Coast (Kick Push Book 2) (The Road 3)

by Jay McLean

  Dad sighs. “Becca. Don’t make a mound out of a molehill.”

  I tap my phone again, the words repeated. “I don’t care what you said, but whatever it was, you’re wrong. I care about him, Dad. And maybe that’s not enough for you, but he’s going through enough as it is. You need to apologize to him.”

  “You don’t know him like I do. He’s going to carry your words with him long after you leave, long after you realize you regret them. You have to apologize to him, Dad. And soon.”

  “What makes you think I regret it?” he asks.

  “Because I know you. You’re just like him. You’re hot-headed and you don’t think before you speak. You see everything in one dimension. You know everything. Until someone makes you realize that you don’t.”

  He shakes his head as he looks down at me. “You’re wrong, Becca. And he’s right. I’m not like him at all.”

  —Joshua—

  I don’t know why Martin’s standing at my door, looking into my apartment like he has every right to. “I waited until the lights were out assuming your son was asleep. Is he?”

  My jaw clenches, but I nod anyway.

  He lifts a six-pack of beers between us. “You owe me nothing, but I’m asking anyway. Just hear me out.”

  * * *

  I should wear a watch. That way I could at least tell you how long I sit at the bottom of the stairs, sipping on a beer offered by a man I might possibly hate. If he’s waiting for me to speak, he’ll be waiting forever. I don’t have forever. Besides, he’s the one who knocked on the door, and if silence is his way of hearing him out, then he has shit backwards.

  “You think she could still be in love with you, Josh?”

  My mouth opens, but the words are lost and I feel my heart sinking. “She sent me a letter,” I murmur as if it’s somehow going to be enough.

  Martin quirks an eyebrow. “A letter?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did the letter say?”

  I shrug and avoid his gaze. “It’s irrelevant. I don’t know why I said it.”

  He sighs. “Are you messing with Becca’s head?”

  “No!” I snap.

  “I think you are, even if you don’t realize it.”

  I suck in a breath and hold it there—in my chest—sitting right next to my battered heart.

  After a while, he says, “Becca’s stronger now, Josh. Stronger than she’s ever been.”

  I speak quickly, not giving my mind time to think. “If you honestly believe that me existing is making her weak in any way, then I’ll leave her alone.” I roll my shoulders, trying to find courage in my words. “I think, at the end of the day, you and I both want the same things. We want Becca to be happy. Regardless of what Becca’s probably told you, I do love her. I’ve always loved her. From the first moment I saw her until now, I haven’t stopped loving her. I haven’t been able to move on—”

  “It’s been—”

  I laugh once, cutting him off. “Two years. Trust me. I know.”

  “And you haven’t—”

  “Not once,” I interrupt. “Swear on my father’s grave. I can’t.”

  He leans back, running a hand through his hair, but he doesn’t speak, so I add, “I realize I’ve made mistakes, horrible ones, but I’m human. I’m flawed. I’m working on those flaws, but I’ll never be perfect. I know that. So if it’s those mistakes that prevent me from living the rest of my life without the person I’m insanely in love with, I’ll wear that.”

  “I appreciate that, Josh. Really I do,” he says, his voice soft. And I wonder what his angle is, what he could possibly expect from me. “But Becca’s so fragile and…”

  I ball my fists, and he must see it because his words die in the air, and he waits for me to speak, both of us knowing my words come from deep frustration and regret. “It’s like you think I don’t know that.” I exhale loudly and try to keep my emotions in check. “She had these nightmares. She’d jerk in her sleep and wince like she was in actual physical pain. She’d cry, even when her eyes were shut tight, somehow tears would still come. And that was on a good night. Other times she’d scream, but it was silent, you know?” I turn to him, making sure he sees me. “Because even though she could speak before”—I swallow the pain of the past—“it didn’t always work.”

