by Liza James
"I wish I could change the last several years of my life. More than anything, Bloom. I wish I could go back in time and fix all of this." His voice cracks over the words, his tone and hands shaking in sync with each other. "Hopelessness is an addiction on its own. It's nearly impossible to escape once you're consumed by it."
"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry you've been feeling this way." Tears slip down my face again, and the salty trails fall against my lips and tongue.
"Don't be sorry. Never be sorry. None of this has been your fault in any capacity. This is all on me. I just want you to know how much I wish things could have been different. Every single day, I wish things were different." He grasps my hands tightly now, urging me with everything in him to listen. I can tell, it's in the intensity of his eyes and the strain to his voice.
"I know, Dad. I know. But things can be different now. You still have so much time ahead of you, we have so much to do together." I remind him, lifting his hands and pressing them against my cheek. "I've been wanting to get back into the studio with you."
He smiles kindly, and yet for some reason, it seems to be lacking from his eyes. I can't explain it entirely, but something is still vacant even though I know he's completely sober. It's not the same kind of absence as when he's drunk.
"Ah, the studio? Have you been working with ceramics still?" His voice is brighter, and I can tell he's completely invested in what I'm doing there. He loves the studio, and we both find passion in creating art.
"Of course, I have. It's everything that keeps me close to you." I tell him, bringing our hands back into my lap. "I brought you something. I'll give it to you when we head back inside. It's just a couple of pieces I made in the shop."
"You have no idea how happy that makes me," he whispers as he leans closer, a wide smile overtaking his face and his thumbs brushing against the backs of my hands.
He feels warm, in his touch, in his energy, in his eyes.
This is everything I could have ever wanted.
"I love you, more than anything, Bloom." He tells me again, and this time he lifts a hand to my cheek and I shut my eyes, settling into his touch.
"I love you more," I tell him, leaning forward and pulling him against me for another hug.
"Now tell me, what's going on with you and Carter? I thought you were seeing that other guy?" He shifts me away from him so he can see my face.
"It's complicated," I reply, feeling my cheeks redden in slight embarrassment.
"Of course. it is. It always is. But Carter... he's been around for quite a while."
"I know. He's been my best friend for years, but I don't know, Dad. There are people who could be hurt by us being together." I don't know how to explain it to him without giving him every single detail. But I don't want this visit to be about Carter and I, I want it to be about my dad. We can talk about this stuff on another day.
"People who could be hurt," he repeats my concern and looks out over the courtyard. He hums at the obvious predicament, clearly thinking about how to proceed. "Our souls don't intend on hurting others. We don't go out deliberately damaging the people we care about." He raises his eyebrows and nods his head to accentuate what he's saying. "I would know."
"But it still happens," I reply, pointing out the obvious fact.
"It does, it does." He agrees. "But at the end of the day, you have to go where your soul is calling you. You have to follow the path and where it leads you. Sometimes, the pain caused is what sets another's soul in the direction it's being called as well. Every single moment and decision is a lesson. We learn, we try to improve, we make another decision the next time."
I remain silent, listening to what my dad is trying to explain.
"I'm not saying this correctly, I know. All I'm trying to tell you, is to follow your soul. Follow your path, without the fears and worries and objections your head voice is constantly drowning you in." He taps his finger against my head. "This is where the lies are told. The toxic words and promises that hold no weight. But it's where we learn fear and distress, it's where we are tempted and seduced." He drops his hands to either side of my face. "Learn the difference. Between your soul and head and don't listen to those lies."
My thumbs brush along the rough skin of his hands, sliding down to his forearms while my eyes search his. Whatever he's telling me now, these little pieces of his own experiences, his own wisdom. I can feel them between us. The weight of them, the heaviness settling between us.
My eyes narrow just slightly, wishing I could sit inside of his head right now. Simply so I could know exactly what he's feeling at present, truly understand what it is I sense I might be missing.
"Of course, dad. I understand," I say, pulling him toward me for another embrace. I press a kiss to his cheek and rub my hand up and down his back while he holds me. "Are you okay?" I have to ask him, because something inside is urging me too. Even though everything looks and sounds good on the outside, there's something askew internally.
"So good, baby." He replies, but I can hear the way pain laces his voice. "I am so good now that you're here."
I pull back and run my hands over my father's cheeks, smiling widely while my eyes brim with countless tears. I can't stop crying. God, I wish I could get this under control.
"Everything's better now. This is a beautiful place to be. We can only go up from here, right?" I encourage him, because I hope he's finding his way out of the darkness. Out of the hopelessness he so painfully described earlier.
"It is," he says quietly, standing up and pulling me along with him. "It is. Let's go see Carter now, okay? I need to have my own conversation with that boy."
"Oh, God. Be nice, promise?" I tease, sliding my hand through his elbow and locking us together as we begin walking back to his room.
"I'm always nice."
Watching Bloom with her father is something I could never describe as accurately as I'd like to. Because it's different, it's powerful on a different level than is fully comprehendible.
