Chapter 64

"Thanks," I said to the Uber driver.

I climbed out of the car and made my way inside the house. For some reason, it felt empty. I had lived alone for a long time, and nothing was different about the place, but I was suddenly very aware of being alone.

I trudged through the silence into the living room, my boots the only sound. The light cast sharp shadows in the dimly lit room. I couldn't explain what came over me, but I was suddenly very, very angry.

I wanted to scream and yell and trash things. This house was my attempt to be normal. I was trying to fit into a world in which I would never belong. Living in a nice house in the suburbs wasn't going to erase my past. It was all a fa?ade.

I picked up a stupid statue of a dog. It had cost a lot of money and I bought it because I thought it looked "normal." I held the weight in my hand, anger rolling through me. The statue didn't make me a better man. It didn't change who I had been. It sure as hell didn't make my mother love me.

I pulled my arm back like I was pitching a baseball and flung it as hard as I could against the wall. The crash echoed through the house, shattering the stillness. Pieces of the dog statue scattered across the floor and mocked me from every corner of the room. I stood there, staring at the destruction, my chest heaving with rage and confusion. Then, I began to laugh, a low bitter sound that bounced off the walls.

"What a joke," I said to no one in particular. "What a goddamn joke."

Next was a porcelain vase that had never held flowers, followed by a stack of books I'd never read but had bought because they were "classics." I went on a rampage around the living room, hurling things against the walls, against the reality of my perfect suburban life. A crystal decanter, a sleek modern lamp, a framed Monet reproduction. All became casualties of my frustration.

Every object that shattered into pieces felt like a blow against the invisible chains that bound me. Each crack was a testament to how hollow I had let my existence become. The rage coursing through me was raw and uncontrollable, fueled by years of silent resentment and pent-up emotions.

Then, in my whirlwind of destruction, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror and paused to look at the man reflected back at me. His eyes were wild with fury, his chest heaving with exertion. His face was flushed, and sweat matted his hair to his forehead. He was a man unrecognizable to me, a man who had finally lost his shit. They had pushed and pushed and they had finally won.

I flopped down in a chair at the kitchen table amidst the wreckage of my own making. A sense of worthlessness clung to me. The remnants of shattered glass and splintered furniture surrounded me, reflecting how I felt. I was a broken man.

The weight of the courtroom's judgment still pressed down on me. The anger in my parents' eyes was seared into my memory. My father had been disappointed, too, and I hated to see the look on his face, but I also sensed his love for me. I was his son, and like most parents, he had an unconditional love for me. But my mother was a different story.

Her disdain for me was clear. She didn't try to hide it. I had gone from being her eldest son, the highlight of her world, to a piece of dog shit on her perfect lawn.

And perhaps she was right to despise me.

Self-loathing spiraled within me. I had no one to ground me. My urge was to hop on my bike and ride like hell as far and as fast as I could go.

Nothing was keeping me in Dallas. I had no job. My family hated me. I had broken up with the only woman who had ever made me feel like I was worth loving. I had no one.

The more I thought about it, the more it sounded like a good idea. I got up and grabbed my keys. As I threw a few things in a bag, my doorbell rang. I stomped to the door with rage in my heart. If Cole had come over to start shit with me, I was going to end up back in prison.

But it wasn't Cole. It was Murray.

"You look like shit," he said.

The hot fury turned to ice. "I'm on my way out," I muttered.

He followed me inside without an invitation. "I got home and heard World War Three had broken out. Dad told me Mom lost her mind. I thought I would come over and see how you guys are doing."

"Guys?" I asked.

"Yeah, Mary Ellen," he said. "Also known as the library whore, according to Mom. She said anyone with a library card could borrow her for a night." He snorted a laugh. "I don't think Mom understands what librarians do."

"Mary Ellen's not here."

Murray's gaze swept over the wreckage and his eyes narrowed. "What kind of rager did you throw, and why didn't you invite me?"

"Go away, Murray," I grumbled, my voice thick with bitterness. "I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?"

"I have no fucking clue," I replied.

"Ah." He nodded. "You're going to jump on your bike and run away."

"If that's what you want to call it, sure." I shrugged.

He moved into the living room, carefully stepping over a ceramic ear from the dog statue. He righted an overturned chair, sat, and gestured for me to take a seat as well.

I crossed my arms over my chest and remained standing.

"You know," he started, adjusting his tie. "I've always admired your ability to bounce back. To stand strong in the face of some pretty tough circumstances. You can act without hesitation. You are the guy that takes leaps of faith all day. You aren't afraid to say what's on your mind." He paused and looked around. "Although maybe that's not always such a good thing."

I glared at him but remained silent.

He continued. "You have a gift, you know. You don't follow the crowd. You make your own path."

"Not much of a path now, is it?" I spat out. "It always leads back to the stupid mistakes I made when I was younger. There's no escaping it, no matter what I do."

Murray took another look at the wreckage, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. "It'll get better," he said softly.

