Chapter Twenty-Five
Grant
“Grant? Are you here, son?” I heard my father call out as I slipped in and out of consciousness. The coolness of the bathroom floor tile pressed against my cheek was the only thing keeping me coherent.
I knew I needed to pull myself together before he found me in my current state, but it was too late.
He was in the house, meaning he was weaving his way through a path of destruction.
I kicked Kiyah out with a warning to stay the hell away from me and proceeded to trash the house.
I didn’t give a fuck about the thousands of dollars in damage because it was a perfect reflection of our relationship.
The holes in the walls represented the emptiness I felt when she left; the sound of the sheets tearing reminded me of my heart ripping in two when she confessed we lost a child, and the broken glass strewn across the house reminded me of the fragile pieces of my reality that could never be pieced together again.
I wouldn’t have asked if I’d known this would’ve been the outcome.
I should’ve known better. I should’ve left the past in the past and remained blissfully ignorant and in love.
But I wanted to know… I had to know I wasn’t the reason.
I could understand her hesitancy because she wasn’t wrong; finding out we lost a child would’ve sent me hurtling into depression and resentment, but seven years… .
“Oh, Grant,” Dad whispered when he found me on the floor next to a pool of vomit that missed the toilet. His reality was crashing because he was discovering that his perfect son wasn’t so perfect after all. The clone of a son he raised couldn’t be more unrecognizable.
I can only imagine what he’s thinking. He probably thinks I’m a fuck up like my mother and that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
The disappointment in his voice made me want to crawl deeper into that dark hole I was wallowing in.
I wanted to claw at the bottom of the well I found myself in—past the dirt, roots, and rocks until I couldn’t dig anymore.
I didn’t want to be seen by him, not when my vulnerabilities and weaknesses were laid bare.
“Grant, did you take any pills?”
I cleared my throat that ached from alcohol and bile before answering, “I’m not my mother.”
“I know you aren’t, son, but I need to know if I need to call medical services.”
“No… I didn’t try to kill myself if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Can I help you up?”
It took a minute for him to wrangle me against the vanity. I whispered a “thank you” when he handed me a cool towel. The bathroom fell silent—neither wanting to address the elephant in the room. Unsurprisingly, I was the one who spoke first.
“You heard from Kiyah.”
“I did.”
I grimaced.
“Did she tell you why she left?”
“She did, and she revealed that you’ve been suffering from alcoholism all these years.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I remarked, staring off into space.
“I’d be lying if I said you didn’t, and let’s be clear, I’m not disappointed because you’re battling alcoholism, but because you, Kiyah, and Casey hid it from me. I could’ve gotten you the help you needed sooner.”
No argument there.
“Did Kiyah take off?”
“Do you care?”
“I’ll always care,” I answered. And that was the cold, hard truth. It didn’t fucking matter what she put me through or how much it hurt to love her; I’d still care.
“She’s at home, and shocking enough, she plans on staying.”
“That is shocking. Maybe she’s finally growing up.”
“It’s never too late,” he said with a sigh. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head, uncaring that I was aggravating my pounding headache.
“I’ll talk then,” he said. He closed the toilet lid and sat before crossing his arms over his chest. “Losing a child is one of the most painful experiences a parent can go through. Kierra and I suffered a loss after Kieran.”
My head lazily turned towards him. “You did?” I asked, voice cracking from a renewed sense of pain—pain resulting from empathy.
“We did,” he confirmed with a sharp nod.
“I had a vasectomy, but your mother and I were always extremely careless when it came to birth control.” He shrugged.
“We just didn’t care. We loved children and were wealthy enough to have a basketball team of children if we wanted.
Long story short, we didn’t use alternative birth control while we waited for everything to flush out and found out that she was pregnant six months after Kieran.
We weren’t shocked, but we wondered how everyone would react.
You already know how your grandparents felt. ”
Breeding kink.
“We decided to wait to share the news when Kierra passed the first trimester, but she miscarried at Week 10.”
“What happened?”
His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Are you asking what caused it?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “We don’t know. Sometimes, these things just happen.”
“How did you deal with it?” I asked softly.
“Not well. Not well at all, actually.”
“What happened?”
He sighed before leaving the toilet and sitting beside me with a groan about getting too old to sit on the floor.
“I was stuck on the fact that we were supposed to have six children and not five. I went to the urologist to get tested and was upset when he confirmed my sperm count was at zero, and we missed our window to try again.”
“Why didn’t you reverse it?”
“Kierra didn’t want me to because she didn’t want to go through that again. I fell into depression, and like you, I turned to alcohol. You’re too young to remember, but there were many nights I didn’t come home.”
“Were you cheating?” I asked in disbelief.
“God, no. I was getting drunk off my ass at my office. Things between Kierra and me had gotten intense. She was under the impression I was cheating, too. I assured her I wasn’t, but I couldn’t explain to her that I was crying myself to sleep on my office couch with a bottle of Jack.
Eventually, she confronted me at my office and threatened to leave.
That shook me out of whatever drunk stupor I was in.
She reminded me that I wasn’t the only one hurting and that I abandoned her during her time of need.
We were both crying ourselves to sleep, but were miles away. ”
“I guess everything worked out.”
“It did, but not without hard work. I started attending AA, and we went to individual and couples therapy. A few months later, we were back to our old selves again. Instead of relying on alcohol, I relied on my partner like the vows you took suggest.”
“She should’ve told me,” I said stubbornly.
“I agree; she should’ve, but she didn’t; now what? What’s your next move, Grant?”
“I signed the divorce papers.”
“Mhm. What next?”
“I don’t know. Sign up for therapy and AA, I guess.”
“That’s wonderful, Grant. Rehab should cover all those bases.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Grant. You’re going to rehab.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re stepping down from the firm, and I’m taking over for you until you complete rehab.”
“I don’t fucking need rehab,” I growled, climbing to my feet.
“Look outside the bathroom door and tell me you don’t need rehab.
” My throat clogged, making it difficult to breathe, like that time I choked on a peppermint in church when I was eight.
“Never mind, you don’t have to go far; look at the vomit on the floor.
You’ve been a functional alcoholic for all these years, and what pisses me off the most is how damn good you were at hiding it.
You can go to rehab or permanently give up your position at Baker Personal Injury & Law. What will you decide?”
I don’t have a choice, do I? Go to rehab or lose the last thing I love.
“I… I’ll go.”