The man had aged fifteen years since I’d seen him last. His blond hair was ninety percent grayish-white. His skin was wrinkled, leathery, and ashen. Dark circles stained his eyes as though someone had punched him. His lips were chapped, and booze permeated the air around him, burning my nostrils more than the bleach.
I gripped the rail at the bottom of his bed, trying to figure out how I could possibly be related to him. In the looks department, we didn’t match. Denim was the only one who had the same features as our father. In morals, we sure didn’t jive. My old man believed that abuse was the only way to run a household. I couldn’t recall a time when he’d been a father who cared. Every day after work, he had sat in his chair, drank beer, and watched TV. Then beer had morphed into whiskey. Then he’d become a monster.
He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. When his blue gaze landed on me, the heart monitor came alive. I probably had a look that could kill as I towered over him.
He snarled like a rabid dog. “What are you doing here?”
I hate you too, old man.
I was holding on to the bedrail as if I were holding on to a ledge eighty floors off the ground. “Nice to see you too, Father.”
He glanced around before he started pulling out the IV line. “I can’t stay here. What happened?”
That was the thing with him. He drank to the point where he couldn’t remember squat.
“You about killed yourself.” I lifted a shoulder. “I’m surprised you’re not dead.”
“Leave me alone. I don’t need you,” he growled like an animal about to attack. He probably would have if those tubes he couldn’t take out weren’t taped to his hand.
“The feeling is mutual. But here I am.”
Grace. Grace. Grace.
Her name was the only reason keeping me glued to the fucking tile floor.
“Get the fuck out.”
I angled my head. “You can’t possibly be embarrassed because you drank yourself into a coma.”
He bared his nicotine-stained teeth. “Son.”
“Don’t call me that. You had a hand in making me, but that’s as far as our relationship goes.”
His throat bobbed. “I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?” That tone of disgust that I’d been accustomed to while growing up dripped from each word.
“I learned today that Grace could be alive. Has she been home?” I knew it was a shot in the dark.
His face twisted into something far beyond anything I’d ever seen on him—regret, despair, and sadness. He averted his gaze to his lap.
“Has she?” My tone was hard.
“How’s Denim doing?” he asked.
I moved from the bottom of his bed to the side and got in his face. “We’re talking about Grace.”
His puke-laden breath about knocked me backward. “If you boys would’ve stayed out of trouble, then maybe your sister wouldn’t have run away.”
If I hadn’t left for the merchant marines, Grace would be with us. If Duke and Denim had kept an eye on her, Grace would be with us. If my old man weren’t a drunk, a bastard, and an abuser, Grace would be with us. Hell, if the latter were true, then we wouldn’t be a fucked-up dysfunctional family, our mother wouldn’t have taken off as if she were being chased by the devil, and our family would have had a thread of hope of being like the one family I was envious of—the Maxwells. But I wasn’t going down that road tonight.
I’d brooded many nights over how I longed for a family like the Maxwells—tough, solid, protective, loving, caring, and the list went on. My brothers should’ve had Grace’s back.
Steam came out of my nose as I shuffled away two steps, letting out a laugh of all laughs—hard and evil. Rage pumped through me along with the need to ram my fist into my father’s jaw. My gut hurt. My heart rammed against my chest, and I gritted my teeth to the point that I swore I heard one crack. “Says the father who deserves an award for worst father of the year.”
“It’s not my fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s your mother. She left her children behind.”
My nostrils flared, even though I agreed with him in part. “You drove her away. Therefore, you’re at fault for everything that has happened to this family.” My stubby nails poked holes into my palms. “Have. You. Seen. Grace?” I enunciated each word with a pause in between to prevent myself from going ballistic on his frail, old ass.
“Yes.”
