by Grace James
83
Blake called his dad that night, and the day before Hayley and Derren’s wedding we drove downtown to his old neighborhood.
Passing his old house – the one that he had shared with Kane – was weird.
Blake slowed as we drove past it so that we could both take a good look.
It was even more run down now. There were children’s toys strewn across the front yard, most of them faded and some of them clearly broken. The drapes were drawn and yellowing. That little house had seemed so full of life when the guys lived there. Now it was the opposite.
“It looks so different,” I said. “So sad.”
Blake’s tone was apathetic. “It was always a shithole, Princess.”
“Not when you lived there.”
He raised one eyebrow as he sped up again. “C’mon, you know that’s not true. Look at this place.” He gestured through the windshield. “Ass end of Buttfuck, USA.” The tension around his eyes gave him away. He may be acting cocky, but I could tell that it was a front.
So, I went with gentle teasing. “Well, you would say that, you live with the rich kids in the Hollywood Hills now.”
“Venice Beach, actually,” he corrected me with a grin.
Something twisted in my guts. “Is it weird that I don’t know where you live?”
He glanced at me, his brow furrowing a little, like, Now that you mention it, YEAH, that IS weird, but then his eyes were back on the road and he didn’t say anything else until we pulled up outside a small house about five minutes later. It looked like it had been freshly painted, with gleaming windows and a neat yard. “Here we are,” he said as he shut off the engine.
Neither of us made to get out of the car.
Blake just sat there, looking at the house.
I looked at him.
“You grew up here?” I asked quietly. “Or did your dad move –”
“Nah, this is it. He never left. Looks different from the last time I was here. Back then, this was the worst house on the block – he didn’t give a fuck. But now…now it looks like it used to when my mom was still alive.”
Right then, the front door opened and Blake’s father stepped out onto the front deck with a look of wary hopefulness on his face. I noticed that, although he was still broad and well built, his dark hair had more grey in it than the last time I’d seen him. He looked at us with eyes that were the same brilliant blue as Blake’s – but he didn’t come any closer to the car. He stood statue still, like he was afraid that the slightest movement would spook us.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
No one moved.
Then a brown-haired toddler appeared behind Nate. He was wearing a pair of cute, blue dungarees with a frog on the front. He curled his chubby little arms around Nate’s leg and peeked out at us.
Blake’s exhale was rough as he hung his head. His hands were still gripping the steering wheel and, for a second, I thought for sure he was just going to start the car up and drive away.
But he didn’t; he looked at me instead. “The fuck am I doing here?”
I met his gaze levelly. “You came to see your little brother. Because no matter what happened between you and your dad, Lucas is completely innocent.”
He swallowed, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah. That’s why.”
I leant in and gave him a small kiss. “Shall we go say ‘hi’?”
There was a hint of panic in his face. “I have no idea what to do with kids that little.”
That would probably have been a little funny if the situation wasn’t so life altering.
“I don’t think you really have to do anything. Just smile at him and give him the toy.”
“Oh, shit, yeah. Where’d we put that?”
“Here.” I reached into the back seat and pulled out a blue gift bag which I offered to Blake, but he didn’t take it from me. “You want me to give it to him, don’t you?”
“Yup.”
“Okay.” I smiled reassuringly at him. “Ready?”
He glanced back at the house. A woman had appeared now, too. She was maybe mid to late thirties and pretty, with light brown, shoulder-length hair. Nate said something to her and she lifted Lucas up, holding him on her hip as she smiled and waved in our direction.
Blake looked away again, out of the windshield this time, and blew out another breath.
I could only imagine how hard this was for him. Seeing another woman in the house that his mother had lived in. Seeing another little boy there, another family, where his used to be.
I opened my mouth to tell him that he didn’t have to do this – that we could just leave if he wanted – but he abruptly let go of the steering wheel and reached for the car door. “Let’s go.”
