Down and Out

“So. . .” Blake puffs out his cheeks as he plops down in Pops’ barcalounger. “Why can’t we go out, again?”
I shrug and roll the longneck beer bottle between my fingers. “Don’t feel like it.” Apparently all I feel like doing is sulking on my dead grandparents’ couch and getting drunk with my brother while I think about Savannah. That’s healthy, right?
Stifling a sigh, I take another drink.
What the hell was her problem? I know things have been strained, but that was just . . . mean. Uncalled for. I also know I can be an ass, and I was working my way up to an apology for the last few weeks.
I miss her, and if all I can get is her half-assed attempt at affection and a relationship, then I’ll take it. I’m done trying to push her for more, because it’s clearly not going to happen. So I’ll take what I can get and I’ll take it with a smile.
A small, tiny part of me wonders how far I can bend for this girl before I finally break. And then the other, bigger part of me tells him to shut it.
My eyes close as I rub my forehead.
She actually apologized tonight. That’s got to count for something, right? Maybe it’s not totally hopeless.
“So how’s. . .” Blake snaps his mouth shut as he trails off. He obviously meant to finish that question with “Savannah?” but instead he says, “. . .work?” slowly and awkwardly.
My mouth kicks up into a half-hearted smile. “Nice save.”
Blake shrugs and takes another swig of his beer. “I’m smooth like that.”
I snort and roll my eyes. “You’re about as smooth as gravel.”
Staring at the football game playing on the TV, he shakes his head. “Try not to drink so much Haterade, bro. That shit’ll kill you.”
The only thing that’s going to kill me is a girl with big, gray eyes and a deceptively pretty mouth that spews venomous things.
I sigh, wondering how Blake can stand to be around me right now when I’m starting to annoy myself. “‘Work’ is fine. The gym’s doing good and I can start training again in about two weeks, so. . .” I lift my beer, preparing to take a sip. “All is right in the world,” I mutter wryly.
Blake’s face briefly clouds over at the mention of the gym, just like it always does.
Swallowing, I pretend to watch the game. “My offer still stands, you know.”
“And my answer still stands. Pops left the gym to you, not me and you.” The tinge of bitterness in his voice is unmistakable, and makes me wish I’d never said anything.
Pops left Blake his house and about fifteen thousand in life insurance, which lasted for all of five minutes before he blew it, so it’s not like he didn’t get anything. But there’s no way in hell I’m about to point that out, since it’s a sore subject for Blake. Instead I mumble, “You know why he did it.”
He glances my way as the muscle in his jaw tics. “Yeah, I do. That gym was your ‘thing.’ You guys spent so much time there, I’m surprised you didn’t have the funeral in it.”
My lips mash together to keep me from saying something I’ve always wanted to, but never did. I wanted to keep what tenuous peace there was between us, but hell, f*ck it.
If we’re gonna get into it, I might as well dig deep. This has been an unspoken source of contention between us for years, and I guess now is as good a time as any to air our dirty laundry.
We’re the only ones here, after all, so it doesn’t matter how much it stinks.
“You never showed any interest in it. You never showed any interest in anything Pops tried to do with you, even working on cars. And what do you do for a living now? You’re a goddamn mechanic!” It’s like Blake was bound and determined not to give him a shot from the get-go, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. Pops cared about us more than our own father ever did, and Nana . . . she was a lot more no-nonsense than our mother, but she loved us like we were her own, and I know Blake loved her, too.
It was impossible not to.
He shrugs and tips back his beer. “I already had a dad. I didn’t want another one.”
I set my bottle on the coffee table, then lean back and cross my arms, looking at my brother like he’s a total stranger. “Where was this magical dad you speak of? ’Cause I sure as hell never met him. All I knew was the drunk loser who walked out on us.”
Blake shoots me a look. “And how do you think he got that way? Pops was the one who raised him. Quit hero-worshiping him for two seconds and take an objective look at the situation. Pops was a shitty father who raised another shitty father. I already had one of those, so no, I didn’t want another one.” He shifts in his chair and refocuses on the TV.
I blink and look around the familiar living room. The furniture’s the same. The photos lining the walls are the same. Even the magazines lying on top of the oak coffee table are the same. Shit, I half-expect Pops to come in and tell Blake to get his ass out of his chair, but I know he won’t. This may look like home, but it doesn’t feel like it anymore.
