I hadn’t told him or any of the others about Thanksgiving and have no idea how he found out. I don’t bother asking.
He chucks the movie at me, followed by a quiet chant of curses.
“I feel like you’re the only person that didn’t learn one goddamn thing from your relationship with Ace! How in the hell do you go from her, to that?” he asks. His voice is loud and filled with disgust as he waves to where the movies are scattered across the floor. “You’re disrespecting yourself and her by being with this girl! Throwing away your future and your friends to hang out and party with some loose chick that doesn’t see anything but dollar signs when she looks at you.”
Wes shakes his head angrily, his lips pursing. “She was her. Ace was my track girl. I didn’t know she was your Ace at the time.” He slams his open palm against the doorjamb, letting his eyes fall. “I was out of my mind, scared as fuck that I was falling for her for a long time. I had to keep separating myself because there’s no way in hell I would do that to you. It took me a while to realize that I did love her, but only as a friend. Just like some fucker, I fell for what the two of you had. You were a better friend with her around, a better son, a better person.
“She wouldn’t have left you, Max. She made it clear to me, and any guy that bothered to pay any attention to her. She was just freaking out. Not about being in a relationship with you, but fearing the future again. She got weird about that shit! You knew that! And you were so convinced that she was going to do the same shithole move your dad made that you refused to listen to any of us. You became your dad when you turned your back and wouldn’t listen.”
I watch his nostrils flare, and feel my own anger burn with the desire to punch him for multiple things that he’s just shared.
Instead, he continues on his rant. “You drink yourself stupid and are so ready to give up on your dreams, for what? Some cheap piece of ass that would have fucked both of us the first time she saw us.” He tilts his head and looks at me to see the weight of his words, and I work to keep my face cold and void of any emotion.
“Get a fucking clue, Miller!” he yells, slamming a hand against my chest before he turns and murmurs something incoherently. Wes heads back to his truck and climbs in without looking at me. He flips me the bird before peeling out of my driveway, and gunning it down the street.
I feel my heart beating in my head as I take a few deep breaths. My shoes connects with a movie, kicking it across the room so I can close the door.
“She’s a porn star?” Landon asks.
I turn to glare at him. This time he doesn’t back down. Instead, he takes a step closer to me. “Shit, dude, I hate to tell you this, but he’s right. I loved you before she was around, but I really can’t stand you most of the time now that she’s gone.” His eyes focus on my face for a few prolonged moments.
I have nothing to say. I can’t even think of a sarcastic retort.
“Max!”
I turned, hearing your voice, and saw your blond hair blow in the wind as you sprinted toward the field where I was finishing my workout. A smile covered your face and I knew before you were close enough for me to confirm it, that it was my smile.
My feet carried me to meet you without thought, and you barely slowed down before colliding against my chest, wrapping your arms and legs around me.
That had been a long weekend for Jameson and me after you both left town for a long weekend to celebrate Abby’s bachelorette party. You weren’t supposed to be home yet. I had gone to the track early so I would be home with plenty of time to shower and get things ready for you to come back. I’d been planning to get takeout from that small French restaurant you love. I had it all planned, but with your presence, those thoughts were a distant memory.
You pulled back just enough to kiss me with a need that was so strong it was palpable with your every move, from the way your hands fisted the back of my shirt to your thighs pressing against my sides, to the soft moans that echoed from you as I swiped my tongue along yours.
“God, I missed you.” Your words made my heart expand.
I set you down and ran both of my hands up your neck and into your hair, and pulled just slightly, to make your head fall back so I could look at you. I was craving to see the look in your eyes when you professed your need for me.
“I love you.” Your voice was quiet but intense, and your lips were parted, anticipating my kiss.
I wake up and lie in bed for a few moments and take some deep breaths trying to escape the image of her from my head.
Feeling slightly disoriented, I head down stairs. The others are all in the living room, watching a movie, because it’s already noon.
A few hours later, I stand from the couch and press pause, freezing the football game that Landon, Jameson, and I have segued to, and Kendall’s barely enduring as the doorbell rings.
“Hey, ask them for some pepper flakes this time,” Landon calls, throwing a pillow at me as I walk to the door.
I open the door and watch as it slowly widens, as if my instincts have affected time so I’ll absorb every single second of this moment.
Standing before me is an exact replica of Billy with an additional twenty-five years of life, drinking, and bar fights. I feel my shoulders square and my jaw flex.
“Max.”
I watch as his hand nervously rubs his left pant leg, and it pisses me off that the first thing it reminds me of is her, and her nervous habit of fidgeting.
“Dude, is that the pizza?” Jameson asks, coming behind me and opening the door wider—an annoying as hell habit that he never seems able to break. Jameson looks straight ahead, and then I feel his attention shift to me. “Holy shit. How in the hell …” he breathes.
“What’s going on?” I hear Kendall approaching.
“Um, who are you?” she asks bluntly, placing a hand on her hip as she looks at him with the bitchy demeanor that she has whenever she answers the door. I silently add it to the list of reasons I don’t mind her living here, not that I’d ever verbalize the list; it’s not extensive anyways.
“Hello? Do you speak? Are you deaf?” she asks, pointing to her ear.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, ignoring Kendall. But he’s staring at her like she’s a ghost, so distracted, I don’t think he’s hearing a damn word that I’m not certain yet if I care to waste my breath on.
“Dad!” I watch his head jolt back to me. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
“Dad?” Kendall not so quietly whispers in shock.
I watch his face crumple as he looks at me, his eyes running over my face, making me feel uncomfortable and anxious. A single tear rolls down his weathered cheek. “I wanted to say I’m sorry, and that I love you, Son.”
His words don’t serve to comfort or relieve me. They hurt. They remind me of David and his acceptance and compassion. They echo the loss of my own father, and how long it’s been since I’ve heard these words—the words I should have been hearing for the last thirteen years and haven’t. If there hadn’t been so many shocking moments over the last year, this might actually make me think I was dreaming. Granted, when I dream I don’t talk to my dad. I talk to her.
I slam the door in his face and stalk back to the kitchen, where I down two shots.
Hours later, my dad’s sitting on my couch, looking comfortable, like he does this every Sunday. The only thing that seems to have him on edge is Kendall, and I’m not certain if it’s because he thinks she’s hot, or what, but it makes me defensive.