Clutching the gift bag, I got out of the car, too, and met him on the sidewalk where he took my hand, linking our fingers tightly as we walked towards the house.
Nate’s brow furrowed as we approached; his eyes were watery and he was swallowing hard. “I wasn’t sure if you’d really come. You have no idea how good it is to see you.” He stepped forwards, his arms coming up like he was about to pull Blake into an embrace, but Blake raised a hand to ward him off.
“Can we not?”
Nate stopped short, his arms dropping to his sides. His hurt was evident on his face but he said, “Sure, whatever you want. We’ll take this whole thing at your pace.” He cut his gaze my way, smiling a little. “Amy, nice to see you again. I always hoped you two would find your way back to each other.”
“Um, thanks.”
“You been keeping tabs on me, old man?” Blake asked, a mocking tone to his voice.
Nate looked him right in the eye. “Of course.”
I looked up at Blake to see him narrow his eyes at his father, and I just knew he was about to say something cutting, when a little voice spoke up, “Mommy? Dat bruvur Bwake?”
Lucas’s big, curious eyes were on Blake, studying him openly. And, yes, they too were that amazing brand of ‘Maxwell Blue’.
“Yes, baby, that’s Blake,” Helen said mildly.
Lucas pointed at his brother. “Draws.”
Helen smiled. “That’s right. Drawings.”
Blake glanced down, and seemed to realize at the same moment that I did that the ‘draws’ were actually the tattoos on his arms.
Helen set Lucas back on the ground and crouched in front of him. “Shall we see if Blake and Amy want to come inside?”
Lucas jumped a little on the spot. “Eat cookies?!”
“Yeah,” Helen agreed.
When he turned to us, Lucas’s whole face was lit up with excitement. He took a few steps our way and then pointed back at the house. “Come wiv Lucas…eat cookies?!”
I couldn’t keep from giggling at his enthusiasm. “I’d love some cookies!”
He broke into a huge grin, and then looked expectantly at Blake.
For a beat, there was silence, then Blake said, “Cookies?! Yeah, buddy, let’s eat cookies!”
That was it for Lucas, apparently, he turned back to his parents and screamed, “Yay! COOKIES!” at the top of his little voice, before running back inside the house.
I laughed. “He’s so friendly.”
“Yeah, he’s really outgoing,” Helen agreed. “It’s a little scary sometimes. He’ll talk to anyone.”
“Blake was the same,” Nate said quietly, casting a tentative glance at his older son. Then he gestured towards the house. “Shall we go catch him up? Kid’ll have the whole cookie jar turned upside down any minute.”
Blake only hesitated for a moment before he nodded and led me inside.
84
Blake as a little boy was something that I’d never been able to imagine. I just couldn’t see him as anything less than the dominating, self-sufficient man that I had always known him to be.
Looking at the pictures in his father’s house – the ones on the wall just above the couch in the small, cozy living room – I saw a whole other side to him.<
br />
One of my favorites was a shot of him with his first band. Nate said he was around eleven at the time. There were five gawky pre-teens in a garage with instruments that were too big for them. Each of them had on baggy pants, DCs, and band t-shirts: Nirvana, Korn, Linkin Park, Radiohead. Even back then, Blake was the good looking one, his bright blue eyes shining with pride through long-ish, dark hair as he held onto the neck of a black Stratocaster. His other arm was slung around the shoulders of a little kid with golden-brown hair and soft green eyes, who was looking up at him like he’d hung the moon – Connor.
“This is amazing,” I said. “You were all so cute!”
Blake was sitting on the couch, looking up at me where I knelt, studying the photos that hung on the wall behind him. “Cute?”
“Yes – oh my God, but this one is adorable!” I pointed to another one of him further up the wall. He looked like he was around four or five, and he was sitting at a piano, frowning, with his tongue sticking out and his face set in an intense look of concentration as his little fingers stretched across the keys.
Blake groaned. “Will you stop?”
“No. Absolutely not. This is too good.”
