by M. E. Carter
He gives me a look that says not to patronize him. I chuckle and level with him.
“Jaxon has been very respectful, Dad. Our relationship is not about that. He’s pre-med. I’m pre-physical therapy so we have similar interests. He’s third string on the football team, most times doesn’t dress out, so I’m taking him tailgating in a couple weeks.”
I’m not lying about that part. When Jaxon suggested borrowing his roommates truck so we can head to a game early, I squealed with delight. I’d kind of given up on the idea of participating in my favorite past-time activity this season, since I’m still a little leery in crowds. Since Lauren and I are on the outs, I might have to find a new tailgating partner anyway. But with Jaxon beside me, that covers all my bases. I can’t wait.
“The only bad thing about him”—I see my dad bracing himself as I sigh with over-exaggerated disappointment—“he’s a Cowboys fan.”
“That son of a bitch!” Dad yells, banging his fist on the counter. “Doesn’t he know we bleed black and yellow?”
“I know. I told him,” I agree with a shrug. “Don’t worry. I’m working on him. It’s going to take a little time since his dad is a retired Cowboy.”
Dad points right in my face. “I told you this kid was trouble. You keep your eye on him. If it weren’t for that damn foundation, I’d have no respect for either one of those Hart men.”
Laughing, I can’t believe the ridiculousness of this conversation. “I know, Dad. But really, you’ll like Jaxon. Give me some time, okay? It’s still new. But I promise when the time is right, I’ll bring him home for you to meet him.”
“I just”—he runs his fingers through his hair, eyes following me as I piddle around the kitchen—“want you to be careful, Annika. Have you see the news lately?”
Grabbing the can opener to open the Rotel for the dip, I keep my hands busy. I have no idea where he’s going with his, but my gut tells me it’s not going to be good. “I don’t watch the news, Dad.”
“You should. Sexual assaults are up in your town.”
“Really?” I try really hard to sound nonchalant, despite my heart beating rapidly. I have to force myself not to bristle, and I will my breathing to stay calm. “How do you know that?”
“Apparently the police are doing some digging.” He taps his finger on the newspaper. That’s what he was reading about. “There are an awful lot of girls ending up in the hospital full of that date rape drug.”
Breath, Annika. Just breathe, I think to myself, trying to keep my hands from shaking and praying I don’t slice myself on these cans. I’m barely paying attention to what I’m doing, just going through the motions as I try to keep myself calm.
“Lots of girls,” he continues. “One of them was even dragged outside of a club and raped behind a dumpster, Annika. I don’t want that to be you.”
Ohgodohgodohgod. Keep breathing. Keep breathing.
“I just…I would feel better if we went over some of your self-defense moves. Maybe had a practice round or two with your brother.”
I nod my head but don’t say anything. I don’t want to practice. We’ve gone over those moves for so many years, partly for fun, partly because it was the only way they knew how to teach me to protect myself. We did it so much in high school, those moves are like second nature to me. But what they don’t seem to understand is there’s not a lot of self-defense that will protect you when you’re drugged and unconscious.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead I nod my head in agreement. “Yeah. You can pull out the mat before I leave, and we can go over some moves.”
“I need Damien to go extra hard on you. I don’t want you to be the next victim. I don’t think I could handle that.”
I had thought about telling my dad about my attack this week, being honest and getting more support. But after this conversation, and seeing my dad’s face at the thought of me being harmed, I know there is no way. It will crush them. “I get it, Dad. We’ll practice for a bit, but not today since we’re about to have guests. Where is Damien anyway?” I deflect, not sure I can handle much more of this conversation.
“He ran to the store for more beer.”
I smile and nod at him. “Okay, good. I’m almost finished here. Just need to throw the potato skins in the oven and dump the chips in a bowl. Is the living room set up, or do you need help moving furniture around?”
“Nah, you finish up here. I’ll get the grill going. Those fajitas aren’t going to cook themselves.” He squeezes my shoulder as he passes by, grabbing the marinating meat and heading out the door.
As soon as his back is turned, I clutch my heart and release a deep breath. I love being home with my family, but I don’t know if I can have another conversation like this one.
Snatching my phone up off the counter, I type out a quick text to the one person I know who can calm me down.
Me: Quick. Tell me something that will get my mind off my dad wanting me to practice self-defense moves.
With as fast as his response comes through, I’m guessing he’s been looking for a distraction too.
Jaxon: My little sister forced us all to play beauty parlor, and I don’t know how long my nails are going to be bright pink.
He attaches a picture of him, his dad, and a kid I assume is his brother, Matty, all sporting the world’s messiest manicure. It makes me laugh out loud and immediately a sense of calm comes over me.
Me: You guys are super pretty.
Jaxon: You think that’s good? You should see my toes.
