Wildfire (Maple Hills, #2)(45)
I spot Mom before she notices me in the family waiting area. She looks more tired than the last time I saw her, whenever that was. Four months ago? Five? The bags under her eyes are dark and striking against her pale skin, her hair grayer, face more gaunt. She’s clinging to the coffee cup between her hands as she stares into the distance and once again I’m wondering if I should turn around and leave.
My feet keep carrying me forward until I’m standing in front of her. No part of me on the long-ass drive here considered that I’d have to say something when I arrived and now I’m facing her, I don’t know how to start.
She doesn’t say anything as she stands, throwing her arms around me. With her face buried in my chest, she begins to sob.
“What happened?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
“He’d offered to pick up some groceries for dinner and he was hit by a drunk driver,” Mom says, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.
“He was hit? Was he drunk too?”
“No! He wasn’t!” She sounds appalled, like it’s totally unbelievable I could ever suspect he might be in the wrong. She gives me a full play-by-play and I know from where the crash happened that he was on his way home from the track. There isn’t a grocery store near that intersection. “You can go in and talk to him in a minute, the doctor shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Talk to him? Ethan said he’s unconscious. Also, where is Ethan?”
“He was unconscious but now he’s awake. And your brother is on tour somewhere in the Midwest I think. Why? Did you think he was here?”
I’m going to strangle Ethan the next time I see him.
“I don’t want to talk to him, Mom. I don’t want to be here.”
She sighs and takes a seat, gesturing for me to do the same. There’s no one else with us in the room and I’ve never wanted to be surrounded by strangers more than I do right now. “You need to move past this delayed teenage rebellion phase, Russ. I don’t know what to do with you. You’re an adult but you’re part of this family, whether you like it or not. You need to start putting us first.”
I don’t realize the noise is coming from me until the chair begins to shake because I’m laughing so hard. There’s nothing funny about this situation; there’s never once been anything funny about it, but the laughter continues to bubble up until it feels like it’s choking me—and I stop. “You’ve never put me first, ever.”
“How can you say that, Russ? Have you ever gone without a meal? Without clothes you needed? Gas in the car to get you to school? And hockey practice? A roof over your head?” Her eyes water as she stares at me, waiting for me to respond. “Do you think I worked extra hours for fun? Your father is sick, Russ. You don’t turn your back on people because they’re not perfect.”
“You’re enabling him. Every time you do nothing, you’re making it worse. You know he wasn’t going to the grocery store. You know that if he was, none of us would be here right now.”
“You can’t claim to know what it means or what it takes to keep a marriage together,” she says, brushing her hands against her skirt. “When you love someone so much, you’d give your life to make them better. I really don’t think the hospital is the right place for this conversation, Russ. Let’s talk about it at home later.”
“I’m not going home. I don’t want to talk about it at all. I don’t want to be here.”
My mom has never talked so candidly about my dad’s issues before. I feel her pain in her words, even when she delivers them calmly, but it doesn’t erase mine. It’s a fight in my head where no one else can weigh in, where no one else really gets it and, really, where absolutely no one wins. Where logically I understand it’s a sickness, that it’s a disease that takes hold. That he never stood a chance and the odds were against him, which, when talking about a gambling addict, is ironic, I know. I can say that and I can understand it and mean it, but it doesn’t stop it from fucking hurting.
“Then why are you here, honey? If you don’t want to talk about what’s happening in our family, why did you come?”
I could tell her that Ethan lied to me to get me here. I could explain that the idea of him turning up at Honey Acres and making a scene in front of my new friends makes me feel physically sick. That having Aurora look at me with pity when she learns that while her dad prioritizes the billion-dollar industry he’s part of, mine prioritizes a very different kind of race track.
“I didn’t want you to be alone, but I didn’t drive four hours to fight with you,” I say, rubbing my fingers against my temples.
She reaches over, taking my hand in hers. “I wouldn’t have married him if he was a bad man. People don’t wake up one day and decide to become addicted to something. They don’t choose to hurt the people they love.”
My entire body is aching from the adrenaline of being here and I’m exhausted. Every feeling, every resentment, every slither of hurt is on the surface like an open wound.
“Did you know he asks me for money?” I know before she opens her mouth the answer is no. She’s never had a good poker face, much like Dad, ironically. “And when I don’t give it to him, he tells me I’m a fuck up and I’m not his son.”
Tears fill her eyes instantly, but she doesn’t let them fall. “I’m so sorry, Russ.”