I heard Nate chuckle from behind me, where he was sitting in an arm chair facing the couch. “I must have a thousand pictures of him sitting at that piano. You can take a couple with you.”
I looked back at him. “Really?”
“Yeah, Louisa used to take them all the time. Could even tell you what he was playing in each one. I’m not musical worth a damn so I have no idea, but she wrote song titles on the back of some of them. I’ll dig them out before you go.”
“Thank you.” I smiled as I looked back at the pictures. “Oh, wow, is this your mom?” I placed my hand on Blake’s shoulder as I spoke.
He turned where he was sitting to see which picture I meant – it was a shot of a little, dark haired baby being cradled by a beautiful woman. She looked like Blake, only a much more feminine, delicate version. And really young. She must only have been around eighteen or nineteen…which meant that she must have been around thirty when she died. God.
“Yeah,” Blake said softly. “That’s her.”
“She’s beautiful.”
He turned fully to get a better look, kneeling on the couch next to me. “Yeah…I don’t…I couldn’t really remember…”
“You don’t have pictures?” Nate’s sounded devastated.
“I had one, but my wallet got jacked from my pocket a few months after I moved out of here and I lost it.”
“Well, I have a bunch of those, too. I’ll find you some before you leave.”
Blake settled back onto the couch. “Thanks,” he said, a little stiffly.
Helen walked back into the room then, carrying a tray with coffee and cookies on. Lucas trailed behind her, the blue and red toy guitar that Blake had bought for him clutched in his fist. Helen doled out the coffee and then settled Lucas on the floor with a cup of milk and – finally – a cookie! He devoured it in about zero-point-three seconds.
“Kid can eat,” Blake observed.
“Sure can,” Helen agreed. “Your dad says he’s just like you.”
Blake nodded and took a drink of his coffee.
The silence stretched, starting to become uncomfortable, until Nate broke it. “We – uh – we came to watch you when you and the band played in Phoenix last year.”
Blake looked at him. “You did?”
Nate smiled, nodding. “Yeah. It was really something, seeing you up there like that. And your voice? Didn’t expect it to be that good live, and that’s not an insult,” he clarified quickly, “but you get plenty of singers who sound great on a record and then when you hear them live it’s not as good. But not you. You were something else. When you were a kid, you were great – but that show? Something else. Your mother would’ve been doing cartwheels if she could’ve seen it.”
Blake looked at his father in silence for a second longer, before he dropped his eyes to his coffee. “Yeah…if only, huh?”
“Yeah. If only.”
More silence. More sips of coffee.
“N’other cookie pwease, Mommy?” Lucas asked.
Helen smiled and gave him one from the plate.
“And for Amy?” Lucas kept his hand held out expectantly.
Helen gave him another.
“And for Bruvur Bwake?”
Laughing, Helen gave him another. “That’s because of your dad,” she said to Blake. “He’s always saying to Lucas, Your brother, Blake, used to do THIS. Your brother, Blake, once did THAT. So now I think you’re probably always going to be called Brother Blake.”
Lucas toddled over to us and dished out the cookies. Then he just stood, eating his own cookie, thoughtfully tracing a little finger over one of the tattoos on Blake’s forearm – a pair of dice showing snake eyes.
After a moment, Lucas looked up at his brother. “Wash it off?”
Blake broke into a small grin. “Can’t. They’re forever.”
Lucas just stared at him, before stuffing the last of his cookie into his mouth and chewing messily.
“You seen much of Jace since you’ve been back in town?” Nate asked.
I felt Blake’s leg tense alongside mine at the mention of Connor’s younger brother. “Nah, not really.”
That surprised me. We hadn’t talked about it, but I’d just assumed that Blake kept in contact with his cousin.
“Oh.” Nate frowned. “Thought you’d look him up. Did you know he’s in a band now, too? What are they called?” He looked at Helen for help.
“Um, oh – Far from the Dance?”
