To be honest, I’m nervous about seeing him. The last time I saw him was the day everything ended between Kayla and I and I still can’t quite recall what happened. But he was there, at least for part of it.
He comes in the door, shutting it behind him. “Hey.” He slides his hands in his pockets of his sharp suit and saunters over, watching his shoes on the hardwood floor before glancing up at me. “I saw the game. Congrats.”
“Thanks. You know I had nothing to do with it though,” I tell him, sitting on the couch, Lionel flopping over on my lap, begging for his stomach to be scratched. He knows when I’m anxious and this is more for me than him.
“Ah, I’m sure everyone is playing better because they know you’ll be joining them soon.” He pauses, squinting at me. “How is Denny? He seemed in fine form.”
I nod, trying to ignore the spread of shame. “Yeah he’s all right. I guess it helped that I was a bit drunk during that practice. I wasn’t able to do as much damage.”
I look at him for a reaction.
He only raises his brow. “I see. I thought as much. You know, Lachlan, this isn’t exactly a friendly visit from me.”
I lean back in the chair and stare down at Lionel, running my hand over his stomach. “I guess that would be asking too much from my brother.”
“Oh now I’m your brother,” he says. “I see. Only when you’re sober then.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, angry at how weak my voice sounds. Pitiful.
“I know you’re sorry,” he says. “But I don’t think you’re sorry enough. You know, Lachlan, I know you pretty well I think. I don’t claim to know everything about you but that’s only because you keep your cards close to your chest. And for good reason. But I think, even though we aren’t technically related, we handle things in a similar way. We drown in decay. Because when the pain gets too great, it becomes a comfort. You can fall in love with your sadness, your shame. I know I did.” He bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling, as if reasoning with God. “I did. And only now do I feel strong enough to crawl away. But you have to hit that point. You hit yours a decade ago, when your friend died and you were too fucked up to save him. But you and me. People. Everyone. We all have many points during our lives. There is always more than one bottom. This is your other one. You have to crawl out of it, I’m telling you this as your brother, your friend, someone that loves you and knows you. You have to crawl out of it now.”
I stare straight ahead, letting the weight rest on me. “It’s not that easy,” I tell him and I regret it the moment I say it. I eye him warily and see so much indignation and pain on his face that it shames me.
“Don’t tell me it’s not that easy,” he says softly, his voice shaking. “I lost my wife and my son. At the same time. They were taken from me and I have no one to blame but myself for that one. Do you know what the last words I said to her were?” I shake my head, not wanting to know. “They were ‘please forgive me.’ I was begging for her forgiveness because I fucked up something in a major way. And she never got a chance to forgive me. She took Hamish with her and she fled from me. She drove fast and the roads were wet and then I didn’t have a family anymore. The irony was that I was on the verge of losing them anyway. So, don’t tell me it’s not easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing to do, to come out of that black dark hole and into the light where you can clearly see what a piece of shit you are. And I’m still climbing out of it, but at least now I know that I’m going to make it through.” He closes his eyes and gives his head a quick shake. “I have to. I can’t live the rest of my life hating myself. That’s not a life at all.”
I don’t have a rebuttal to that.