Chapter Thirty-One
Logan
“What the fuck?” I groaned and reached over to my phone that rang from a number I didn’t recognize. I rolled back over after it ended, then a few seconds later it began again.
I’d only been asleep for three hours when the ringing began.
“Hello?” I answered harshly.
“Well, hello to you, too, son.”
I was awake now. Every nerve in my body was firing, signaling that I needed to get off this phone. People struggled with toxicity every day, and for some reason, they believed that you weren’t allowed to get rid of toxic family members. Like that right was only for friends and acquaintances. Nope. Anyone or anything that causes you unnecessary pain and stress could take a hike. Family or no.
I was about to hang up, and my mother knew that.
“Your father passed away this morning. I’ve never asked you for anything, but I want you here. I need you here to help me take care of everything. He would have wanted that.”
My thumb hovered over the End Call button. Ready to press it and deep down I knew I should.
But I couldn’t. Despite everything and despite knowing better, I moved my thumb away from my touch screen, and I brought the phone back to my ear.
“I’m on my way,” I barked and then exited the call.
I was doing this, not for them, but for me. I had no clue what I needed or why I’d said it. Maybe I would find closure even though I didn’t believe you ever got the true closure you needed. That was what the forgiveness letters were for—to let go for your own inner peace. But I had done that, and I’d found peace.
In some way, going and helping Mom with the arrangements would be a true test of my forgiveness.
Whatever motives behind me agreeing to go were pushed back into my mind. I had to call Callum and tell him I would be gone. I had to message Mia, letting her know, too. We’d continue our work, just as I had when she was in New York. Technically, this program could be done one hundred percent on the phone and video conference.
She was growing into herself at a rapid pace. One week or so without me being in front of her would be good for her.
Tension knotted in my shoulders at the resentment building that I wouldn’t get to witness her growth firsthand because I was choosing to go be around negative people and the death of my dad. But I was choosing it, so I’d most likely be adding that to my list of reasons I shouldn’t be going.
Texts were made since it was only twelve thirty in the morning. Tickets were bought, my duffel bag was packed, and I was out the door and then in my Jeep. My flight left in one hour, but with it being the red-eye flight, there wasn’t bound to be any security lines to wait through.
And there wasn’t. I was right on time and handing my boarding pass over to the attendant as soon as I arrived at the gate.
Once settled into my seat, I debated on trying to get some rest during the seven hours and fifteen minutes it was gonna take to land in Salt Lake City. But my mind was racing. Memories I’d let go of were coming forward.
Forgiveness and letting go were a continual battle you’d fight your whole life. Just because you let shit go didn’t mean there wouldn’t be more that came up, and you’d have to remember it wasn’t worth holding on to. There were bound to be many moments I was going to need a break to remember how far I’d come and that I was better off.
I felt sadness that my dad had died. Despite them not being great parents, I still wanted them to have a good life. To find happiness that they couldn’t have with me. They were the type of couple that shouldn’t have had kids. They were too selfish. Always wanting to do everything without me, like I was a liability.
Dad had always had a drinking problem, and he wasn’t the functional type of drunk either. Mom would leave me with him when I was five, and he would pass out on the couch as soon as she walked out the door. I was pretty self-sufficient then. Thank God I didn’t need to rely on him for anything. Mom wasn’t really any better. She didn’t drink, but there were personality disorders sprinkled in her mind that went unmedicated. She and Dad would fight and yell, and she’d throw coffee tables, dishes, or whatever else was around.
But, when he stole my hard-earned money or we got into legit fistfights when I was sixteen, she wouldn’t leave him for me. Neither parent protected me against the other. Dad knew Mom needed help, and he didn’t care. Mom knew Dad was a drunk, and she did nothing. They provided food and shelter. That was the best they had done for me as parents.
I’d become a psychologist, so I could help people like them help themselves so that no child would go through what I had gone through, but the rules and regulations had gotten in the way of true help.
I’d still tell everyone to see a therapist or talk to someone if they were feeling mentally off in any way. There was no shame in trying to better yourself, admitting that you needed help. Only when you admitted you needed it could the healing begin.
I’d tried to get my parents help, but they’d laughed at me and went back to watching a football game.
The need to slow my roll, decrease my rising blood pressure from all these painful memories, was nagging at me. I’d need a calm mentality to survive this trip.
I lifted my right hand and folded my three middle fingers toward my palm, leaving the thumb and pinkie up.
Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the seat and pressed my thumb against my right nostril and in through my left one. A deep breath filled my lungs, and then I lifted my thumb to press the pinkie against my left nostril, breathing out and then back in. I switched to the right side with the thumb, breathing in and then letting it out before letting go and pressing on the opposite. I breathed in and let go of the shit in my head with every exhale.
