“Really. And I don’t like the thought of you leaving again so soon.”
He looks away. “Maybe I’ll try to stay longer. Because you’re right about what you said. I’ve thought about it a lot, since I can’t sleep much at night. If I lasted as long as I did all those years ago, then maybe it is possible now.” Kale pauses, his breathing seeming forced. “Because I can’t keep doing this for much longer.”
Every time Kale comes back, and with every new day I see him, there can’t be anything more obvious. It’s too much on him. He’s being broken down, piece by piece. It hits me the hardest when I realize Kale could die at any time. War is unpredictable and deadly—one day, he could just not come back at all.
It needs to stop.
“Kale?”
“Yeah?”
I hesitate, knowing where it led last time. “You need to try telling your dad again.”
He continues to stare out and over the field, his shoulders tight. “I know,” he says. “I’ve been wanting him to see me for me. I just—I’m afraid he won’t like who he sees.”
“But he can’t see you until you let him.”
“I know.” Kale finally looks over, even more tired than before. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I move over, closing the small space between us, and lean my head on his shoulder. He tenses at first, then everything within him seems to melt. We sit there on the hood of my car and watch the field sway under a fading sun that reminds me too much of past summers, dancing with every touch of breeze. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of summer and Kale—with his hint of winter—memorizing it.
Almost like I’ll never get to do it again.
29.
Kale
“Just drop me off here,” I say as Harper pulls up to my driveway.
“Are you sure?” She slows down and keeps the engine idling. It’s almost dark now. The lights from the house are hazy from across the field. My heart speeds up with one look at it, knowing what I’m about to do. “Kale?”
I look over. “Yeah?”
Harper has her worried face on—one I’ve seen countless times over the years. Before jumping from the high dive at the public pool. When I told her I might’ve broken my arm when I jumped off the roof because that’s just what boys do. Or when we got stuck out in the rain and it thundered.
I wonder if she’s still scared of storms.
She asks, “Are you going to be all right?”
I nod, trying to find the courage to talk. “I’m going to tell him tonight. About everything. Because you’re right—I think it’s my only chance to stop this, even if it doesn’t work out in the end. He’ll either kick me out for good, or … I don’t know.” I look down at her Chuck Taylors—almost becoming untied again—ignoring the tight coils in my stomach, which are a constant reminder of what I’m about it do. I stare at the house again. “But I have to try. I don’t want to be afraid to be me.”
I hear Harper shift in her seat. When I turn, she’s leaning across the center console, looking at me with soft eyes. She smells like fresh laundry. It gives me the urge to touch her. To feel how soft her skin is, only to make sure it wasn’t a dream last time.
She reaches out and grabs my shirt, pulling me toward her.
I don’t even have time to breathe before she kisses me. Something I can’t even think about once I feel her lips. I grip the edges of my seat, shutting down a moment of instinct. It takes everything for me not to do something more.
Harper pulls away and lets go of my shirt.
“Don’t be afraid to be you,” she says.
My heart pounds and my mouth feels dry, so I just nod and get out of the car. I stand by my mailbox and watch her drive away. Now that she’s gone and the memory of the kiss fades, the tight coils return to my stomach.
I turn and head up the driveway.
I walk into the house, expecting him to be in the living room or maybe the kitchen, but he’s nowhere. The only light on is the one by the front window, leaving the rest of the rooms dark. It’s so quiet without Bryce here.
“Dad?”
Nothing but silence greets me.
Something doesn’t feel right, but I don’t know what. I survey the room, trying to find any hints of where he could be or what happened.
An empty beer bottle sits on the coffee table. I head toward the kitchen, flicking lights on as I go. I open the fridge.
There’s nothing but an empty case of beer. I think I know where he went.
“Shit.”
After I slam the fridge shut, I run upstairs and find my keys sitting on my desk. I pull on my sweatshirt, still feeling the chill of winter. Once I get outside again, I notice his truck isn’t in the driveway. Something I should have noticed before but didn’t, only focused on what would happen once I got inside.
I should have seen the signs before now. Subtle, they may have been, but still there for me to see. Stressed out about work and watching sports. He only watches them when he’s got a bet going.
Once I’m on the road, I’m blind to any speed limit signs. I take corners too fast and pass in no-passing zones. One hand grips the steering wheel tight and the other one on the gear stick, my foot slamming the clutch without thought. The car thrives at this speed.
My family would’ve been better off without me—that’s all I can think about. Over and over. Everything I’ve done wrong, and all the times I left them without telling the truth.
I want to make it right with the only person I have left. Before it’s too late.
I pull into the bar’s parking lot and kill the engine with the tires screeching to a halt. I don’t even think. I shove my keys in my pocket and head for the door, not at all ready for what I might face. Only knowing I need to make it right.
The moment I open the door, a rush of noise fills the night. I step inside and stand there, trying to decide if I did the right thing by coming here. The bar is packed with people watching a basketball game and filling the air with cigarette smoke. In the back—near the restrooms and a couple making out—a crowd of people are cheering on someone playing an arcade game.
I tentatively step forward just as a cocktail waitress walks by me. She takes one glance and stops me with her palm up, her other hand holding a tray of empty glasses.
“Are you over twenty-one?” she asks, the tone of her voice telling me she already knows the answer.
“I’m just looking for my dad.”
“Sorry, kid. Can’t be in here unless you’re twenty-one.” She tries to get the attention of the guy standing behind the bar, probably wanting to throw me out.
I hold out my hand, attempting to stop her. “Please … I only want to find my dad. I’m not here to drink.”
The skin on her forehead softens and she takes a look around. Debating. “All right, you have five minutes. And you don’t want me to see you in here a minute past that.”
“Thank you.” I start to move around her but she stops me.
“What’s your dad’s name?” she asks.