Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Morgan

Igo into the kitchen, the food I prepared still sitting there untouched. My pulse speeds too fast, and my stomach churns—I left Rhett and Dusty out there together—but I ignore it. They’re friends, and I have no claim over Dusty.

It’s only a minute or so later that the door opens and Rhett joins me.

“Dad didn’t eat?” he asks, disapproval dripping from his words.

“I cooked. I told him the food is done. Am I supposed to force-feed him?”

Rhett ignores me and starts making him a plate, then warms it up in the microwave.

“He doesn’t need to be babied.”

“We’re his sons. He’s had a stroke.”

“He can work all day, make phone calls, yell at people and all that, but not put together some tacos?” It would be one thing if I felt he couldn’t truly do this for himself. I would do it. Or hell, if he’d asked, I would have done it too, but Rhett’s natural inclination is always to be the first to suck up to Dad, to show him how good a son he is, when our father has never cared to prove to us how good of a dad he can be.

“I should have known you wouldn’t care. You know Dad doesn’t ask for help.”

“Fixing his plate isn’t going to make him show you he loves you. It isn’t going to make him be a good dad, or tell you he’s proud of you, or treat you like an equal.”

He tries to cover it, but I see him flinch. As much as I dislike my brother, I feel sorry for him too. He’s spent his whole life following in the footsteps of a man who doesn’t deserve it, trying to make proud a man who will never be satisfied, to earn the love of someone who will never show it.

“Jesus, you’re such an asshole. I wish I’d never listened to Dad and asked you to come home.”

Dad had asked Rhett to get me home? That’s news to me, and honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. Is it just to get his way? Be in control? Prove that I love him? But now definitely isn’t the time for me to try and work through it. “Being an asshole seems to run in this family, and I’m here now. What do I need to know about Dad? Real stuff, not making his plate.”

Rhett pulls a pill container from the cabinet and goes over the meds he takes—blood pressure, blood thinners, on and on. They’re separated by morning and evening. He’s got a list with the bottles, explaining how to refill the container if Rosie’s not here, and what meds he takes when. He’s got it all organized in a way only Rhett can. “Dad is good about taking them most of the time, but sometimes he forgets and sometimes he gets stubborn.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not a goddamned adult.” The man in question comes into the room.

“I’m not talking about you like you’re not an adult. I’m talking to Morgan like he’s not one. I made you a plate.” Rhett takes it from the microwave and starts putting together soft tacos for him.

“I can do that myself,” Dad snaps. Rhett shakes his head and steps away.

“If Rhett hadn’t started to do that, you would have expected him to do it. But because he did, you have to find something to complain about,” I accuse. I know I’m right.

“Christ, Morgan. Don’t start,” Rhett says as if I wasn’t defending him.

“If I’m such a bad father, why are you here? We’ve been fine without you for ten years. We don’t need you now.”

The thing about him is, he wants what he doesn’t have. Rhett has always sucked up to him, so Dad would sometimes ignore him in favor of me, trying to get me to be more like Rhett, putting more pressure on me. If I’d been like Rhett, he would have moved on to Easton, or hell, maybe just given less of a shit about both of us. But he also can’t ever look like he cares or needs something. That’s likely why he asked Rhett to get me home but now pretends he doesn’t care if I’m here or not.

With a sigh, I lean my ass against the counter. “I’m trying here, Dad.” Which is more than he ever did. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

He takes his plate and limps to the table. “My damn family to be together and functioning. Is that too much to ask? No one else has to deal with the shit I do from my kids. Sit down. I want my kids to have dinner with me.”

Rhett starts making a plate, and I watch the two of them. I’m trying to figure out why they don’t seem to realize that not all Dad’s sons are here. “What about Easton? Shouldn’t we call him over?”

“Probably drunk or in jail.” Dad plops into a chair at the kitchen table.

“He’s not in jail,” Rhett says. “Officer Thorn calls me if that happens.”

“He’s an embarrassment is what he is. Your mother…it would break her heart to see him. All those tattoos. The trouble he gets into. She wanted nothing more than to bring him into the world, and this is how he repays her.”

“Hey. Don’t say that,” I warn in unison with Rhett’s, “That’s not fair, Dad.” Well, there’s one thing we agree on. At least Rhett has Easton’s back.

The truth is, Dad never got close to East. To an extent, maybe, before Ella died, but he always babied her in ways he didn’t East because she was Mom’s girl. Sometimes I feel like when she died, he started acting like we lost Easton too.

Maybe we did lose Easton that day.

“I’m going to see Easton.” I can’t sit at this table with the two of them right now.

“He won’t come,” Rhett says. “I’ve tried. We don’t ever spend time together the three of us.”

Something’s really wrong with our family. We’re broken in ways I don’t think can ever be repaired.

“I’m still gonna go. I can’t…”

“You think you can fix it better than me. That I just don’t care, so you’re gonna save the day like you always do,” Rhett nearly growls.

“Not everything has to do with you, big brother.”

“Sit down!” Dad shouts, right hand slamming against the table.

