Before, I’d always averted my eyes from it out of self-preservation. But now that I’d seen my father, I couldn’t look away.
His disappointment wrapped around my shoulders like a weighted blanket.
He’d expected perfection, and I’d done nothing but let him down. Which he’d let me know… often and loudly.
Eighteen years had passed, but whenever I closed my eyes, I could still hear him.
“I’ve worked hard to give you the opportunities I never had, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you piss them away!”
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, dragging my gaze away to study the rest of the portrait. Mom looked so much younger back then. Hell, I was just a kid.
God, I thought I knew everything back then. What a dumb fuck I’d been.
My gaze shot back to Dad. Faint lines ran across his forehead and creased around his eyes, marking his age. He was forty-five when he died. At the time, I hadn’t realized how young that was. But now… I was knocking on the door of thirty-seven. Forty-five was pretty damn close.
He only got to live half his life.
A wave of guilt and shame punched me in the chest.
I fucking hated this house and the memories and feelings it tormented me with every time I walked through the door. Shaking myself free, I jumped to my feet. I couldn’t sit here and watch TV all day. I needed to do something… anything, before I went crazy.
Like a caged animal, I flew directly to the front window and stared out. Across the street, Mom’s neighbor was putting up Christmas lights, which made me realize that Mom’s lights weren’t up yet. Every holiday season I could remember, Dad had put them up the day after Thanksgiving. We were always the first lit-up house on the block. He’d low-key bitched and moaned about the chore, but Mom liked the lights.
Has she gone without lights since his death?
I couldn’t face that question, so I scrubbed it from my mind and busied myself with a climb into the attic. Dust coated the boxes of Christmas decorations, and the implication nearly broke me, but I had shit to do.
The Seattle sky kept sputtering, but a little rain was nothing compared to the guilt weighing on my chest, so I put the outdoor lights up in the same pattern Dad used to. While on the ladder, I couldn’t help but notice the gutters were stuffed with leaves, so I grabbed the tool from the garage and cleaned them out, too.
I was in the house, searching for a can of WD-40 for the squeaky gate, when a motorcycle roared down my street and stopped. Hurrying back to the front window, I peeked around the curtain. A biker climbed off his bike, adjusted himself like one classy motherfucker, and then marched up Mom’s walkway like he had an appointment.
What in the actual fuck?
I slid away from the window and looked around, searching for a weapon. Nothing was in sight except the television remote. The gun safe was back in Mom’s bedroom, and it would take too long to get to. I could toss the end table at him if shit went sideways, but I hoped it wouldn’t get that far. Mom had said she had biker friends, but I still couldn’t wrap my mind around that.
He approached the door and knocked.
When I made no move to answer, he knocked again, calling out, “Landon? You home? Beth sent me to talk to you.”
Irritated, I cracked open the door and looked him over through the screen. Asian and probably a few years older than me, but it was difficult to tell. His build was slight, but muscular. He didn’t appear to be armed. “You Havoc?”
He shook his head, chuckling. “No, man. Definitely not. If I were Havoc, you’d be shittin’ yourself right now instead of sizing me up. I’m Sage.”
Ignoring his concerning warning, I asked, “How do you know my mom?”
“She’s a club supporter.”
I knew all about motorcycle gangs, so I scoffed. “Yeah, right. You guys shake her down or something? Make her pay for your protection?” My questions were liable to get my ass kicked, but I couldn’t wrap my brain around Mom willingly supporting these clowns. I sure as fuck wasn’t bowing down to them. If they’d been harassing her while I was away serving my country, there’d be hell to pay.
“Shakin’ her….” He chuckled and shook his head. “We’re not the goddamn mob, man. We’re a club that helps veterans.”
“You don’t think some vets are outlaws?”
“That’s a bullshit question.”
I shrugged. “This is a bullshit conversation.”
He massaged the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna fit right in with all the rest of these nutjobs.”