Wiping my eyes, I can’t stop the giggles. I’m still not looking forward to my dad pulling out that mat, but at least I’m calm enough again to get through the rest of the day. It’s almost scary how Jaxon can do that for me. I just hope I can reciprocate it someday.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jaxon
Every time I come home to visit, I work out with my dad. It’s been that way ever since I left for college. But this morning’s workout was awkward, to say the least. I went with Dad and Matty, meeting up with Deuce and Trace. It was like being the fifth wheel on a double date. The boys paired up and did their own thing, under the watchful eye of their dads. And the two retirees went through the motions of maintaining their physique. Neither of them is as solid as they used to be, but they aren’t slouches either.
The only thing that made it bearable was Deuce’s incessant chatter and jokes. Where Dad clammed up whenever we talked about my role in football, Deuce had no problem ribbing me, which is the way I like it. Yes, he pokes fun, but there is no doubt in my mind Deuce has mad respect that I stay on the team, despite the very real possibility that I’ll never actually play a college football game, just because I love the game.
Dad doesn’t seem to get that. No, he stayed quiet for the two hours we were at the gym. Even Deuce noticed Dad’s abnormal demeanor and asked if he was getting laid enough. Then he laughed his ass off at my gagging sounds.
Now that we’re home and Mom and Lucy are off on their annual Black Friday shopping trip, there’s no buffer between us and the obvious distance. I need to get out of here, so I can get out of my head.
Me: What are you doing this afternoon? Wanna hit a movie with me?
I’m not expecting Kade to answer right away. We’ve texted back and forth a lot the last week or so, just random shit. He really is as into comics and video games as I suspected. But I’m also coming to the realization that Annika was right—he has no one.
Based on our conversations, no one realized he came to visit me, and he disappeared for almost thirty-six hours. Not his mom, not his teachers. He didn’t even have any friends who were looking for him. It makes me sad for him. But it also makes me feel sad for me. He’s my brother. For the most part, I’ve been surrounded by loving and supportive family my entire life, while my dad’s son has been all alone. It’s not fair.
Kade: Hell, yeah! Marvel just released the newest one. I’ve been dying to see it.
I snicker. Yeah, he’s a total comic
book freak. But at least we have something in common—I have yet to be disappointed in the big screen version of the characters.
Me: Cool. I can be there to get you in about an hour. That gives you plenty of time to shower and get all gussied up for the ladies.
Kade: See you then.
Ok, there aren’t actually any ladies we’re going to see, but I’m not quite sure how else to encourage his hygiene habits. Maybe it’s not my place to say anything, but clearly no one else has. And if he wants to make friends, maybe smelling a bit better will help.
Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I grab a Tupperware of cooked chicken breasts out of the fridge and make a plate to tide me over until I get some movie theater popcorn.
“What are you up to?” Dad saunters in the room, going for a plate too. When he puts it by mine on the counter, I snag another two chicken breasts with my fork and pop them on his plate. Working out makes all of us hungry.
“I’m heading out in a bit. Kade and I are going to a movie.”
I don’t have to look to know his whole body just stiffened. I can practically feel the concern rolling off of him.
Looking him in the eye, I challenge him with, “You gotta problem with that?”
He sighs and shakes his head. “I just want you to be careful. I don’t trust his intentions.”
“You’ve never met him. You have no idea what his intentions are.”
After placing one of the plates in the microwave, he leans against the counter and crosses his arms. “I’ll give you that one. But Jax, don’t you find it weird that he randomly comes out of the woodwork fourteen years later? It just makes me wonder if his mother put him up to it because she needs money.”
“Seriously?” I sneer. “My brother finds me after all these years because no one else bothered to enlighten me on the subject, but you automatically assume it has something to do with you and your money? He’s my brother.”
“You don’t know that yet. And besides, you already have a brother. He’s upstairs playing video games.”
Finally, I snap. “I. Am not. A HART!” I yell.
My dad reels back like he’s been slapped, which should make me feel bad. But he doesn’t get it. I look at the floor when I speak again because I don’t want to see the look of hurt on his face. I may never be able to explain this to him again.
“I am a Hart because of nurture, Dad. You’ve raised me to be who am I since I was seven years old. But there’s another part of me. The Bryant part. It’s not perfect. It sure as hell isn’t athletic. But it’s me. And if you can’t accept that part of my life, that part of my history…” I run my hand down my face in exasperation. “If you keep dismissing that part of me like it’s irrelevant, then you’re not the hero I thought you were.”
I chance another look at him. Except for the tick in his jaw, he hasn’t moved.
Pushing my plate aside, I grab my car keys. “I gotta go. I’ve got somewhere to be.”
I don’t bother waiting to see if he’ll stop me. I leave, slamming the door behind me.
* * *
The snick the door makes sounds louder than normal because of how quiet it is in the house. I guess everyone is asleep since it’s close to midnight. Everyone except my dad.
The light from the TV tells me exactly where he is—sitting on the couch in the living room with his feet up on the coffee table, watching ESPN. What I didn’t expect was the bottle of Johnny Walker Black sitting next to him.
“Gift from Henry Davidson?”
Making a sound of satisfaction when he swallows, he lowers his glass and pours two fingers in a second glass I hadn’t noticed before. “It’s good stuff. Try it.” He hands me the extra glass.