“Yeah,” Nate agreed. “That’s it. Went to watch him at that bar you always used to play at.”
“Filthy Joe’s,” Helen supplied.
“Yeah? Any good?” Blake asked.
“Yeah,” Helen said. “I really think they are.”
“What does Jace play?” I asked.
“Drums, of course,” Nate replied with a smile. “He could probably give Connor a run for his money.”
“Maybe they’d want to play at The Academy,” I commented, looking at Blake.
He shrugged indifferently. “Maybe.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t seen him already,” Nate reiterated, looking at his son closely.
Blake took another sip of his coffee. “Been busy.”
“Well, I know he’d like to catch up. Last time I saw him he was saying how you always looked out for him when he was a kid, how you and Connor used to go driving all over the city looking for him when he used to run away. He’s sure grown up a lot since –”
Blake cut him up gruffly, “Yeah, well, like I said, I’ve been busy.”
“Do you have his number? I got it around here somewhere if you want to take it?”
“Why don’t you just leave it alone?” Blake’s voice was hard, leaving a terse silence in its wake.
“…okay,” Nate said after a beat. “I didn’t mean to push, it’s just that with Connor being gone, he’s the only cousin you hav–”
“You’re not really in a position to be giving advice on keeping in touch with family, Dad. If I remember right, it took years for you to track me down after I left your sorry ass here, fucked out of your gourd on –”
“Blake,” I interrupted, squeezing his leg. “Little ears.”
Blake’s gaze flicked to Lucas, who was watching him with big, innocent eyes. He sighed and looked away, muttering, “This was a bad idea.”
“Son,” Nate started. “All those years – I was a coward, I couldn’t face the way I treated you. I couldn’t pull myself up out of the pit I dug for myself when your mother passed.”
“Then what changed?” Blake challenged.
Nate’s gaze slid to Helen. And I knew the answer. So did Blake. I could see it on his face. It broke my heart, seeing him realize that the one thing that could pull his father out of that place was Helen. Not him. Not his son.
Right then, I th
ink I hated Nate, too.
“Helen made me see myself in a new light,” Nate explained, a little desperately. “Made me see that giving up was the coward’s way –”
“Made you realize that using your kid as a punching bag was wrong – but, hey, don’t worry, you can fix it?” Blake cut in, his voice mocking. “Made you think that you could make it all okay with an ‘I’m sorry’ and a fu –” he caught himself “– a dumb letter?”
I was looking at Nate in horror. Maybe it was naive of me, but I’d never realized that Nate had been violent. I knew he hadn’t taken care of Blake after Louisa died. I knew he’d neglected him. But I hadn’t know he’d beaten him.
The thought turned my stomach.
I turned my attention to Helen, maybe expecting to see shock on her face, too. But instead, I just saw sympathy – for Nate, if I wasn’t mistaken.
And Nate himself…well, he looked pathetic. Like all his sins had just been dumped at his door – and I guess they had.
“Son, I don’t know how to make it right. If I thought it would do any good, I’d get on my knees right here and beg for your forgiveness –”
Blake snorted as he got to his feet abruptly, pulling me with him.
“Wait, please –” Nate stood, too, reaching out for his son. Before his hand could make contact, Blake had his wrist in a rough grip.
“Back off, old man,” Blake said, his voice a deadly growl.
Knowing how close he was to snapping, feeling the fury rolling off of him, I curled my hand around his arm. “Blake, come on,” I said quietly. “Let’s just go. Lucas is watching.”
Slowly, Blake released his father’s wrist and, holding my hand tightly, turned for the door – but as he passed Helen, he stopped. “He ever hurts you, or him –” he pointed to his little brother “– you call me. Got it?”
Helen folded her arms over her chest. “Yes. But he never would. I know you find it hard to believe, but he’s not that person. Not really.”
“That’s what my mom would’ve said,” Blake told her grimly. “She was wrong.”
85
“Are you okay?” I asked as we drove out of Blake’s old neighborhood.