21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Roman

H ave I mentioned that Beck is my happy place? Because God, he really is. I tune out the conversation between him and Riley, pressing my face into his neck, closing my eyes, and breathing him in. His hands rub gently up and down my back, and I let all the tension seep from my body. Even without visiting Dad or asking about his progress, he’s still stressing me the fuck out. It’s affecting my daily life and my happiness. I want to ask how he’s doing, but I’m honestly a little terrified of the answer. It’s been two weeks, and he’s still there, so I’m assuming that’s a good sign, but who knows.

The vibrations of Beck’s voice rumble against my chest, and I nuzzle my nose into his skin. He shivers, and I smile.

“I’m gonna head home,” I hear Riley say.

“But I just got here,” I complain, sitting up to turn to her with a pout.

She laughs. “I know. Spend some time with Beck. I don’t want to impose on your time together. I’ll be back to see you guys soon. We need to go out and do something before I leave. One last hurrah. Oh! I know! Let’s go fishing!”

Beck drops his head back against the couch with a groan, and a chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. “You know, I’ve never actually gone fishing. It could be fun.”

The evil glint in her eyes is a little terrifying. “No, I’m not going fishing,” Beck says.

I look up at him, but before I can even plead our case, he reaches up and covers my mouth with his hand. “Nope. Not happening, don’t look at me like that. I know you’ve become quite accustomed to turning those eyes on me and getting whatever you want, but it won’t work this time.”

I lick his hand, and he pulls it back with a shake of his head. “You two are insufferable. I never should have introduced you. If I’d known you’d gang up on me, I wouldn’t have.”

“That’s not true, and you know it, Beck,” Riley grouses.

“Ugh. Fine. We can go fishing,” he grumbles. I turn to Riley with a triumphant smile, and she pumps her fist in the air. “But if either of you make fun of me, I’m shoving you in the lake.”

I know damn well he’s not shoving me in the lake, but I nod along, placating him. “Scout’s honor,” I say in a sugary-sweet voice. “I would never make fun of you.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I don’t believe that for a single second.”

Riley laughs—cackles, really—and says her goodbyes before heading to the door. I relax back against Beck, and he wraps his arms around me again, holding me tightly to him. “I love her,” I say, with a chuckle.

“She is pretty great,” he says, stroking my back again. “But I stand by my assessment that I don’t like the two of you ganging up on me.”

I shrug. “Could be worse. We could hate each other.”

He sighs, but doesn’t say anything. He continues stroking my back up and down in slow, soothing motions that make me melt into him. I clear my throat. “Have you heard anything about my dad?”

Beck’s hands pause for the briefest of moments before resuming their gentle touching. “Yes. Do you want me to tell you about how he’s doing?”

“I think so. Tell me this, first. Good or bad?” If it’s bad, then I don’t want to know more.

“Good,” he whispers.

I exhale slowly, a weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying releasing from my shoulders all at once. “Good. How is he?”

Beck sighs. “He’s alright. He’s made it through the worst of the withdrawals. Mom said he’s doing well in the therapy sessions and seems to be taking it all seriously. The detox was really hard on him, but he made it through.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.”

“It is. I think this is the best outcome we could hope for right now. He’ll get to come home in a couple of weeks. Do you still not want to see him until then?”

I think about that. I’m not sure if I do or not. I think part of me was worried that he wouldn’t actually put in the work to get sober. I know he’s going to need a support system when he gets home, but I don’t know if I can be that person for him. Being around Beck and his parents has opened my eyes. They’ve shown me that I don’t have to settle for the shit I’ve settled for, that I don’t have to expect angry words and fists. I’m relaxed here. For the first time in a long time, I can simply be. “I’m not sure,” I finally say after a long pause. “I want to, but maybe not right away.”

“That’s completely fine. Dad said he’s going to take him home so we can go visit him after that. Whenever you’re ready.”

I sigh and snuggle deeper into his hold. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, beautiful.”

The guilt of knowing that dad has been home for two days and I still haven’t been to see him is eating me alive. I’m the worst son in the world. He did this for me. He got sober for me, and I haven’t even bothered to check in on him. Hell, I didn’t even ask how he was when he got home.

