Once I feel the alcohol burn my throat and warm my bloodstream, I think about the bombshells my mother has dropped at my feet.
She knows where Isaac is.
She’s protecting him from me.
She knew about my father’s cheating ways the entire time.
Was I the only one in the dark? Did I have my head so far up that man’s ass that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me? What would have become of me if none of this would have happened?
I would have been the next Truett Goode. Liar, hypocrite, cheater, homophobic, abusing, murdering monstrous piece of shit.
“No,” I mutter to myself as I pour another shot. “No.”
It burns its way down like the first one.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m on the floor, my back to the wall as I sob with my head hanging between my knees.
That’s not me. I never lied and I wouldn’t in a million years have treated my family the way he did. I’d sooner chop
my own hand off before I’d lay it on my child or a woman as innocent and perfect as my Peaches.
Thirty-seven years I devoted to that man and what do I have to show for it?
When my tears have dried and my sadness has melted into anger, I stand from the floor and walk over to his desk. Staring at the empty chair where he once sat, I think of all the things I’d like to say to him now.
Three weeks ago, he asked my mother to send me a message asking for a meeting with me. And I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or not, but I’m suddenly feeling ready for that conversation. But I want to go in prepared.
Making a mess of his desk, I shuffle papers from the various piles before I find the document I want.
Holding the deed between my fingers, I pull out my phone.
After dialing his number, I hold it to my ear and wait while it rings.
His voice sounds weak and tired on the other side.
“Adam?”
“You want to talk, motherfucker? Let’s fucking talk.”
Forty-Four
Adam
M y hand is clenched around the manila envelope. I’ve already left a fist-size indentation along the edge from clutching it too tight. With every floor the elevator passes, the tremble in my bones gets worse.
I’m about to be alone with him, and I can’t seem to get the image of him with his hands wrapped around Sage’s neck out of my mind.
My moral compass isn’t just skewed. It’s dead. The needle no longer points north. I’m not sure where it’s pointing at the moment because the temptation to walk into that hotel room and end his miserable existence calls to me like a gross, violent seduction.
As the elevator chimes, I pick my head up and face forward.
Where there would normally be an entourage of assistants and security guards, there is no one. Just an empty hallway in a four-star hotel, where my father is currently hiding.
As I approach his door, I take a deep breath and look back at the papers in my hand. There aren’t many in this folder, and really only one that matters. I’m not sure how I’m going to go about this, whether it be blackmail, begging, or violence, but I know which one sounds more satisfying. I also don’t know what state he’ll be in when I go in there. Will he be the smug, pompous, ego-inflated asshole who I sat across from four months ago?
Or will he be humbled?
I’m not sure which one I want.
It’ll be a lot harder to kick his ass if he’s desperate and apologetic, but not impossible.
So I guess there’s only one way to find out. My knuckles rap on the door. Then I hear his footsteps heavy on the hotel
carpet before the dead bolt clicks as he unlocks it. A moment later, he opens it, and then…there he is.
Standing in dirty clothes, wreaking of whiskey, gaunt and exhausted in a presidential suite…alone.
As his eyes bore into mine, I feel like I’m sharing eye contact with my real dad for the first time in my life. He’s not a god or an idol, or a hero. He’s just a simple man who cares about no one but himself.
With surrender in his eyes, he backs up and opens the doorway, allowing me to enter.
“Come in,” he mutters with a tired-sounding rasp in his voice.
I step in with hesitation, looking around to get a sense of the scene. I’m not sure which of us is feeling more vulnerable at the moment, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my guard down around him now.
“Where’s Mark?” I ask in a cruel, sarcastic tone as I stand next to the desk against the wall. Unlike the one in his office, this desk is empty. His work is gone.
He huffs. “They think it’s best if another pastor steps in for the time being. To protect the ministry’s name.”
A slow, dark chuckle creeps up my chest, and soon it’s a full laugh, sinister and satisfying.
“I’m glad you think this is so funny,” he says as he drops onto the maroon-colored sofa. As he props his feet up on the coffee table, I enjoy watching karma at work.
“Sit down,” he says in a fatherly tone, and my eyes narrow at him. I don’t move an inch toward the chair facing him.
“I’m here on my business, not yours. If you think for one fucking second I’m going to just listen to you the way I did before, you’re wrong. You nearly killed the love of my life, and I will hate you for that until the day I die.”
He scoffs with a smug, bitter expression. “The love of your life? Give me a break, Adam. Just because you found a good piece of ass—”
“Stop it!” I bellow, slamming my fist down hard on the desk. Emotion bubbles its way up to the surface, and I’m done holding it back. Everything this man has done to my family in the course of my life has pushed me to this point.
“Why can’t you just be my father? Why did you have children if you never had the desire to love anyone but yourself? Instead of pretending to be a good man…why couldn’t you just fucking be a good man?”
He stares at me without emotion, and, to be honest, I don’t know if he has any. Maybe that’s why he can stomp all over the people he’s supposed to love. He feels nothing.
I toss the envelope on the table in front of him and drop into the chair, feeling defeated. I came here trying to get through to him, but it’s clear I never will. The closure I want doesn’t exist.
“You couldn’t possibly understand how much I love Sage,”
I say, the boom and anger in my voice dissolved. Then I look up at him. “The love of your life is your fame and success. It’s not God or faith or Mom or any of us. It certainly isn’t the twins and it sure as fuck isn’t Isaac.”
His jaw clenches and he looks away from me at the mention of my baby brother.
“But I’ll be honest. I thought for a moment it was me.” I hate how desperate I sound. Sad and broken, like a puppy that’s been kicked by its owner too many times. “And I lived to be your favorite. It’s all I wanted in life. In turn, everyone I care about got hurt. So I’m done.”
I let out a long sigh of relief. It feels like the chains have been broken, and for the first time in my life, I’m truly free.
“So what do you want then?” he asks, like not a single word I just said matters.
I laugh to myself before flipping open the envelope and shoving the deed toward him. “Sign it over to Sage. It’s the least you can do for her. After what you’ve done.”