Johnny’s jaw tightened. For a second, I spotted the same angry kid from high school. He might own a house and have a small herd of children, but the angry kid still hid somewhere in there.
“Let’s get one thing straight.” I turned, so we were eye-to-eye. If we ever got into a fight, he might land a few punches, but there was no question who’d come out on top. “You be his dad. I’ll be the Scout leader. Neither of us would let anything happen to him. We on the same page?”
Johnny's shoulders dropped. The fight drained out of him as fast as it had appeared. "Yeah. Same page."
"Good." I headed for the door.
"Wait."
I stopped, hand on the doorknob.
"Back in school." Johnny's voice came out rough. "I was a shit to you."
There it was. Not an apology, but an acknowledgment hanging in the air between us.
I'd imagined this moment a thousand times. Johnny admitted what he'd done, and I had the power. To decide whether to forgive him or tell him exactly how much he'd destroyed. How many years of therapy? How many relationships have I sabotaged because I couldn't let anyone get close? How I'd abandoned my own father just to escape this godforsaken town?
But standing in his disaster of a living room, watching exhaustion pull at every line of his face, the words didn't come.
"Matt's a good kid," I said. "You're doing okay."
I walked out before he could respond.
The afternoon sun hit me as I crossed the gravel driveway. I climbed into the truck and pulled the door shut. The leather seat was warm. Down the street, someone was mowing their lawn. I could hear the steady drone of the engine and smell fresh-cut grass through the open window. I sat there, hands on the steering wheel, waiting for it to hit.
The rage.
The vindication.
The satisfaction of finally making Johnny admit what he'd done.
Nothing came.
I waited, replaying the conversation in my head.I was a shit to you.That's what I'd been waiting for. Twenty years of anger, and he'd finally said it. So where was the catharsis?
My chest felt... lighter. That couldn't be right?
I tried to access the familiar fury. Thought about the lockers. The cafeteria. The way Jon Bishop's laughter would echo down the hallway. The hundreds of small cruelties that added up to me planning my escape before I'd even graduated.
It felt distant. Like a story someone had told me about someone else.
My phone buzzed.
Nick: Everything okay?
I'd come here ready for war. I'd pinned Johnny against the wall on Mum's porch. I'd spent two days convinced he'd pulled Matt as revenge, as some twisted power play to remind me I didn't belong. But he'd just been protecting his kid. I'd been so ready to make it about me, I hadn't even considered I had misunderstood.
Charlie: Yeah. Heading home soon.
I pulled Pops's compass from my pocket, flipping it open. The needle spun before settling. My thumb traced the worn brass.
Johnny hadn't apologized. Not really. He'd acknowledged what had happened. Five words that didn't come close to covering years of torment… and that was it. No groveling. No tears. No moment where he begged for forgiveness, and I got to decide whether he deserved it. Somehow, that was enough.
No. Not enough. It would never be enough. I didn't need it anymore.
The thought settled in my chest. I sat with it, turning it over like the compass in my palm. For twenty years, I waited for an apology that would never come. I needed someone to tell me I'd been justified in leaving, and cutting off everyone, including the two people who'd never stopped loving me. I'd made Johnny's decision about me. About high school. About the bully and the victim and all the ways I'd let the past define every choice I'd made since.
But it hadn't been about me at all. It had been about Matt, a scared kid, and a dad trying not to screw up. Just like Pops had tried with me. My throat tightened. I closed the compass and set it on the dashboard.
