But then I remember how there’s an array of stuff I don’t know about him. How there are details of his life he's kept to himself, hidden away. I recall all the warnings he’s given me, saying how rotten he is. How I don’t deservehim.
And I recant on that initial thought.
This updated, grief-ridden, bitter version of Colson…maybe this isexactlywho he is and the man I got to know and learned to love…is just a lie.
SIXTEEN
COLSON
I openmy eyes and squint against the bathroom lighting. It’s way too fucking bright and makes my head throb unnecessarily. I resituate my body, straightening against the wall behind me. It protests with an ache setting deep in my bones. My arms and legs are as weak as they were when I was a prepubescent boy with no muscle. My stomach wavers with each movement. So much that I have to actively try to force away the nausea that settles into it.
“Fuuuuck,” I groan out. It gives me a tiny bit of relief but not enough. It lasts all of five seconds before my gut is back where it started, which is wanting to upheave every ounce of stomach acid that rests in it.
And that’s all there is.
Because I sure as shit know I didn’t eat much yesterday.
Thinking about it makes the rest of the day come back in a rush.
The cemetery.
That casket.
The lawyer.
The marriage license.
Booking it out of there so fucking fast.
Sebastian showing up.
Violet showing up.
Me spitting venomous words.
The memory of four specific words—just like yer father.
I’m not the one who’ll be getting Mom’s money and house. Clyde Lincoln, the man who Mom secretly married without anyone knowing, will be.
I also have the gnawing suspicion he might also be my father because who else would it be?
I stormed out of Stewart’s conference room before Aunt Bess or Uncle Thad could get two words out. I walked until my legs got tired, stopped at a liquor store where I grabbed another bottle of Jack, and drank way too much on my way back home in an Uber.
Everything hit me at once yesterday. Every facet was like another million-pound boulder on top of me until I couldn’t handle it anymore. I snapped. Went right back to the angry teenager I was years ago, but that’s not saying much considering I’ve been riding the line of that person since Mom died. Back then, I would let it get in my head that my mom was a raging addict and the one person who could’ve saved me from it—my father—didn’t think I was worth sticking around for.
Trudging through yesterday was like being a quarterback on an empty field and continuously getting sacked by an invisible force. I tried to get back to my feet but inevitably ended up on bruised and battered knees.
Visions of my fingers wrapping around furniture and chucking it filter in. One time wasn’t enough to control my temper, so I kept picking shit up. Kept throwing it. Tossing it into the walls without a care in the world. Without worrying about the mess I’d wake up to or the damage it caused.
It felt helpful in the moment, but now, as I sit here and dwell on it, I feel like a giant piece of horse shit.
I see Sebastian’s face. How he tried to quell my outrage but wasn’t successful. He stood in front of me, nearly got hit with a kitchen chair and still didn’t leave.
Then, he had to go and invite her over. He had to show Violet just how fucked up I am. That I’m nowhere near the man she needs or deserves.
Everything happened so fast after that. Sebastian and Violet followed me to Mom’s room where I left my trusty bottle of liquor. I drank down more, and when Sebastian tried to interfere, I told myself there was no way in hell he’d take that bottle out of my hands.
Not when I was desperate for every last drop. Anything to make me forget about all the shit conspiring against me and that would continue to unravel. Because if there was one thing I was certain about, it was that this revelation with Clyde wasn’t going to be swept under the stain-infested rugs I grew up walking on.