Beck and I went last week and cleared out the house. God, there was so much alcohol in there. I searched every nook and cranny I could think of, trying to make sure we got it all out. We ended up dumping seven entire bottles of whiskey that we found stashed around the house. I was a little surprised that he had so much hiding when he never much cared for hiding it, but Danny told us him hiding it was likely a subconscious response to him saying he wanted to get help. I’m anxious that I missed something, or that he’s bought more since getting home. Danny has been stopping in to check on him, and Beck even went yesterday. He said Dad was doing good, but I have a bad feeling about the whole thing.

I stand up and pace, my mind racing. What if he found something I didn’t? What if he has something stashed somewhere I didn’t think to look? My stomach rolls violently, and I place a hand over it, trying to stem the nausea that’s suddenly settling there.

I stop and pull out my phone to call Beck, but then hesitate. I don’t want to bother him. He’s at his orientation for college today, and this is really important to him. It’s important to me too. He’s been saving my ass all summer—over and over. He deserves to have this one fucking thing without me spewing my bullshit at him. I slip my phone back into my pocket and resume my pacing.

I could call Danny. He’s been checking on him. Hell, he’s the one who brought him home from rehab. No. He’s already done so much for me and for Dad. I don’t want to make him drive out there again.

“Fuck,” I say, my voice echoing in the quiet room. I could go. I could quickly run by and check on him. The last two times I went out there, it was fine. He was fine. Plus, he just got home. He’s never been mean to me when he’s not drinking. It’ll be fine. I can go, check on him, and come home.

Mind made up, I walk to the front door. When I get there, I hesitate. Beck doesn’t want me to go alone. He’s been adamant about that, and I don’t blame him. Fuck. I pull my phone out and check the time. Beck won’t be home for at least another couple of hours.

I don’t think I can wait that long. My anxiety is through the roof as it is. It’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. I’ll run over there, check on him, and be back before Beck even gets home. He won’t even have to know. He’ll get home, and I’ll tell him how it went. How upset could he be with me if he knows everything was okay? He won’t be. Beck’s never gotten mad at me. Not once. If I go and come back and he sees with his own eyes that it’s okay and I’m fine, he won’t be mad at me. If I can prove to him that I can go without getting hurt, he won’t have any reason to be upset about me going against his wishes.

I nod resolutely to myself and push open the door to head to my car.

“Dad?” I call out as I walk through the front door.

“Kitchen,” he calls. Something about his voice doesn’t seem right. Something in my gut is screaming at me to turn around and walk out, that this is a bad idea. I shove it down. It’s probably the guilt of not checking in on Dad before now. I walk slowly through the living room toward the kitchen, my heart lodged in my throat.

I turn the corner. He’s sitting at the table, and my brain can hardly process what I’m seeing. Anger rises so quickly it steals my breath.

“Where did that come from?” I ask, pointing at the half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

He offers a lazy grin. “My closet.”

I step closer to him, until I’m standing at the edge of the table, directly opposite him. “But I looked in the closet.”

He nods. “Was in a shoebox on the top shelf.”

Fuck . I checked the closet myself. God, how did I miss it? I remember looking at it, thinking I should check it. But I’d talked myself out of it. Why would there be alcohol stashed in a shoebox? Beck and I had been here for hours at that point, and I wanted to get home.

My heart rate picks up as I watch him tip the bottle up and swallow. This is my fault. I didn’t come check on him. I didn’t make sure all the alcohol was gone. I didn’t look in the fucking shoebox because I wanted to get home. I was sleeping soundly tucked into Beck’s arms, and this bottle was here, waiting. I was standing with Beck while he made me tell him I was worthy and good and kind and thoughtful, and this bottle was here, waiting. I was staring into his blue eyes, soaking in his love, and this bottle was here, waiting. Oh God, this is my fault.

He glances behind me like he’s making sure I’m alone. Something about it puts me on edge. “So, did you finally decide to ditch the pig’s kid, then?”

That same sick feeling tickles at my gut, letting me know this is a bad idea, but I ignore it. I’ll be damned if I let him talk about Danny and Beck like that. “Don’t talk about them like that,” I say, anger rising in my chest. They did the best they could. They fought for him; they made sure he was okay. And what did I do? I didn’t check the fucking shoebox.