Did it ever feel like home to Blake?
Sadness sweeps over me at the thought. He missed out on so much, and for what? A stupid grudge? “Pops might’ve made mistakes with Dad, but he tried to do right by us. You missed out, man. Pops was more of a father to me than that miserable son of a bitch who gave us life. It killed him that he couldn’t bond with you.”
Blake shrugs and sardonically mutters, “Not all of us can be as forgiving as you.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
He shakes his head slightly. “Nothing.”
“Nothing” my ass. That was very clearly an “I don’t want to fight with you, so I’m gonna drop it” nothing, not a nothing, nothing.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and meet his eyes. “No, if you’ve got something to say, say it.”
“All right.” Blake swivels the barcalounger to face me completely and points at me with his beer. “You’re a hypocrite.”
“I’m a hypocrite? How?”
“You just admitted that Pops made mistakes with Dad, but since he did right by us, all is forgiven. Well, what about Dad? You won’t even give him the chance to fix his mistakes and do right by you.”
My mouth opens, then closes. Did I just hear him right? Did those words really come out of Blake’s mouth? “Pops didn’t walk out on Dad. He might’ve made a few mistakes, but Dad left a trail of destruction.” My teeth clench as I grab my beer off the table. “It’s not the same and you know it.”
His eyes harden and narrow on me. “You ever stop to think that maybe Dad leaving was a good thing? You’ve always been so hung up on how he abandoned us that you can’t see it for the blessing it was. And maybe, just maybe, Dad knew we’d be better off without him. He was a sinking ship, Declan, and instead of taking us all down with him, he cut us loose. That’s the most unselfish thing I can think of.”
I let his words sink in for several seconds before I say anything. “Unselfish” is not a term I equate with my father, so my first instinct is to tell Blake he’s f*cking insane. But I also can’t tell him he’s right. Even if he did do it for us—which I seriously doubt—I’ll never be okay with it, and I don’t think I have it in me to forgive him.
Sighing, I say, “I don’t know if I can ever see it as a good thing. I remember what it did to Mom. He broke her when he left.”
Blake nods and looks down to the bottle in his hand. “I know. She loved him, for . . . whatever reason,” he says, shaking his head with a resigned look of confusion. “But she would’ve been fine if she’d lived. It would’ve taken time, yeah, but eventually. . .” Frowning, he glances up at me. “Do you remember the last few weeks before she died?”
“Not really.”
His eyes flicker before he looks back down to his lap. “She was happy. She’d stopped crying so much, and she was smiling more and more. It’s like she had hope that things were gonna get better.”
My heart squeezes and I swallow. Why’d he have to go and tell me that? I could’ve lived the rest of my life in blissful ignorance.
Growing agitated, I scrub my face with my hands. “Why are you telling me this? The last thing I want to hear is that Mom finally had hope her shitty life was about to get better right before she bit it.”
“I’m telling you because you need to hear it. Mom was on the path to getting over it, and if she can do it, then I know you can.”
I shoot Blake a glare, but he ignores it and says, “You and I know better than anyone that tomorrow’s not guaranteed. Don’t waste the time Dad’s got left because of what he did in the past. Once he’s gone, he’s gone, and so is the chance to get to know him.” His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “Christ, if nothing else, just tell him how you feel. Tell him how he ruined our lives and how much you hate him. It doesn’t matter what you say, so long as you talk to him. You’re runnin’ out of chances.”
I don’t know if it’s the beer, or finally getting all this shit off our chests, but he’s starting to make a lot of sense. Just not in the way he’d hoped.
Tossing back the rest of my beer, I set it on the coffee table and stand. “You still feel like going somewhere?”
Blake’s brows bunch up as he stares at me. “Sure. . .?”
I know his whole speech was about reconnecting with our dad, but I can’t help but notice the parallels to other aspects of my life. Namely, Savannah.
This rift, fight, whatever it is, has gone on long enough. I’m not guaranteed a tomorrow with her, and I can’t go another day without having her know exactly what she means to me. I doubt she’ll be on the same page, but I have to give it one last shot.
I’ve got everything to lose.