Page 3

Rafael

All my bluster evaporated like a puddle on hot pavement the minute Hank arrived to pick me up. I wanted to be made of stone when he walked through the front door. I wanted to see the look on his face when I didn’t react to his presence. He iced me out of his life? Well, fuck him. Two can play that game, Dad .

But seeing him physically standing in our foyer hit me like a ton of bricks. Hank hadn’t set foot in our house in nearly four years, and his presence ignited a firestorm of hurt and confusion. A deluge of memories flooded my mind, ripping my heart in half as the echoes of accusations and tears churned in my brain. The entire funeral came rushing back to me. I could smell the clove-like scent of the carnations surrounding Mattie’s casket.

The longer it took me to gather my things, the more it dawned on me that, in the four years since Mattie died, Mom and I existed in a state of suspension. Nothing had changed since the day Hank left. We lived in a purgatory of mourning. The stabbing wound from Mattie’s death evolved into an ever-present dull pang. It was just there .

The same couldn’t be said for Hank. The man looked immeasurably altered. I’m not talking about physically. Sure, the gray around his temples was new, and there were a few more creases in his forehead, but the most stunning change was the lack of tension in his face. He exuded a sense of calm. He never looked like that when he lived with us. Even before Mattie died, Hank had a troubled expression permanently etched on his face, as if he were always holding in gas or smelling something awful. But as he stood in the home he’d fled from years ago, I realized that Hank radiated something different. There was a calmness to his presence. His expression looked… healthy.

I hated it.

How dare he? So, things were that peachy with his new family, huh? He didn’t deserve to be healthy. He deserved to be broken—broken like me. What right did he have, looking like the past didn’t haunt his dreams? Who the fuck did he think he was looking like the dark waters weren’t ripping his heart from his chest and dragging it to the seafloor? I bet he could even catch his breath when the thunder struck and lightning cracked, too. I wanted to rip his contented face right off and grind it into the floor.

As I gathered the last of my things, I glanced at Mom, hoping I could convince her to reconsider. The fury in her eyes had subsided, and what remained was exhaustion. She looked so damn tired, and it was all because of me.

She needed space and a break from the destruction I’d caused. I waved her off and slid into Hank’s car. As the car drove down the street, I looked back to see everything I’d ever known fading into the distance—my friends, school, hometown, even Mom. My stomach churned, and I thought I might be sick.

Then again, the nausea could have been because of his god-awful car freshener. Who the fuck picks Green Apple? Is he trying to torture me?

We drove in painful silence for a solid hour before Hank said, “I know you don’t want this, but I’m glad you’re staying with me. I—” he cleared his throat and white-knuckled the steering wheel. “—I’m hoping we can…patch things up.”

Patch things up? Patch things up? You know that scene in Clue when Madeline Kahn’s character, Mrs. White, is so fucking enraged she says that fantastic line, “It-it- the f - it -flam - flames. Flames, on the side of my face, breathing-breathl- heaving breaths, heaving breaths…” Yeah, that was me at that moment. PATCH THINGS UP? Like I’m a pair of ripped Wranglers? You left me to sink into my guilt! I had to watch Mom turn to stone to keep from collapsing into a weeping mess every day. You married some blonde bitch and replaced me with her son, and you want to patch things up? I needed you four years ago and you fucking ran, you coward!

The urge to open the car door and throw myself out of the moving vehicle was palpable. Maybe military school wasn’t such a bad idea, after all?

No, I needed hockey. It was the one thing preventing me from succumbing to the vices I used to escape this miserable, fucking world.

Whatever Hank had done since the last time I saw him certainly didn’t involve a tutorial on talking to his dejected son without making said son want to Hulk-out and snap his father’s neck while he merged into the passing lane.

I tried to steady my breathing as my hands clenched. I’ll show you how I patch things up. “Interesting. And this desire to patch things up happened before or after Mom forced me on you?”

Hank’s throat bobbed, and a dusting of pink on his cheeks betrayed the anger or embarrassment—I couldn’t decipher which one—in response to what I just asked. “Rafael… I know I didn’t—”

“Yes, you didn’t. ” I let that linger. Hank didn’t do many things, and if he wanted to patch things up, it would take a lot more than canned Hallmark one-liners in his Audi A4 that smelled of rotten apples. “How about Jill and Cody? Are they as eager to patch things up as you are?”

That one got him. Good. I’ve still got it. That dusting of pink darkened to crimson, and his eyes narrowed. I could have sworn his hands started shaking as he tightened his grip on the wheel even more.

“Rafael. You are allowed to be angry with me. I know things between us won’t be easy for a long time. If ever. I have to earn whatever relationship you want to give me, but Jill and Cody have done nothing. Direct your anger at me. Not them.” He glanced in the rearview mirror before turning to me and pleading, “Please.”

Bad move, old man. You showed your hand, and the game’s just started.

I already couldn’t wait to fuck with Jill and Cody, but knowing this was the way to take the new and improved Hank and toss him in an emotional combine made their impending destruction truly exhilarating.

I pulled up a leg, planting my foot on the seat, and tapped my knuckles against the window. “How is the dynamic blond duo?”

Hank’s blanching face ignited the monster in me. Could he tell I was salivating as my mind swirled with the beautiful possibilities of how I’d turn his wife and stepson into mincemeat? His expression told me yes.

“Jill’s fine. She volunteers a lot at her church—”

“How noble,” I gasped. I forgot Jill was religious. Even better.

Hank continued, “And Cody just celebrated his eighteenth birthday. He had a fun time with his hockey teammates.”

Cody and I were eighteen and entering our senior year, which was later than usual. For some reason, he had repeated the first grade, and I had taken a year off after Mattie passed. I vaguely remembered Hank mentioning Cody’s love of hockey right before the wedding, but, you know, cognac and all. Fuck him and his good taste in sports.

“You didn’t answer my question, though. How do they feel about my impending arrival?”

Hank’s face sank, and his eyes looked tired. There’s the old Hank I remember. “Rafael, I’m sorry I wasn’t there. When your Mom called, I-I want to make things right.”

I didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive—the time to make things right had passed. I needed him so badly four years ago. I needed him to tell me it wasn’t my fault, but instead, he ran. It would never be all right.