Page 82 of Love and History

“It’s true and you know it,” I spat. “He was an addict, Ryan. He lied to get his fix. He lost jobs, he lost friends, he lost his dignity, and he let us curate a fucking cookbook dedicated to false memories, so we’d convince ourselves he was the best dad in the world. He wasn’t, Ryan. He was selfish. He shouldn’t be dead. He shouldn’t be gone. But he is, and I’m…” I swiped at my eyes as I stared up at the blue sky. “I’m pretty sure I’m never going to get over it if I don’t face the truth and stop…lying. He fucked up, and I keep fucking up, and I can’t help thinking this is how history repeats itself.”

Static hummed on the line for so long, I wondered if he’d hung up.

“You’re wrong, Ez. You aren’t tied to those mistakes. You can’t feel guilty about something you never had the power to fix.” Ryan’s voice was pure gravel. “No, he wasn’t perfect. And maybe I go overboard singing his praises, but I choose to remember the good times and the guy he wished he was when he was in his right mind. We both know if Dad were in my shoes, he wouldn’t have asked Gus’s boyfriend to come to dinner. He would’ve been passed out before the doorbell rang. But that isn’t who he wanted to be. Get it? He wasn’t a bad guy, Ezzie. He was a good man who made bad choices. But he loved us. You know that.”

Silence.

Yeah, I did know that. I struggled with the notion that love wasn’t enough. That it was better to keep shit that mattered to myself. That somehow, if I didn’t talk about things, they wouldn’t hurt as much when I lost them.

People, my mind corrected. Not things.

“Yeah, I know. I’m…sorry.” I blinked when tears welled out of the fucking blue. “I’m such a selfish prick, but damn, I wish he was around. And I wish you were still here and I wish life was simpler. Like it was in that fucking fantasy cookbook where people you loved stayed and everything felt…safe and happy. Like Disneyland, right?”

I lightened my tone, so Ry wouldn’t start thinking he needed to jump on the first flight to California. He had enough to worry about without adding me to the list.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t listen to me, man. I sound like a loon,” I sighed.

“No, you don’t. But you have that cookbook for a reason, you know. He wanted you to have the notes and the photos. He wanted you to think of the good times…especially when life feels tough. He wanted us to do everything he couldn’t. To live a good life, to be honest, work hard, and find someone who could love us for who we are. At the end of the day, I think that’s all any good parent wants for their kids. Something better.”

“Yeah, maybe so.”

“Okay. Look, I pulled off the road. I’ll call you when I get home and—”

“No, no. I’m all right. I swear.” I pushed my hand through my hair, resisting the urge to pull it out. “It’s just that…right this second, life feels a little out of control.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling well. It sucks. But you’re gonna be okay, Ez. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I know.”

“Love you, baby brother.”

I disconnected the call, sank into the nearest chair, and buried my head in my knees. Fuck, what was wrong with me? I was fucking spiraling. There was no safe harbor anymore.

That was the problem with too much truth. It left you exposed and vulnerable and…completely lost. I wanted to cry like a kid for the father I’d idolized and lost too soon, and the man I loved and—

Fuck.

I loved him.

I loved Holden.

The truth of it hit me so hard, I couldn’t move for a few minutes. It was a beautiful, blinding sort of revelation that rolled over me like a tidal wave, making it impossible to deny.

This was what love felt like. It was a kick in the balls and a sock in the jaw. It twisted my guts in two and yet somehow, I needed it.

I needed him.

I muddledthrough the rest of the day with my head down, moving my things like a ghost flitting between rooms, making more of a mess than if I’d waited for Blake and Cole’s help over the weekend. But I couldn’t sit still. I worked till I was tired, cranking the volume on a Jay-Z classic to keep myself from listening for the sound of Holden’s car on the drive.

And when the walls upstairs began to close in on me, I headed for the kitchen to do fuck knows what. Rearrange the pantry?

“What are you doing?”

I hit my head on the pantry door and turned. “Holden.”

Beautiful Holden…with his perfectly coiffed hair, smarty-pants glasses, a wrinkly white button-down shirt, and khakis. He looked so…perfect. So…mine.