“No.” My fingers flex in frustration. “Have dinner. I haven’t seen East yet anyway. I’ll be back later.”

I don’t wait for the two of them to try and change my mind. I walk out of the room, grab my keys and phone, and leave.

Once in the car, it hits me that I don’t know where my own brother lives. How fucking sad is that? I get angry at Dad and Rhett for the things they do, but in the grand scheme of things, I’m not much better.

Even though I changed my number to one from California, I kept Dusty’s all this time. I’m hoping it’s the same, and shoot him a text.

Hey…can I get Easton’s address?

I could call or text my brother, but I’m not sure if he’ll answer right away.

It’s not until I get the reply from Dusty that I realize I still haven’t heard from Rob. It’s not unusual, but given the circumstances, it stands out more.

Dusty: Yeah. Thanks for going to see him. If he’s not home, he might be at Davies. He hangs there a lot.

Davies is a bar in town.

He gives me Easton’s address, and I consider the fact that East really does spend a lot of time at the bar.

I thank Dusty, and then I’m on my way. Easton’s small house, tucked into the trees on a rural road, looks like no one is home, but still I get out and knock. A dog barks from inside, but my brother doesn’t come to the door.

He has a dog? I’ve never had one in my life. Rhett and I never had one growing up, but Dusty did. I liked playing with him.

When it’s clear he’s not there, I head back to the car and drive to the bar. It’s only a little after seven. Maybe he goes there for bar food at the end of the day?

Davies is one of the older bars in Birchbark. It’s been here as long as I can remember, owned by a guy everyone calls Old Man Davies. I don’t think it’s one of the most popular bars in town with newer Birchbark residents and the younger, college-age crew, but what do I know?

I head inside, and the first thing my gaze catches on is my brother sitting at the bar with his back to me. His shirt is the same navy blue as Dusty’s from earlier, and I have a feeling it has my old friend’s name on it as well.

My stomach twists in a different way from how it did when I saw Dad or Rhett. While Easton and I aren’t close either, there’s no animosity. I wanted more for East. I wanted him to be the best of us all because Mom wanted him and Ella so damn much. While I carry anger for Rhett, I feel like I let Easton down.

The bar is fairly busy. I work my way around people and tables, heading to my brother. The stool beside him is empty. There’s a mug of beer in front of him and a plate of greasy fries and wings, so at least he’s not here only drinking.

“Hey,” he says, without looking up at me.

I chuckle. “Don’t be too excited your big brother is home.”

“The wings here are delicious.” Easton wipes his hands, which are also covered in tattoos, then finally turns my way. His slender nose, blond hair, and fair blue eyes are so much like Mom’s that it steals my breath. “You got out, Morgan. Why the hell would you come back here?” he asks, and I snicker again, feeling a pinch in my chest I can’t explain.

“Come here, East.” He stands, and I pull him into my arms. He comes easily but doesn’t hug me back as tightly as I hug him. His body is tense, like it makes him uncomfortable, so I pull away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” He sits back down and then…just starts eating again. I take the stool beside him.

“You want anything?” the bartender asks.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

He nods and disappears, leaving Easton and me alone.

“You see Dusty?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did. I want to talk about you, though. How’s everything going? He said you’re doing great at the shop.”

“When I come in on time?” Easton quirks a brow.

“It’s his business.”

“I know.”

“You like it?”

“It’s a job. Dusty doesn’t suck. Makes it all right.”

The bartender sets a beer in front of me, and I wait to see if Easton is going to ask me any questions or start up any kind of conversation, but he doesn’t. “I’m staying at Dad’s. I don’t know what in the fuck I was thinking agreeing to that. He hasn’t changed a bit.”

“He’ll never change.”

I don’t argue. Easton is right.

“Rhett got pissed at me because I didn’t make Dad’s plate for him. What the fuck is that?”

Easton shrugs. “Rhett.”

Yeah, it is Rhett. “You gonna talk to me or what?”

“I’m talking. Just waiting for you to tell me how much of a fuckup I am. For you to try and fix me. Figure we should get that out of the way first, then see if we still have anything to say to each other.”

The dull ache that had already been in my chest turns sharp and piercing. “I’m not here to tell you how much you’re fucking up or to try and fix you. Have you seen our family? Those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, and all of us are in some motherfucking glass houses.”

Easton chuckles softly like he didn’t really want to let it out, but damn, it feels good to hear.

“I wish we’d done better by you,” I admit. “If anyone fucked up, it’s the rest of us.”

He turns his head in my direction, frowning, brows drawn together in confusion. Have I never said anything like that to him before?

“We all have shit to feel guilty about. We’ve been suffocating on it for years, but I’m the last thing you need to have regret over.”

“Why?” Does he think he doesn’t deserve it? And what the hell would he have to regret or feel guilty about? Easton was just a kid.

He motions behind me. “Food is here. Better eat up.”

Not sure what to say or even what I feel, I sit beside my little brother, drink a beer and eat wings and fries with him, determined that if anything changes this summer while I’m here, I want it to be that I have more of a relationship with him.

Mom would want that.

I want it too.