to be back with Avery. Needed to wrap her in my arms and remind myself she was okay.
“I want you out,” I said, voice hard as I released him with a shove. “You don’t get to stay here like a fucking leech on this family when all you’ve done is cause us grief and pain. For ten fucking years. We’re done.”
I turned around and stalked toward the door, Brady following behind. Just before we stepped over the threshold, I glanced back, my gaze doing a quick scan of the cottage he’d been in for a decade with little to no outside contact.
It was messy, with bottles of alcohol and cans of beer littered about.
A collection of white, silver, and red chips were spread out on a side table—probably a dozen or more of each—next to a mostly drunk bottle of gin.
I’d done enough research years ago—back when I’d still carried a flicker of hope that he could be more than what he’d been for us…
hope that he could get help—so I knew exactly what they were.
Sobriety coins from AA, none of them designating anything longer than thirty days of sobriety, which was all too clear based on the surroundings.
“I don’t care where you go,” I said, acceptance finally washing over me.
Acceptance that I’d never have the kind of dad I’d hoped for.
The kind who’d show up at baseball games or teach me how to change a tire or boast about my accomplishments.
That was a dream I’d kept alive, just a smolder of embers in a fire that had burned out long ago, and today extinguished it entirely.
“I want you gone by the end of the day.”