“You move, he dies,” he says. “Don’t think I won’t.”
My cheek is pressed against the uneven pavement and my body weighs down like there’s lead in my veins. I’m not sure if I have the strength to get up.
Derek is talking to Dad again, words I no longer hear or care to be a part of. Everything is spinning and it won’t stop.
The gun is still pointed at me. I can feel it.
There’s an uncomfortable lump between my hip and the ground. It triggers something I almost wish it hadn’t.
It’s my car keys.
I shift my eyes and see it parked barely twenty feet away.
“Wait,” I say, my voice cracking, barely loud enough to grab his attention. But he stops talking and looks down at me. Maybe he’ll shoot me before I can even speak again.
“You have something to say, kid?” he asks.
Somewhere inside me, in a place I didn’t know existed, I find the reserve strength to push myself up far enough to lift my head off the ground, though it’s pounding with too much blood. I close my eyes briefly and breathe out slow, willing the pain to stay inside of me.
“Take my car,” I say, finally opening my eyes.
He looks at me like I’m a waste of his time. “Which one is it?”
I nod in the direction, unable to move my arms.
“That little Fastback piece of shit?” he asks, grinning like it’s a joke. “Nice try kid, but I’m not stupid.”
He starts to turn and I say, “Just look under the hood.”
Derek only hesitates for a second before motioning to one of the guys behind him. He’s the one who’s bleeding, blood still dripping from his nose. He crouches over me, roughly patting down my pockets until he finds my keys.
As I stare down at the asphalt, I hear the familiar squeak of the hood as he lifts it. I can’t bear the thought of them driving away in it. I look up in time to see the man smile and nod to Derek, shutting the hood and spinning the keys around his finger.
“Huh, I didn’t see that one coming,” he says happily. He lowers the gun and backs away toward my car. He glances at Dad. “Make sure I don’t see you again, Jackson.”
Then they’re gone. Taking two cars with them instead of one.
I feel like I might hurl.
Dad approaches me carefully—like he’s not sure he should be near me—and helps me up on the curb, where I hang my head between my knees and watch the blood drip down. I feel him next to me—tense, not knowing what to do.
I don’t know what to do either.
When he tries to touch my head, I brush him away. “Don’t,” I say. “Just leave it.”
“You’re hurt.” Dad rubs a hand over his face, his gaze settling on me after looking everywhere else. “This will never seem like enough, but …” He’s struggling to say the words. “I’m so sorry, Kale.” A strangled sound comes from his throat, and his eyes are wet with tears.
I’ve never seen my dad cry before. Not ever.
Dads are supposed to be invincible. They’re supposed to be a rock through hard times and be strong when no one else is. But life throws punches to even the strongest people.
He continues, “I’ve made mistakes in my life, but never one as big as not trying harder with you and then putting you in danger tonight.” He turns his head, and I can see the shine in his eyes. “And I didn’t realize it until I saw you standing in the bar tonight. After Bryce left a few days ago, it suddenly hit me that my entire family had left me. And I was sure that you did, too. I didn’t think you were coming back, and I could only blame myself for that.”
For what everything is worth, I can’t be mad at him for the way things turned out between us. He’s human, just like me. We’ve both made mistakes and have to live with them.
I’m in need of a second chance as much as he is.
“But I always come back,” I remind him. I never knew until now how important it was to him that I did. “And I always will. You know that.”
“You’re right, you do,” he says, attempting to smile. “I think people make bad decisions when they’re scared. And for me, I was scared you wouldn’t come back. I wondered every morning if I would see you again. Why did you keep coming back?” His jaw flexes and his eyes roam the night, maybe looking at something I can’t see. “I don’t deserve you, Kale.”
His eyes search me—asking.
“Because you’re my dad. And this is my home.” My jaw throbs in pain when I talk. I try to ignore it and the reason it came to be. “I still remember when we used to play catch in the back field—especially in the late evening when the mosquitoes were the worst. And when I helped you with the truck when it broke down, even though I didn’t know a thing back then. I hold onto those things, because I want to believe we can be like that again.”
I look away, unable to meet his gaze when I tell him something I never thought I would again. Something I have to tell him, because if I don’t now, I might not ever.
“I came home tonight wanting to talk to you,” I say. “About why I’ve been leaving so often.”
He’s silent next to me, and I need him to believe me so badly. But I’m not sure if I know the right words to say.
“You know what, I’m going to stop you right there,” he says, and I feel like nothing is ever going to change between us and he’ll never believe me. Then he says something else—“Bryce talked to me before he left.” Dad looks at me hard, making sure I’m listening. “He told everything you’ve been trying to get me to believe for the past ten years. And I’m so, so sorry I didn’t take your word for it, Kale. Trust me, I almost didn’t believe him, either, but then he starting telling me these stories nobody could make up.”
My thoughts take a moment to catch up and understand what he just said. Bryce told him? I can’t believe he did it. Especially after how I left things between us. But maybe that’s why he did—his way of apologizing.
I shake my head. “So … you really believe me? For real?”
He nods. “I really do. Doesn’t seem possible, but that’s who you are, isn’t it? Someone who does the impossible.”
“No, I’m just kid who can’t control the one thing he does have.”
All the stress I’ve had is suddenly gone. Dad knows. He knows, and he seems okay with it. Right now, even if it’s for this small moment, everything else doesn’t matter.
Dad says, “So these last few days, you’ve been—”
“In the past,” I finish, unable to hold back my smile. “Sounds crazy, right?” I reach inside my shirt for my dog tags and pull them over my head. When I hand them to Dad, he tentatively takes them, rubbing his thumb over the indented letters. He stares at them for the longest time.