"No, it won't," I shot back. "Mom made her feelings clear. She broke me, Murray."

He turned his gaze back to me, his eyes filled with pity that made my stomach churn. "She hurt you, but she didn't break you."

"I'm taking off, Murray. I'm done trying to prove I'm not a monster."

"Dad is furious, if it helps," he informed me. "Mom's gone to stay with Aunt Lisa—at Dad's request."

The news struck me with a jolt. "He kicked her out?" I asked with disbelief.

Murray nodded solemnly. "She's crossed a line, Gene," he explained, his voice tinged with sadness. "Dad sees who you are. He forgives you. But Mom? She's off the rails. When I got home I could hear the shouting from my apartment. When I went to check it out, it was a downright screaming match. I've never heard her talk like that. I honestly don't know what she was thinking."

"You mean telling Dad she wished you were an only child and I never existed?" I asked dryly.

He looked horrified. "She didn't?"

"Oh, she did." I nodded. "Along with some other zingers."

His eyes widened further and he ran a hand over his face in disbelief. "Holy shit."

"Yeah, it was one for the family scrapbook."

Murray sighed deeply, slumping into the chair and rubbing his temples. "I don't understand how things got so out of control. We were always complicated. But this?"

"I'm done trying to figure it out." I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "I always knew she hated me, but that was too much."

"Fuck that," he said. "It's over."

"I'm never going to get out from under this bullshit," I said, gathering up a few things. "I want to go somewhere new and start over. No one is going to know who I am or what I've done. I think she's right. Everything I touch turns to ash. Friendships. Romances. Familial relationships. Mary Ellen's career. It's all destroyed."

"This isn't your fault," he said. "Yes, you fucked up with the gambling thing. That's in the past. Where is Mary Ellen?"

"I broke up with her."

"What?"

"She doesn't need dead weight like me," I said. "She's better than that. I'm never going to be the man she deserves. I'm not good enough for my own mother. How can I be good enough for her?"

"You're not better or worse than anyone, Gene. Not Mom, not Mary Ellen. You're just you."

"I'm afraid that's not good enough," I said.

"Stop it!" he shot back. "That's the crap Mom has been feeding you for too long. You're not less than anyone else. You're different, sure, and you've made some mistakes, but damn it, who hasn't?"

I tried to laugh but the sound came out harsh. "Yeah, well, I'm done trying to prove I'm not a scumbag."

"I look up to you, brother," he confessed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Don't tell anyone I said that. But I do. I always have. You've never been afraid to be exactly who you are. I've had to bend to their will. I admire that you do what you think is right and don't worry what anyone else thinks."

"Yeah, that's worked out real well for me."

"Mom is out of the picture, so what's your excuse now?" he asked. "Dad is in your corner. You've got me and you had Mary Ellen. No one else matters."

"Thanks." I sighed. "I just don't know if it's right for me to stick around. I just can't seem to move beyond my past mistakes."

"Mistakes don't define you, Gene," Murray insisted. "What defines you is what you do after. How many times have you been told that?"

"Sounds like a motivational poster," I retorted, but my heart wasn't in the snark.

"I'm serious. This is your chance to make things right. To show yourself that you're not the person Mom always tried to make you believe you were, to prove to everyone else that you can rise above this. You've made mistakes, sure, but everyone does. Literally everyone. You have a chance to start fresh right here, not by running away and hiding but by facing it and proving her wrong. Prove them all wrong."

"Spite is a pretty good motivator," I said, nodding. "But what if they're not wrong? What if I was just born under a bad sign, unlucky to everyone who tries to love me?"

He shook his head. "Don't blame the stars for your mistakes. You were a reckless kid who fucked up. But guess what? You served your time. You've paid your debt to society. So stop punishing yourself, dumbass."

"Maybe you're right."

"Duh," he said. "I'm always right. So how about it? Will you stick around? At least for a while so we can hang out some more?"

I grinned. "I suppose I might need some more brotherly advice if I fuck up again."

"Exactly," he said. "And speaking of fucking up, what are you going to do about Mary Ellen? How badly did you break her heart?"

The mention of her name sent a pang of regret through me, a painful reminder of yet another casualty in my wake. "I'm guessing after the way I dumped her, she's probably not going to be happy to see me."

"She deserved a ring, you chucklehead," he said and sighed with exasperation. "Not a breakup!"

I frowned and really thought about it. Silence stretched until I found the words. "I didn't think I was good enough."

"Fucking Mom got in your head." Murray clapped me on the shoulder. "Listen, Mom's opinion doesn't matter. In the old days, the family would have locked her in an attic of one of our country estates."

"That's so specific. Did our family used to do that?"

"You're missing the point," he said. "Don't worry about how Mom sees you. Focus on how Mary Ellen sees you. She loves you, you idiot."

"Maybe," I mumbled, plagued by uncertainty.

"No maybe about it," Murray said. "You just have to fight for her."

"I don't want to hurt her," I said.

"Then don't! Be honest with her and be the man she thinks you are."