Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Morgan

Ishouldn’t feel weird getting a phone call from my boyfriend when I’m with Dusty, but I do. My skin prickles with the loneliness of him looking away. I can’t explain why that’s the way it feels. It makes no sense, really.

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” Dusty says, taking a few steps back.

The air in the room feels thicker. There’s so much of my life he doesn’t know about, so much of his that I don’t know about either. It wasn’t supposed to ever be this way between us.

I raise the cell to my ear. “Hey.”

“Hey. You’re on speaker. I’m on my way to work and thought I’d call to check in. It’s going to be a busy few days, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to talk.”

My free hand goes to the back of my neck, rubbing the skin there. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just a big contract and an important potential new client. What are you doing?”

“I’m at Dusty’s auto shop. He’s showing me around.” I glance at my friend, who is leaning against a counter, his hands in his pockets.

“Who’s Dusty?” Rob asks, and I hold in my sigh.

“My best friend from childhood. I told you about him the other day. He opened his own repair shop.” Sometimes Rob is good at pretending to listen, other times he’s not, but he only holds on to the knowledge he cares about, and clearly my life in Birchbark isn’t on that list.

“That’s nice. I went to dinner last night with Matt and Chris. We ended up at a club afterward…”

Rob tells me all about his night out with friends of ours, complete with the twink who was hitting on him. There’s no jealousy because we have an open relationship, so I listen, making random comments, while looking at Dusty and rolling my eyes, then holding up my hand to do the movement of someone talking too much.

Dusty chuckles, but something about it doesn’t ring true.

Eventually, Rob says, “I just got to work. I better go.”

“Okay. Have a good rest of the week.”

“You too,” he replies, then ends the call.

I shove my cell into my pocket again. “I should head out. I need to do some grocery-shopping and get back to check on Dad. What time should I come back?”

Dusty’s forehead wrinkles, brows drawn together. Instead of answering my question, he says, “Did he ask about you? Your dad? It didn’t sound like it from your side of the conversation.”

My spine stiffens. No, he hadn’t, and I hadn’t even noticed. That’s just how Rob is. I like it that way, not having people in my business, but then, shouldn’t he care that his boyfriend’s father had a stroke? Shouldn’t he at least ask? “That’s not really how we are.”

“You’re not the kind of boyfriends who ask each other if you’re okay? To see how you’re dealing with all the shit that’s going on in your life since coming home?” There’s confusion in his voice, but also the sharp edge of anger. Dusty doesn’t get it and doesn’t want to. A big part of that is because he could never be like that. He needed more and gave everything.

“Leave it alone, Dust.”

He holds up his hands in defeat. “It was just a question. Your relationship is your business. I just… You deserve someone who asks, who wants to make sure you’re okay.”

I’m at a loss for words, my throat tight like there’s a foot on my windpipe, cutting off my oxygen. Spencer has made his thoughts on Rob extremely clear over the years, but hearing it from Dusty hits differently…cuts deeper.

Dusty would care. He would ask. Despite everything, Dusty is still there for me.

“What time should I be back?” I ask again because it’s easier to deal with than the rest of it. Being close to him makes me think and feel, and most of the time all that does is cause me pain.

“Six,” he says simply, but even after all this time, I recognize the disappointment in the set of his jaw, in the line of his mouth and how he’s crossed his arms.

I hate letting down Dusty more than anyone else in this world, but I don’t know how to be the person he needs me to be.

“I’m gonna say goodbye to East before I go.”

Dusty doesn’t go with me as I return to my brother. He’s lost to the job he’s doing and hasn’t noticed me, so I stand back and watch him for a moment. Sometimes I forget he’s a grown man now. Even when I left, when he was seventeen, Easton still felt like a kid to me. Time is a funny thing, and while you know it passes, you seem to forget that it passes at the same speed for those you don’t see daily, and then when you do, the shock makes it seem like even more time has gone by for them. He’s become a whole new person that I don’t know, and I can’t help wondering who Ella would be if she were alive. What would she be doing? How would Easton’s life be different? How would all of ours?

Easton turns off his machine, lifts his mask, and turns to look at me. Apparently, he’d known I was here all along.

“Am I interesting?”

I chuckle. “I’m about to head out. Just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Bye,” East replies, then lowers his mask again.

The last thing I want is to let this moment pass, so I add, “We should have dinner sometime.”

He moves the mask so he can speak again. “Okay.”

“You can come to the house too and—”

“No.”

Well, shit. I hadn’t expected the flat-out rejection. “Why?”