Bringing it to my lips, I try not to grimace from the smell. The burn on the way down my throat is even worse.
“Must be an acquired taste,” I say through my cough as I beat my own chest.
He gives me a half-hearted smile. “I should have picked up more Shiner when we were out today.”
“I was born and bred in Texas. It’s almost a requirement to drink it.”
The rumble of his chuckle is the only response I get before we go back to sitting in silence. I guess that’s better than fighting with him, but I don’t like how awkward things are between us. He’s my dad. He’s a great dad. I just don’t know when I became such a disappointment to him.
“I fell in love with you when you were seven years old.”
His words cut through the silence like a knife. Choosing my words less carefully than I should, my automatic reaction is to banter.
“That sounds creepy, Dad.”
He looks at me and smirks. “Someday when you’re a father you’ll understand what I mean by that. It’s the only way to truly describe what it feels like to be a parent. I love football. I love my mom. I love my job. But I’m so in love with my kids, sometimes it hurts to breathe.”
“Then why are you disappointed in me?”
There. I said it. I laid it on the line and put the ball in his court. We may never have a chance to hash this out again. I’m ready to have this conversation and be done with it.
His expression isn’t what I expected. He looks…sad. “I’ve never, ever wanted you to think I’m disappointed in you.”
“Well, you have a shitty way of showing it.” I take a breath to gather my thoughts. “I’m not yours. I know it. I’ve always known it. I’m not able to follow in your footsteps. Not in football. Not in business. I’m not who you want me to be.”
“That’s not true,” he vehemently denies, pointing at me. “You are exactly who I want you to be. And you have always been mine.”
“Really? You’re not at all disappointed I’m not going to be working in the industry?”
He looks back to the TV, not making eye contact, and I know I’ve nailed it on the head. It hurts, I admit. I don’t like being a disappointment to him.
“It’s not that.”
“It’s not?” I challenge. “You won’t even talk to me about Matty’s games. Mom is the one who tells me when he’s accomplished something, not you. Sure, you start telling me. I hear the excitement in your voice, see how proud you are in every gesture. Then you you look at me, your disappointment shows all over your face. You clam up and pretend it never happened when I’m around, because it’s just a reminder that I’m lesser than.”
He looks stunned that I would call him out. “That’s not what happens at all. I just…”
“You just what?”
“I don’t ever want you to think I’m prouder of him than I am of you. Or that I love him any more than I love you.”
“You have a really bad way of showing it.”
Our eyes make contact and hold, like we’re vying for control. For the first time in maybe my entire life, he’s the first to look away.
“In this family, you’re either allowed in on the celebrations or you’re treated like you don’t deserve to know.” I spew out the words, not with malice, but with all the hurt I’ve felt over the years. “That’s not keeping me from feeling like Matty is more important. That’s drawing a line in the sand. You’ve made it clear I’m either a part of football in this family or I’m not part of the family completely.”
“Jax—”
“No” I cut him off. “I was in that hospital room with you every time Dr. Bates reminded us of the side effects of my treatments—potential growth issues, potential heart issues, potential sexual issues, potential dental issues. I knew, knew, any dreams I had of going pro were dead before we ever got the all clear on the cancer. But Dad, they were the dreams of a nine-year-old boy. Those dreams die for almost everyone. You’re one of the very few who had them come true.”
His cheeks are flushed, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s angry or ashamed. But now that I’m on a roll, I can’t stop.
“I don’t keep playing football because I have a dream or because I’m trying to win your approval. I play football because it’s fun. I have friends on the team
. I get the best seats in the stadium when I dress out and sit on the bench. And Dr. Bates said I need to exercise for the rest of my life. Why not have fun doing it instead of getting used to a row machine and treadmill already?
“I’ve never strived for greatness in the game. But you know what I have strived for greatness in? Math, science, and statistics. Those are things I enjoy, that I’m not only good at but are also attainable. You missed that part, didn’t you? It wasn’t an extension of your dreams, so there was no reason to notice that part of me until I changed my major.”
He points his finger and interrupts my rant. “Now that’s not true. I’ve always known you were good at that stuff. That’s why we talked about you being an agent.”
“No, you talked about me being an agent. I went along with it for a while because maybe, just maybe, I’d be included in this family if I did.”
“That’s not fair—”
“You’re right. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to me.” I shake my head, exhausted from the emotion of this conversation. “I was the only Bryant left until Kade came along, and you remind me of that every single time you shut me out of the Hart side.”
Taking a deep, calming breath, I suddenly have the need to be alone to put myself back together.
“Look, Dad, you’ve been the best father a kid can ask for. Always. But you have to sort this shit out. If you’re trying to protect my feelings, or whatever, stop. It doesn’t work and the only thing that happens is you shut me out. My dreams are mine. Just like Matty’s dreams are Matty’s. None of them are yours. Support us and encourage us. But for the love of Christ, stop trying to manipulate them.”
I turn and walk away, unwilling to see how badly my words hurt him.