He nods. “Yeah, well…we were homeless.”
I freeze. “What are you talking about?”
“I got evicted that day from the apartment I was renting because I couldn’t make a payment. But it was my weekend with you, so instead of canceling, I maxed out my credit card and took you on a trip.”
I sit up a little straighter. “But…no, you…” I stammer, trying to remember the details to prove him wrong. His expression is flat as he waits for me to figure it out.
“It took me a couple more months to find a place, so we stayed with friends for a while, but my point is that you think I had my shit together because I let you think that. I felt like a fuck-up, a royal one that weekend, but I figured it out. Eventually. It took some time, but five years later, I started working with Garrett, and four years after that, we started a company. I still mess up, Beau. I don’t always have it together, and if you ever think I’m so confident or perfect, just remember that trip. I’m letting you see what I want you to see.”
As I stare at him in surprise, suddenly all the pieces click into place. “That day when they vandalized my car…why did they come to Mom’s house?” I ask, although I already know the answer.
“It must still show my name for the residence,” he replies.
“But you gave that house to Mom.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Because you own the deed, don’t you? You gave her the house, but you paid for it, didn’t you?”
“When I had the opportunity, I did.”
I can’t exactly put into words how this news makes me feel. Weirdly irritated with him. And strangely proud at the same time. I’ve looked up to my dad my entire life, and I’ve spent the entire time comparing myself to him. Who could live up to that?
Maybe he should have let me see him fuck up. If I ever got the chance to see my dad as a real person and not as the hero he tried to be, I wouldn’t feel like the letdown of the century.
Thank fuck the doctor walks in, dissipating the tension with her presence. She gives us the basic rundown of my injuries—severe concussion, stitches, no bleeding on the brain or anything on the CT scan. With any luck, I can go home tomorrow.
And I notice his eyes track my way when the doctor says that. Because he’s probably thinking exactly what I’m thinking. I’m sure as fuck not going back to my home with my mom. She doesn’t have a nurturing bone in her body, and as much as I love her, I think I’d rather stay with the newlyweds than listen to whatever guilt trip bullshit my mother wants to spin about this.
But let’s face it. We all know where I’m going when I get out of here tomorrow. And it’s a fucking relief that we don’t have to lie about it anymore.
My mom is acting weird. After I woke up, she and my dad coexisted peacefully in this room for twenty awkward minutes. Then, he finally relented and went home for a while to rest and freshen up.
Now, it’s just me and my mom and this lingering tension between us. I don’t know exactly what’s going on in her head, but I do know that the club she’s been slandering for over a year is the reason I’m in the hospital right now. And I’m just waiting for her to say something.
“I told you that place was trouble,” she mutters bitterly, staring out the window.
“Mom,” I reply, letting out a groan. “The club is not trouble.”
Her mouth hangs open in shock. “You were nearly killed there!”
“You’re overreacting,” I argue, but she’s already revved up and there’s no stopping her now.
“I’m overreacting? Beau, I got a call in the middle of the night that my son’s head was nearly bashed in outside his father’s club. Now, you tell me how I should react to that.”