Nothing.
I was eighteen today, and my father clearly didn’t remember.
Or he didn’t care.
I flipped two more cards off the top of the deck and tossed them across the table to him.
To hell with it. Ten minutes down, fifty to go.
We’d been silent since I arrived. Speaking, as usual, only when needed.
And my stomach was still rolling.
After the episode with Tate last night, I’d felt great. Relaxed, excited, calm.
But every week, I got sick before I came to the prison, and my high from last night was now gone. The dreadful anticipation of whatever lousy shit my father was going to say to me made me nauseous. I could never eat anything in the mornings. And most of the time, my hands shook so badly that driving was hard.
That’s why I opted to drive up last night after I’d dropped Tate off. There was no way I was going to get to sleep with my body in knots over her, so I just got the fuck out of there. Drove up to Crest Hill. Stayed in a motel and came here as soon as visiting hours began. I usually calmed down after I left. I felt safer the closer I got to home.
The only thing that got me through the visits week after week without throwing up was the necklace.
And I hadn’t gotten that back last night.
Right now, though, my insides were caked with acid and burning a trail up my throat. It hurt, and I kept swallowing it down, hoping that he couldn’t see me thinking of her. I knew it sounded weird. How can someone see what you’re thinking? But my father had a knack for reading me, and he was the only person who made me feel weak.
“So where is it?”
I ignored his question.
Who knew what he was talking about, but I was always sorry when I let him get me to talk. I just shut the fuck up and breathed.
“You’ve been practically keeping one hand in your pants’ pocket almost the entire time of every fucking visit except today. What do you keep in there like a goddamn security blanket, and why don’t you have it all of a sudden?”
I chewed on my lip, tapped my foot, and then tried saying my cards in my head over and over again.
2-4-5-6-7. Spade, spade, spade, spade, heart.
The room, with its high ceilings and long hallways off to the sides, echoed with conversations I couldn’t make out, and the bustle of visitors filled the air. Light poured through the windows, but it didn’t make anything feel happier.
“You think I’m an asshole.” My father put another card down and spoke quietly. “I am an asshole, Jared. I’ve made you hard, but I’ve also made you strong. No one will hurt you again, because you’re untouchable. Even to that girl, you’re out of reach.”
I snapped my eyes up to meet his, and my cards crumpled in my fist. The deep rumble of his raspy laugh ripped Tate from my head.
“You got your money,” I gritted out, tight-lipped. “Shut up.”
He just shook his head and continued arranging his cards. “Does she know about you? About what a coward you are? About how you abandoned your brother?”
Jax.
“There is no ‘she.’” My lie came out as a mumble.
“You’re right,” he retorted. “You’ll always be alone, because you know that that’s better. And she’ll find someone to marry her and fill her with babies that aren’t yours.”
My stomach caved, and I didn’t think.
I slammed my cards down on the table and launched out of my chair, popping my father right across the jaw. The ache in my fist spread up my arm, and I watched as he fell out of his chair, onto the floor, still laughing his ass off.
My chest heaved as I breathed through my nose.
“Next week is my last visit,” I told him. “I won’t miss you, but I know you’ll miss me.”
“That’s enough of that.” I heard a voice say before I was grabbed by the arm.
Looking up, I saw a guard, a little taller than me with dark hair and light eyes, scowling.
I yanked my arm away from him. “No worries. I’m gone.” And I turned around, my jaw hard as cement as I walked out.
“Don’t worry, Jared,” my father yelled behind me. “We won’t stray far from each other. I’ll always be in your head.”
As soon as I got home from the visit, I found my mom in the kitchen with a cake.
“No way. I’m not in the mood.” My tone was hard, and I didn’t mean to cut her, but I backed out of the kitchen and walked towards the stairs.
“Jared, please,” she shouted after me.
I stopped, every muscle in my chest so stretched that I was ready to scream, and I spun around and charged back into the kitchen.
My mother stood on the other side of the kitchen table, brown hair in a high bun and arms at her sides. She was dressed nicely in jeans, heels, and a short jacket.
Gripping the back of the chair until the wood creaked beneath my fingers, I stared at her, trying to swallow down the fight I wanted.
“I appreciate the effort,” I told her. “I really do. But we’ve gotten along just fine without having to pretend that we’re an actual family. You do your thing. I do mine.”
My stomach was in knots, and my words spilled out like mud.
Her eyes dropped, but she recovered and lifted her chin.
“I want Jax to come and live with us,” she said matter-of-factly and out of nowhere.
I stopped breathing and narrowed my eyes on her, too shocked to even respond.
Excuse me?
Jax live with us?
She smiled a little and circled the table towards me before I even had a chance to process if she was kidding.
“Jared, I’ve already spoken to a lawyer. Nothing is for sure, but….” she paused, eyeing me carefully, “but he might be able to help. Do you want your brother with us?”
I wanted my brother safe.
I tightened my grip on the chair’s back. “Do you want him here?” I asked her.
Her eyes dropped, and her lips turned up with a thoughtful smile. “Yes. I like Jaxon.” And then she looked up at me again. “He brings out the best in you. Just like Tate used to.”
I couldn’t eat cake.
I didn’t like attention, and the idea of my mother making me blow out candles had me gagging.
I went to my room and close the door, enjoying the dark and quiet for however long I could have it.
Jax with us? I thought as I laid on my bed.
I still couldn’t believe she’d thought of it. That she wanted to take him in.
It was expensive, but she didn’t seem to care.
That was one issue I never pushed, even though it confused me. She worked in an accounting firm, earning enough to support us but not enough for what we had. Our house was paid for, I always had the best cell phones, and she had a nice car. Paid for.
To be honest, I was just afraid to ask. I didn’t want to know how we lived so well.
I got a text from K.C. saying she hoped we were friends, and she offered a thank-you for the help with her dipshit boyfriend.
He’ll be cheating again in a month. They always do. But I didn’t tell her that.
She also let it slip in a not-so-subtle way that Tate was on her own now. Her visiting grandmother had left town.
My lips turned up, and I was about to stalk over there and pick another fight with Tate when I got a text.
Everything good?
Tate’s dad.
Fine, I typed back.
You got the house key back to Tate, right?
Yes, I lied. I wasn’t ready to give that up yet.
Thanks. Happy 18. Present should be arriving soon.