My relationship with my father is strained for entirely different reasons. Most consisting of money and status, wealth and societal presence. But it's curious how different relationships with parents can be amongst different families.
Bloom and her father struggle with his addiction to alcohol. But when he's good? When he's sober? It's the most beautiful relationship I've ever seen.
They're both so incredibly happy.
He watches her speak so animatedly about pottery, a very obvious and beautiful expression of pride lingering on his features. When he smiles at her, he practically infects the entire room with his genuine joy.
And Bloom is the same. Her hands moving so quickly in front of her frame, a gesture for every word she speaks as a simple reminder to how excited she is right now.
And God, her voice. It's electric. Coursing through the air like little lightning bolts of adrenaline.
She's on fire. And I've never wanted to be burned alive so badly.
My heart pounds in my chest at a steady rhythm, my own smile absently spreading wide across my cheeks. Blooms hands reach out and grip her father's forearms as she falls toward him and laughs.
She's going on and on about some planter she attempted making and how easily it fell apart. She catches him up on everything she's been doing. Life, in general. Her classes on campus, her work with Bess at the nursery. Liv, myself, her mom.
They sit in each other's company with welcoming touches and sweet words. I love it, love listening to them spend their time investing in each other like they are now.
Samuel looks to me briefly before turning back toward Bloom. His laughter slows, his breaths steady, and as soon as she breaks for a moment in stories, he stands and moves toward me.
"You're entering the draft this year, Carter?" He asks, shifting his hands into his jean pockets as Bloom steps against my side and slides her arm around my back.
"Yes, sir. Hoping to get picked up by the Cardinals or Bruins." I reply, dropping my arm around Bl
oom's shoulder and tugging her against me. She fits perfectly, and it takes everything inside of me to hold back kissing her right here in this moment.
Sam's eyes drop to my hold and lift back to meet my gaze. He squares his shoulders, and for some reason, I feel a wave of protective nature roll off of him and toward me. As if he's observing my ability to take care of his daughter.
I have to give it to him though, when the guy is invested, he's invested. When he's ready to be present, he truly shows up. That's everything I could ask for Bloom to experience with her father in the capacity he can give her right now—as a recovering addict.
I'm thankful for it.
"I'm going to find the restroom. I'll be back," Bloom interrupts casually before pulling away and walking out of the room. Samual and I are alone, and I can't say I'm incredibly surprised when he suddenly turns and slowly paces across the floor ahead of me.
His brain is turning, mulling through whatever thoughts he's having before he finally addresses whatever it is he wants to ask.
"You and Bloom, huh?" He finally broaches the topic I anticipated. I lean back against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest and kicking one foot over the other while I wait to see where this goes. He laughs a quiet sound before meeting my eyes again. "I knew it'd be you two at the end." He holds up his hands and motions around the room, but I think he's referring to life in general. "Of all this."
"Did you?" I ask, narrowing my eyes in disbelief just slightly. He was present for a while, but then he disappeared under the toxicity of his addiction.
"Yeah, actually," he says, stepping back until he's leaning against the arm of the small sofa on the opposite end of the room. "There was always something about the way you looked at her. It was different than with the other girls—even Liv."
Part of me wishes I could replay those memories in my head objectively, like I could actually see how I acted, how I watched her.
Because I know he's right. I did look at her differently than everyone else.
But it took me choosing the wrong person time and time again before choosing her to realize who I had been waiting for.
"It took me a long time to realize that," I tell him honestly. I lift one hand and scrub it over my jaw and through my hair on a sigh. "And it took making a lot of mistakes before knowing the right way to go."
He stares at me intently, his eyes filled with something heavy and understanding. He nods his head silently, rolling his tongue against the inside of his lower lip before speaking. "Sometimes we have to make the wrong choices in order to understand the gravity of the right ones."
"Yeah? You feel like you're making the right choice now?" I ask, and it strangely feels like an incredibly private question. I don't mean it to be confrontational, I just want to know if this is real enough for him. I want Bloom to have her father back, have the relationship she's always deserved with him.
He's quiet, and his hands fall to his lap as he rubs them up and down his thighs. "Right now? At this moment? I know this is the right decision. This visit means more to me than anything." He sounds earnest, desperate for the same connection I know Bloom is yearning for.
But something also feels twisted in another way. As if maybe there's another piece to this situation I'm missing. Like I don't have all of the information, every single aspect at play here.
"She loves you," I tell him, reminding him of the truth I know all too well. "Your daughter loves you through all of it."
"I know she does," he replies, "I don't deserve it."
"I don't think any of us truly deserve the kind of love Bloom so graciously gives out." I laugh as the words fall from my lips. Damn, it's true. She's the most compassionate person I've ever met.
He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest as a loving smile crosses his face. We fall silent as he looks up and stands, approaching me with an intensity that catches me off guard.
"You take care of her, Carter." He says, his voice firm and his tone almost desperate. "Promise me."