“Come on, Morg. You know he doesn’t care about me. He loves you because everyone loves you…looks up to you. He loves Rhett because it doesn’t ever matter what Rhett wants, he’ll live his whole life doing exactly what Dad did or wanted because he doesn’t know who he is without being Dad’s shadow. He gives Dad even more of an ego. He loved El because of Mom. He’s never cared about me, never needed me, especially now that I’m an embarrassment to him.”

I open my mouth, trying to make words come out, trying to find something, anything to say to him, but I can’t think around the throb of pain filling my veins, running through my body and choking me. “Do you really think that?” I manage to say.

“I know that. And you know it too.”

“He doesn’t love any of us. Not really. He loves what we can give him or how we make him look.”

“Okay.” He watches me, gaze cold and closed off. There’s no doubt in my mind he doesn’t believe me.

“I’m serious, Easton. It’s not you. He only cares about himself.”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better. I’ve made peace with it a long time ago.” This time when he lowers the mask, I know he won’t lift it again, won’t reply.

Easton turns on the machine and gets back to work. For a moment, I continue to stand there watching him, hating my father while trying to ignore the way my hands flex and my lungs hurt, before I walk out of the building.

*

When I getback to the house, I head straight for Dad’s office. He spends all day working, just like he always has, even if it’s at a different pace. We haven’t spent any quality time together—not that I’ve pushed for that either, but after hearing what Easton had to say, his lack of being a real father cuts even deeper.

I push open the door without knocking. He’s sitting in his desk chair, his head snapping up like he’d fallen asleep. I’ve never in my life seen my father fall asleep while working, and it makes me mentally stumble for a moment. He’s never seemed real to me, never seemed human, but in this moment, he is. That doesn’t excuse the things he’s done, though, the hurt he inflicted on his children.

“What do you want, Morgan? I’m busy.” He straightens papers on his desk that don’t need straightening.

“You were sleeping.”

“Is that all you came in here to tell me? Because I’m aware of what I’m doing more than you.” He sounds annoyed.

My stomach flips over. “Jesus, why are you like this? Why are you so fucking angry? So resentful. We didn’t ask to be here. We didn’t ask to be born and ruin your perfect fucking life. You brought us here, and yet you’ve spent our whole lives punishing us for it.”

A weight lifts off my chest with those words. I don’t pretend that’s all my baggage. I’ve been carrying too much for too long for it to disappear so easily, but the load is lighter now.

Dad clears his throat, likely not having expected me to say that. No one talks to him that way. His sons certainly don’t. “I fail to see how anything I’ve done has made your life so difficult. You grew up with every opportunity at your fingertips. You had everything you could have wanted and needed. You didn’t lack for anything and—”

“Love!” I shout, hands fisting, nails digging into my palms. It takes everything inside me not to punch the door, a wall, something, and I’ve never been the type to hit things in anger. The only time I have was with Rhett. “We lacked a father who gave a fuck about us! We lacked having you here! Christ, Easton thinks you don’t love him, and I tried to explain to him how you do, and I couldn’t come up with a fucking thing. Do you know how sad that is? That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, something he’s always done when frustrated. I wait for him to yell at me, to raise his voice because it’s what he usually does, but instead, I hear a soft, resigned, “Did you only come home to tell me all the ways I’ve wronged you? All the ways I don’t live up to your expectations? If so, it was a wasted trip. Focusing on the past doesn’t change anything, Morgan. Now, if you’re done lecturing me, I’d like to get back to work.”

I stand there watching him for a moment, unable to move. His response shouldn’t surprise me, not after everything he’s done, and yet it does. “You really only had us for Mom, didn’t you? Once we were here, you wanted to mold us into who you wanted us to be, but you had us for her.”

He sighs and looks up at me. “No. You talk about me trying to mold the three of you, but you do the same to me. I might not be the kind of father you want, but I’m still your father, and I’ve always taken care of my kids.”

With money, not time, but there’s no point in telling him that. He’ll never get it. Never see it.

“Why can’t you be more like your older brother? You focus too much on emotions, just like your mother, and all that did was hurt her over and over in her life. Rhett is the only one of my children with a damn bit of sense.”

But then, he would never say that to Rhett. He’ll tell Rhett everything he does is wrong too.

“I won’t be home tonight. I’ll call Rhett to come and check on you.” I don’t care if I have to stay in a hotel, I can’t sleep in this house tonight. I feel too raw, too angry. My body is shaking, almost to the point where I fear my legs will give out.

“I don’t need anyone to check on me.”

I close his door without replying. I go upstairs, grab a few things, shoot a text to Rhett that I’m not staying here tonight, and leave.