“A pig’s a pig, Rome.” He shrugs. “I thought I raised you better than that.” He tips the bottle up again and takes another huge gulp.

“He’s not a pig. He’s a good fucking man,” I say, my voice rising. “And you didn’t fucking raise me at all.”

His eyes shoot to mine. “What the fuck did you say to me?” He has that look on his face, the one that spells trouble, the one I used to run from. But I don’t run, not this time. He’s not going to do this to me again.

“Oh, fuck you!” I shout. “You didn’t raise me at all. I raised myself. You ran Mom off, then you fucking beat me. You spent my entire fucking childhood gaslighting me and manipulating me!”

He stands up abruptly; the chair clattering to the floor behind him, and stalks toward me. Anxiety rises in my chest, but I stand my ground. He doesn’t get to scare me anymore.

“Say it to my face, you little prick.”

“Fuck y—” my words are cut off as he grips my throat, squeezing tightly. I try to swing at him, but my body won’t cooperate. I can’t get my arm to lift. What the fuck is wrong with me?

He releases my throat, and with speed that shouldn’t be possible, grabs the back of my head and slams my face into the table. There’s a sickening crunch. I feel disconnected from it, like it’s not me. Like it wasn’t my face hitting the table that made that sound. I don’t even feel anything—I’m numb. My head is lifted again and slammed back down. Something wet is pouring over my lips and I stick my tongue out, trying to figure out what it is. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as my head is lifted again, like a rag doll’s. He growls something in my ear, but I can’t hear it. I can’t hear anything. Why won’t my body work? Another slam. Another crunch. Pain explodes behind my right eye, my vision going a little blurry.

Beck is going to be so mad at me .

I think I’m crying, but I can’t tell. I can’t feel anything. The grip on my hair is released, and I drop to the table, like a marionette with cut strings. I shouldn’t have come here.

My vision goes black.

I open my eyes and groan. I’m on the floor in Dad’s kitchen. Why am I on the floor? I look around, trying to find Dad, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I have to get out of here. My nose hurts. My eye hurts. Why does my nose hurt? I reach a hand up to touch it, and when I pull it away, it’s covered in blood. My eyes widen and pain shoots through my head. I stand, stumbling a bit as I make my way through the house to the door. My mind is clearing, but I wish I could say the same for my vision. What the fuck happened to my eye?

I run to my car and climb in. I have to get to Beck. He’ll fix it. He’ll fix this. No, he won’t. This is your fault.

I tilt the rearview mirror toward me and gasp when I see my reflection. I’m covered in blood and my eyebrow is split open. There’s already swelling around my eye. Between that and the blood, it’s no wonder I can’t see.

I stare at myself and take a deep breath. “I’m a good person,” I say to my reflection, grimacing at the blood staining my teeth. No, you’re not. You didn’t check the shoebox. This is your fault.

“I’m worthy,” I say, my voice shaking. A worthy person wouldn’t have gone behind Beck’s back. A worthy person wouldn’t have betrayed him.

“I deserve everything I want,” I choke out, trying to convince myself. Fuck, this works so much better when Beck does it for me, when all I have to do is repeat what he tells me. It’s so much easier when it’s his words and his belief in me. You deserve nothing. You didn’t check the box. You came without Beck. You don’t deserve him.

I choke on a sob and raise a hand to my face, pain radiating through my eye socket as I do. I don’t deserve Beck. I promised him I wouldn’t come here, and I did. I broke my promise, and I broke his trust. I can’t go back. Another sob breaks free of my chest. He won’t trust me again. He won’t love me anymore. This is all my fault. I can’t go home. I grip the bottom of my shirt and wipe the blood from my face. More takes its place in an instant. I need a hospital, but I can’t go where Lydia works. I pull my phone from my pocket and search for another hospital. The second I find one far enough away that Beck won’t find me, I put it in my GPS and back out of the driveway before speeding off.

This is wrong. I need to go back to Beck and let him tell me this isn’t my fault. I need to call Danny and tell him I want to press charges, like I should have the first time. I need to go see Lydia and let her help me like she did last time. Something tells me that this time, I didn’t escape with nothing broken. I need to go home to my family.

But I can’t.

Dad was right.