“Hendrix?” My father says my name like a question before opening the door the rest of the way to look me up and down. “It really is you, son.”
He isn’t the skinny, strung-out, dirty-haired man I recall in my memory. Instead, he’s probably thirty pounds heavier, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to die at any given moment. My expectations—however I assumed he’d look and whatever I thought the motherfucker would say to greet me—are now gone, and so is my ability to speak. With my feet planted, I stand, frozen on a set of steps that aren’t quite as broken as I remember them being the last time I was here.
“Come in, son.” He steps back, waving inside the house. “It’s freezing out there tonight.”
Despite it being a cold October evening, my body is too numb right now to feel the chill. Even though I don’t take a step inside, I let my eyes roam past him and into the living room, and I can’t believe that it’s actually clean.
I know I have yet to say anything, but I don’t even know what to say. And right now, I feel like I’m in a fucking dream or some shit.
“I don’t …” I choke the words out, my entire body concrete. “I don’t know why I came here. I fucked up.”
Backing away, I turn quickly and take the few steps until my feet hit the ground. I don’t make it halfway across the lawn when his voice stops me.
“I’ve been clean for over two years, son,” he calls behind me, and I can tell he’s following me.
I don’t turn around right away, but instead wait for him to say more—though I don’t know why. Whatever he’s going to say doesn’t matter and yet, here I am, wanting to hear it anyway.
“Since that day when you and your sister were both taken away and I went to prison—” His voice cracks, and I wonder if this is an act to get money or something. “Haven’t even touched weed since, Hendrix.”
So many thoughts run through my head, but I don’t scream at him; instead, my eyes fucking fill with tears even though rage fuels my veins.
I turn around, glaring at him.
“You’ve been clean for two years, and you’ve never once come to me to apologize for all of the fucked-up shit you did?” My body trembles with rage, and I drag in a rough, unsteady breath. “How do you fucking look at yourself sober, Jeff?” I use his real name because he doesn’t deserve the title of Dad. “You were willing to let a drug dealer kill me just to get your fix.” My visionbecomes blurry, and my heart hurts from pounding so hard. “You were going to let that scum hurt Lilly.” I drag in a breath. “You should have died that day. Everyone’s life would have been better.”
I can see something I’ve never seen in his eyes—pain and hurt—as he flinches with each word, though it almost seems like he expected everything I said, which only enrages me more.
“I know.” The words come out in a pathetic croak, and he looks down. “My addiction … it took over every part of me, son. Made me into a monster and left nothing good behind.”
“Fuck your addiction,” I say through gritted teeth. “You didn’t have to hit me when I asked you for money so that I could get Lilly food. Or shove me down after I closed a door too loud when you were high as a fucking kite.” My chest is heaving, and I can hardly breathe. “Addiction doesn’t make you neglect and abuse your kids, Jeff. That’s just who you are.”
“Not anymore,” he whispers. “I’m … I’m so fucking ashamed that I became that.” He stops, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hendrix. I’m so sorry.”
He’s crying now, and the fucked-up thing? I almost feel bad. Like this man didn’t ruin me.
Before he can say anything else, I hold my finger up.
“Coming here was a mistake,” I growl and turn away from him.
Before he can follow me or say anything else, I rush across the road and get into my truck, and even though he’s still in the yard, watching me, I speed away.
It really hits me that even after he got clean, he didn’t care enough about me to hunt me down and try to make things right. Which means one thing … it wasn’t just the drugs making him not give a fuck. It’s just me altogether.
Clean or high, my own father doesn’t give a shit about me.
I think it would have been easier if Jeff had been high.
Or dead.
And suddenly, I regret coming back here with every fucking cell inside of me because now, I’m reminded that I will never belong in a world with someone who is so lovable that even a man who isn’t her flesh and blood loves her like he is.
The right thing to do would be to let Isla go because I’ll never be good enough for her, and I know that. But I’m too selfish. I need her like a drowning man needs a life preserver.
And in this case … I’m that drowning man, clinging to Isla because she’s the only thing keeping me from sinking under the surface.
NINETEEN
HENDRIX