  “You don’t need to…”

  I ignore him and keep going. “She’d bite down on her thumb so hard it would leave marks. She’d kick at me, hands covering her head, and she’d plead for it to stop, and the only way I could do it was physically.” I disregard the knowledge of who I’m speaking to and tell him exactly how it is, exactly how I feel. “She wanted me to take away her emotional pain by replacing it with physical pleasure. And I’d do it. For her. I’d regret it as soon as it was done, but I wanted to make it stop just as much as she did. I didn’t know any other way.” My breath leaves me in a shudder, the ache in my chest making it almost impossible to inhale and painful to exhale. “And somewhere along the lines, she needed me and I wasn’t there,” I say, my voice lowering. “Truthfully, I wasn’t anywhere. I was lost. She needed me and I was lost. She broke because of me. She tried to kill herself because of me. So you don’t need to tell me how fragile she is. Believe me, I was there. I fucking know.” I gasp for air, wishing the words back, but it’s too damn late. “I used to walk around with a chip on my shoulder… poor me; single dad at seventeen, completely alone and forgotten. But then I’d look down at Tommy in my arms, a baby boy who was mine and mine alone, and I’d wake up every day grateful we had each other. Swear, I thought it was impossible to love anyone as much as I love my son.” At the thought of Becca, air fills my lungs, slow and steady. “Then Becca showed up and she completed the gaps in my life that I didn’t even know were missing. And I’d give anything to go back in time, back to even before we met. Because I know I’d see her in ways the others hadn’t. I’d do anything to fix her. I’d take care of her the way she deserved to be taken care of. Not like how her—” I choke on a sob and push it down. “I don’t understand how a parent can do that to their child. How anyone can do that to a kid… I look at my son and I see the way he looks at me, the way he relies on me to guide him through this world and—” I’m crying, tears falling fast and free. “Her mother should thank God she’s dead, because if she wasn’t, I’d fucking kill her myself. And I’d make her hurt a thousand times worse than she ever did with Becca.”

  I realize Martin’s watching me with a look on his face I can’t decipher. He takes a sip of his beer, and then another. And another. We go through an entire beer each, a comfortable silence somehow keeping us together until he finally says, “I’m lost, too.”

  I bite my tongue, confused by his words. “We’re all lost here, sir.”

  “Yeah,” he says through a sigh, kicking out his legs. “But I feel out of place. Like I have no purpose being here. Becca—she at least knows Chazarae. She lived with her for a while. You’ve been here for years. I only spoke to her a few times on the phone, met her once when I picked up Becca from that ‘Personal Development’ place and took her to St. Louis, and then again when we came here for her birthday. But I don’t know her. I mean, yeah, she’s my mother, but… I don’t know her at all. And I see Becca getting all worked up, and you fighting her battles for her and I know I should be feeling something but I don’t know what it is…” He takes a sip of his beer, his head dropping forward. “It’s like Becca all over again.”

  I sit up straighter, light finally shining on my confusion of his actions. “What do you mean?”

  He’s quick to respond, as if he’d been waiting to tell someone, to lift the weight off his shoulders. “I mean, when I got her I had no idea what to do. I had a daughter who needed help and so I tried to do everything a dad was meant to do. I gave her a home, gave her support, but she’s not a little girl who needs her hand held to jump over puddles, you know? She was eighteen, a woman, and the majority of the time she was a strong one. Now, she’s even stronger, so
I don’t really understand what my purpose in her life is. I feel like I should protect her from all the bad in the world, but you’re right, I was eighteen years too late and she’s already experienced them all.”

  “I didn’t mean what I said. I was angry and this whole thing with Chazarae…” I trail off.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have pushed the wrong buttons. I’m just having a hard time with everything. Add to that the guilt I feel because I should be working, making money, but if I’m at work, then I can’t be here, and right now I don’t know which one’s more important. All that is going through my head, and then we get told that Chazarae needs medical support and all I can think about is how much it’s all going to cost—”

  “I said I’d take care of it,” I cut in.