I narrow my eyes at him, the same strange tension pulling tighter in my gut and my chest. I know he's been gone for a long time now, but I'm worried this might be shorter lived than I anticipated.
I try to fight the bite of frustration hitting my chest. Don't fucking give up on this already.
"Promise me, Carter," he says again, this time his voice snapping out in something oddly impatient as he glances over my shoulder.
"I promise, Sam. I promise. I'll always take care of Bloom." I lift a hand and rest it on his shoulder, hoping to calm whatever spiral he may be slipping into. "Don't give up on this, okay? You're doing a hell of a job already. You've got this."
As soon as I say I'll take care of her, his eyes soften and his back relaxes considerably. As if those simple words took every weight of the uncertain future away and my own racing thoughts calm at his response as well.
Before he can respond, the door opens and Bloom steps back inside. Sam takes a small stride away from me, and meets Bloom as she hurries toward him with her arms stretched wide again.
He pulls her against his chest, wrapping his heavy arms around her waist and kissing her on the head. "I love you, baby," he mutters against her hair, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck as he tugs her even closer.
"I love you, Dad. So much."
Things are going good right now.
Really fucking good.
I had a meeting with Coach earlier today, after practice. We went over my Color Theory grade, my overall GPA and he's pleased with the progress I've made there. The draft is approaching at the end of this year, and so far, everyone is impressed with my performance aside from our preseason game.
I just have to keep this up for the rest of the season, stay focused on the goal and not let my outside experiences affect my game play.
Easy.
Tonight is the big Titan party the team hosts every year, and I decided not to drink it away. I'm staying sober, and I know Bloom will be as well. So, we'll both end up babysitting Liv and the rest of the team by the end of the night, I'm sure.
I can't wait to fucking see her.
But I can't help feeling the tiniest strain of tension between us since visiting her dad. Everything went well, logically. I haven't seen her or her father that happy in years when they've been around each other.
Something was off though, I could feel it and I know Bloom could as well. But it's hard to pinpoint when all the right things are being said and done.
Since that day, she's been keeping to herself. I can tell her mind is preoccupied with her father and the studio. She's been going every night, emailing me the study material instead of meeting to physically work through it. She's short in her texts, and doesn't answer her phone.
But she'll be here tonight, she texted me earlier to let me know and I can't wait to finally be around her again. We didn't clear up the situation with Benj and Liv yet though, and that's something I'm a little apprehensive over dealing with tonight.
Benj is still into her, and I know Liv is hurting over everything with me. We’re already planning to tread carefully over our interactions at the party.
Distance. Always fucking distance. Irritation rolls through my chest at the mental reminder.
I glance at the time, nine-thirty. People are already showing up, most of the guys are downstairs pouring beers and playing pong. Music blasts through the entire house, vibrating the floor beneath my feet.
I shake off the expectations filtering through me, the idea of Bloom and I, and decide to focus on just letting loose and having fucking fun tonight. I'll take care of the guys and make sure no one pukes on the floor before making it outside.
I step toward my mirror and let my eyes rake over the clothes I put on tonight. A black and gray baseball tee and dark denim jeans.
I run my hand through my hair and scrub my palm over my jaw as I walk toward my door and shut it behind me.
“Ready to party, QB?" Benj says as he walks past my room. He slaps a h
and on my shoulder and smiles but his lips are tight and his frame is tense.
I wish I knew exactly what was going on with him, but he's been off ever since he started finding interest in Bloom. I don't know if he can tell her and I have something going on, or if it's something completely unrelated.
However, the awesome thing about Benj is that he doesn't let anything affect how he plays on the field. He's a damn good tight end and I have no doubt he'll be made team captain once I'm gone.
"Hell yeah, man. Are the girls here yet?" I ask as I step behind him and follow down the staircase.
"I'm not sure. Bloom told me earlier she was on her way and that was about twenty minutes ago," he replies without looking back at me.
That's odd, I'm surprised she texted him to let him know she was on her way.
As soon as we enter the living room, several people shout and yell our team name. Friends and strangers are fist bumping us, slapping us on the back, and handing us drinks.
I take one but don't sip, carrying it with me as we head toward the kitchen.
Holy shit, the house is packed already. Crowds of heated bodies are already dancing and grinding against each other. It takes us several minutes to finally reach our destination and even that is packed with a small gathering attempting to reach the keg.
"Damn it's busy," I shout to Lucas as we meet him on the other side of the kitchen.
"Yeah dude. This is the busiest party I've seen since we've been here." He takes a sip of his beer, tipping it back and chugging the entire thing before tossing it in the trash.
I look over to Benj who is leaning against the counter, his arms crossed tightly around his chest. There's something extra off about him tonight, but I can't put my finger on it. His attitude is reserved and quiet, and he's usually the life of the party.
"You okay, man?" I ask him, nodding his way in order to get his attention.
"Yeah, what's with the attitude?" Lucas asks, tilting his head to the side as if he knows something.