Maybe I should get that tattooed on me somewhere. 'Revenge is mine, motherfucker.' Would that be too obvious? I supposed that depended where I had it tattooed. That was something I'd think about after Zeus took his last breath.
"It was like we didn't exist to him. Maybe I was asking too much.” Cass exhaled out his nose. "He forgot about us most of the time. I didn't care. Except that one day. A few hours. Then he could crawl back into the hole he came from. Does that sound crazy?"
"Not at all," I said. "It's one thing to make yourself scarce; it's another thing to walk away and never look back." Not everyone was cut out to be a parent. I knew that, but I was still mad at what he did.
"Did he know what happened to your brother?" I asked gently.
"Mom tried to contact him," Cass said. "According to her, he didn't answer."
"You don't believe her?" I asked. It wouldn't be the first time a mother told a little white lie to protect her children. Sometimes it was easier to think there was no answer than to face the words he'd said to her.
"I don't know." Cass' shoulder twitched in a tiny shrug. "I keep trying to remember how she was acting back then. If she was upset after she contacted him. More upset than she was before. I don't know, I couldn't tell. She was devastated. I guess… I wasn't looking much past my pain, anyway."
He leaned his head back, his own expression devastated, placing at least part of the blame on himself for the whole situation.
"You're only human," I told him. "Sometimes when you're in pain, all you can do is hold your breath until it passes. Focus on anything else, even what other people are going through. At the time you're just trying to hang on." That was how I felt after Lottie died. I hung on by my fingernails. Taking life one day as it came. Hoping the worst would pass somehow, until I could inhale without wanting to burn down the whole world.
He blinked a couple of times. "I'm sorry. I forgot you know how it feels. Your sister?—"
I placed my finger on his lips. "It's okay. I know you know. We've both been through a lot. But we made it out the other side. Everyone deals with grief in their own way. At the time,andyears later. Just because I understand doesn't mean I don't want you to tell me how you're feeling. About anything. Not just this. Okay?”
"Okay," he whispered. "I still feel angry. Fairfield is dead, and my father is out of my life, but I still feel angry at the things they did. Or didn't do. Why couldn't they be better humans?"
"I don't know," I said. "We keep saying there's lots more predators out there, but I like to think they're the exception. That most people are good people who want to live their lives and take care of their communities. A few bad apples ruin things for others, but they don't ruin everyone. If they did, your father would have ruined you, right?"
"Who says he didn't?" Cass asked. "I cut off a couple of Fairfield's fingers. Is that something a normal person does?"
"Absolutely," Boner agreed. "I'm normal and I do shit like that."
We all looked over at him.
"Exactly who described you as normal?" I teased.
He grinned. "No one, but I lightened the moment, didn't I?"
I reached over to the bowl of popcorn on the table in front of me, scooped up a handful and tossed it in his direction.
He tried to grab a piece in his mouth, but somehow it ended up hitting him in the ear instead before bouncing onto the floor. He leaned over to scoop it up and pop it into his mouth.
"Thanks, love. I was getting hungry."
"There's plenty more where that came from," I said. I picked up the bowl and passed it over to him.
He rested it on his lap and started eating. "Needs more melted butter."
"Too much butter isn't good for you," Archer pointed out.
"Not enough butter isn't good for me either," Boner said. "If I don't have enough, it makes me sad. My understanding is that happiness increases your lifespan. Therefore, me being sad about not having enough butter is bad for my life expectancy." He seemed satisfied with that response.
"Did you hurt yourself?" I teased. "Stretching that far."
He laughed and threw more popcorn into his mouth. Apparently that was the only answer I was going to get to that question.
He had a point, though. If being happy made us live longer, then why shouldn't we strive for that? If it meant a little bit of extra butter, in moderation, where was the harm?
I shook my head and turned back to Cass. "Your father didn't ruin you. You're perfect just as you are. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Okay?" I kissed his nose.
"You'reperfect," he told me.
