I’m doing it for him. For me. For Angel. Hell, maybe even for my ghost. I only know I have to do it. That I can’t stop. With each word I see his smile and I feel him again and I know I’m doing what he would want me to do.
I write that I’d always wanted to be a good dad to him, better than I had been, but I haven’t been doing it. I tell him how young I was and I didn’t think I was ready to be a father but that I want him to know how much I wanted him. Even if I wasn’t ready to at first, he stole my heart and made me wish to be a better man. That if I had it to do over again, I would be different. Would be what he deserved. That all these pages and all these words and my hands that cramp and hurt are my apology. They’re my way of being the person he deserved for me to be.
* * *
For the first time in four years, I stand in front of the house I shared with my sister. I look like shit. I haven’t slept much. I’m screwed up from my fight with Maddox, though in the week I’ve been writing and then driving here, the bruises are fading.
But I’m here. Looking at a new fence around the yard. The new speed bumps on the street and at the signs that say to go slow. That say traffic fines are double and children are at play.
They have my son’s name on them. They’re for him.
And I know that’s what my sister has been doing to be okay. That’s how she’s been fighting for Ashton. While I’ve been running and… fuck, dying, she’s been living for him. It’s not like she’s ever had much. The house is tiny and it’s in a shitty neighborhood, but she still did something. She fought, probably with all she had, for my son.
It took me long enough, but the notebooks full of our story are the start of my fight.
I let myself in the gate and walk up to the front door. That ache in my chest spreads being here. Looking at that spot I held him last and where I played with him in real life and in my dream. I almost can’t breathe.
The steps still creak like they used to as I walk up them. There’s a weight fighting to pull me back because I need to do this. I have to. For Ashton.
My fist comes down on the door in a knock. It’s only a few seconds later I hear my sister say, “Hold on!”
Four years. I haven’t talked to her in four years. I left her right after she lost her nephew. What was wrong with me?
Less than a minute later, she opens the door. Her hand shoots to her mouth, covering it and it’s shaking.
“Hey,” I say. She doesn’t look much different. I notice her hair’s a little longer and that she has her ears pierced. She never had them done before.
“Hey…,” she replies. And then she flies at me. Her arms wrap around my neck the way Ashton’s did in my dream. I hold her back and she cries into my neck. “Adrian… you’re home. I can’t believe you’re home.”
“I’m sorry, Angel. So fucking sorry.”
She laughs, still hugging me. “You still have a bad mouth.”
“I can’t help it.”
And then we go inside and we sit on the couch. We talk about Ashton and our lives the past four years. We cry and I tell her everything. How I wanted to get lost. How I wanted to forget and live this façade that wasn’t real. I even tell her about Delaney and the book in my hands. Then I picture the little boy with my eyes, and I think I’m finally giving him a reason to be proud of me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
~Delaney~
When I hear the front door opening, I run for the living room. I skid to a stop right as Maddox is closing the door. The urge to hug him bubbles inside me, but I shove it away. I missed him and I love him, but right now I’m pissed.
“What the hell, Maddy? I can’t believe you’ve been gone for two weeks!”
He flinches and I feel a small amount of guilt, but then I think of all the times he’s given me a hard time. How he punched Adrian when he spent the night and how often he’s tried to run my life.
“You disappeared recently too,” he says before he falls onto the couch. He looks tired. Bruises are fading on his face.
“For two days, not for two weeks! And not after having the kind of conversation we had before you left. Seriously!”
I’m still mad, but I sit next to him on the couch anyway. “I was worried about you.”
“I texted.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Shit.” He shakes his head, but then looks at me. “Sorry, little sister. I had something to take care of. It was important and then… I don’t fucking know. I just wasn’t ready to come back yet.”
It’s impossible to stay mad at him. I know I should, but he’s my brother and out of anyone in my life, I know I will always be able to depend on him. And I know he’s hurting. Know he’s been hurting for years. Reaching over, I hug him. “I’m not going to say it’s okay because it’s not. I’m glad you’re home, though… and don’t do that again. Things have to change with us, Maddox.”
I take in his dark, messy hair. The set of his jaw. It looks like he hasn’t shaved for a couple days, dark stubble on his face. He looks like my dad. Only with Maddox, there’s a kindness in his eyes I don’t remember with Dad.
Maddox gives me a small nod.
“You can’t keep taking responsibility for me. For Mom or Dad or anyone.”
“Neither can you,” he answers back in that rough voice of his.
“I know. I saw Mom last week. We got into it and I told her how I felt. She kicked me out and I said I wouldn’t be back. I haven’t and I won’t.” It still hurts to remember, and the urge to call her, to check in on her is there, but it’s hard giving out love to people who shove it back in your face. That’s not what love’s supposed to be about. No, it’s not perfect and people get hurt, but it’s a give and take. And it should be comfort, not pain.
Maddox takes a deep breath and I know he’s trying to calm himself. That he wants to say something about Mom but is trying not to.
“You’re growing up,” he says, which is ridiculous.
“I’m eighteen. I’ve been grown up for a while.”
“It’s different now. Good for you.” He tries to stand, but I grab his hand and keep him next to me.
“It’s time for you to do the same. None of it’s our fault, Maddy.”
He looks at me and gives me a small smile, leans forward and kisses my head. “What I should know in here”—he touches his head—“I can’t always feel in here,” then his chest.
And I know that’s the end of our conversation. Maybe I should push, but I don’t. I might not have tried to make Adrian talk, but I pushed my way into his life. It’s hard to regret it because regret would mean not knowing him, not loving him, but I regret the pain I caused. I’m trying to learn from that.
“Have you talked to him?” my brother asks.
“No… I still haven’t seen him. I don’t know where he is.” It hurts so badly and every part of me misses him, but I get it too. I lied. Things are so much worse because that little boy was his son.
“Pussy,” Maddox mumbles, shaking his head.
“Hey! That’s not fair. You don’t know everything… Ashton was his son…”
I’ve never seen my brother’s face pale the way it does. Regret flashes across his features, colors his eyes. Regret for not giving Adrian a chance? For hitting him that day? I don’t know.
“I miss him.” I curl up next to my brother and lay my head on his shoulder. He puts an arm around me and holds me. “I really do love him.”
He gives me a small squeeze, offering me his support. “I’m sorry, Laney. Sorry about it all. And… I’m sorry for him too.”
We sit there, holding each other. Supporting each other and I know we’re going to be okay.
* * *
I walk up to my apartment after begging for my job back and stop dead in my tracks. My heart slams around inside my rib cage as I run to the door as though it might disappear.