Forty-Nine
Nathan
I’m furious at everything—the damn world, the shrink-wrapped illusions I keep feeding myself, the knot in my chest that won’t loosen. Mostly, I’m furious at myself for letting Sienna slip under my skin, for letting her see me in ways I swore nobody would again because now I’m driving away from that resort, from her, and every mile I put between us feels like a knife twisting deeper.
I take the highway out of town, ignoring the scenic ocean views.
My flight leaves for Chicago in a few hours, but there’s something I need to do first, something that’s been clawing at me since the moment Sienna’s face crumpled and I left her anyway.
By the time I pull up to my mother’s place, the midday sun has climbed high and hot, scorching the roof of my car as I slam the door.
The front door sticks when I push it open, warping from neglect. Inside, the reek of stale cigarettes and day-old booze curls my lip. My stomach flips with the memory of the time I was here. Why do I ever think it’ll be different?
I stride through the living room, stepping over half-crushed beer cans, paint chipping off the walls. She’s slumped on the couch, half-lucid, her hair knotted at the nape, her eyes unfocused. She’s more sober than last time, but that’s not saying much. She notices me, sits up, and rubs her face like she’s trying to force herself to look presentable.
“Back so soon?”
she mutters, voice scratchy. “Thought you were done with me.”
Anger flares up my spine, but I bury it under a mask of composure.
“I am,”
I say curtly, moving to the armchair across from her. I drop my keys on a table.
She sits up, sinking into the couch cushions.
“You here to do errands for me again?”
She tries for a sweet tone that used to work on me years ago, back when I was a kid who still believed she gave a fuck.
I lean forward, forearms on my knees. “No. I’m leaving California this afternoon, and there’s something you need to hear before I go.”
She stiffens, a flicker of nerves crossing her face. “Yeah? Then spit it out.”
“I’m cutting you off,”
I say flatly. “I set you up with this house, with enough money to last you forever if you’re not reckless. That’s it. I’m done.”
Her eyes widen, a spark of rage flickering. “What do you mean, done? You can’t be done. You’re my son,”
she snaps, trying for indignation, but it cracks at the edges. “Just a quick favor, baby. Or if you can’t do it now, next time you come around—”
“There won’t be a next time,”
I cut in, voice tight. “I’m not doing errands for you, I’m not bailing you out. No more cross-country dress retrieval, no more ‘Simon’s car is broken’ bullshit, no more illusions that I owe you anything. We’re finished.”
She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “It’s that bitch, isn’t it?”
My blood runs cold.
She sneers, sitting up straighter, like she’s found the root of her problem. “That girl you brought here last time. She’s got all in your head. You’re thinking with your dick.”
A slow, controlled breath pushes through my nose.
I don’t take the bait.
Not anymore.
“You’re so predictable,”
she scoffs when I don’t react. “Just like your father. Thinking some woman is gonna fix you. Like she’s gonna make you a better man. Let me tell you something, Nathan, you are who you are. You’re mine. And that means—”
“That means nothing. We share blood. Nothing more.”
I stand, raking a hand through my hair. “I’ve got a flight to catch.”
She scrambles upright, stumbles a little, like the half-sobriety is tipping into panic. “No, Nathan, you can’t just walk away. I need you.”
Her tone tries to play on my guilt, but I’ve heard it too many times. “You’d really do this? Leave me?”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “Look at this place. You’re only half-sober, wallowing in your own shit. Don’t act like I’m the bad guy for finally being done.”
She opens her mouth but can’t find the words. The silence is thick, every old resentment I carry threatening to choke me.
Her face twists, her nails digging into the couch, into herself, but I see it. There’s a flicker of calculation.
She’ll figure out another angle, try to find another way to keep me tied to this place, but I won’t be here to see it.
I turn without another word, striding to the door.
As my fingers wrap around the handle, she spits, “You’ll be back.”
I don’t bother looking at her.
“No,”
I say quietly, opening the door. “I won’t.”
Then I walk out.
For the first time in my fucking life, I don’t look back.