  “I know,” he says reassuringly. “And I appreciate it. I think with everything else going on, you being able to do that just added more fuel to my fire.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I stay quiet.

  He finishes his beer and starts another one. “Fifty years I’ve been around. Thirty of those I spent working the same job. I never thought I’d have a family, never really wanted one, to be honest. I blew my paycheck whenever I got it, never had a home, just crashed at friends’ houses until I was back at work. Thirty years and I never really thought about anyone but myself. And then I get told about Becca and St. Louis and…” He swallows loudly, his beer almost empty again. “You ever feel like the world just stops, Warden?”

  I stare ahead, letting his admission settle in my mind. “Yeah. All the time.”

  “That’s how it felt when I saw her picture. I knew that she was mine, and I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t turn her away. So I quit, gathered whatever savings I had, sold whatever I could, and rented that house near WU. I couldn’t go back to work, not until I knew she was okay mentally. Even now I’m taking these small jobs because I don’t want to be gone too long in case she needs me, which she hasn’t for a while, but what if she does and I’m not around?” He’s talking in circles, trying to justify every decision he’s ever made. I know, because I do the same whenever it comes to Tommy. “College ain’t cheap. Neither is all the camera equipment and computer stuff she needs, and the rent for the house—” he breaks off suddenly, his eyes widening. “I don’t want you to think that I’m asking you for money, that’s the last thing—”

  “I know,” I tell him, my mind spinning, “We’re just talking, right?”

  He laughs once. “I know this doesn’t excuse the way I treated you.”

  “I get it, though.” I find myself matching his position, legs kicked out, beer in hand, like it somehow makes this a man-to-man conversation. “You thought you were protecting her. And I know you probably don’t want to hear it, especially from me, but I understand what it’s like to be broke and to do everything you can for your kid. When Tommy’s mother left, I went running to my parents. They slammed the door in my face—something they regret, and something I’ve forgiven them for. But I would’ve never gone to anyone else. Every man, even at seventeen, has a level of pride, and then it doubles when being a man comes second to being a father. But even though I never asked, help was offered. My best friend, Chazarae, my uncle—they all came through when I needed them the most. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know it’s hard to ask for help. But there’s nothing wrong with accepting it when it’s offered. Especially when your kid’s involved.”

  19

  —Becca—

  I have no idea what Dad said to Josh that made Josh speak to him the way he had. But I do know they spoke, and the next morning right before Dad left, Josh stopped him in the driveway, handed him something and said, “You didn’t ask.” They hugged. Honestly, it was a little awkward for me to watch, so I can’t even imagine how awkward it was for them to do it. Once the cab drove away with Dad, Josh turned to me and he smiled the same crooked smile that sets off all the butterflies and said, “Let’s take care of your grams.”

  So that’s what we do. We get the résumés for the in-home nurses and spend a couple days with Ella going through them all. We call the ones who seem like a good fit and organize interviews with them. Grams falls in and out of sleep constantly. She still doesn’t know who I am, and I’ve accepted that. It hurts, but the hurt lessens with every look, every smile I gain just from being around her.

  The next few days after that go by in a blur. We interview nurse after nurse until they all blend together in a sea of credentials and experience. Ella sits with us through all of them while his aunt stays with Tommy in the apartment. Josh finds it necessary to remind me constantly that even though he has the power of attorney, I’m as involved in making the decisions as he is. We struggle, a lot, overwhelmed with the importance of the choices we have to make and aware of the time ticking by, getting closer and closer to the day I have to go back to St. Louis.

  Grams has a lot of visitors, some she remembers, others she doesn’t. Josh’s aunt and uncle are a constant. Blake and Chloe come by once and take Tommy for the night. The one person I wasn’t expecting, though, was Chris, and going by the look on Josh’s face when he shows up, Josh wasn’t expecting him either.

  Chris steps out of his car, or truck, or something in between the two. Whatever it is, it’s black and looks like it costs more than my dad’s house. He reaches inside and pulls out a bouquet of flowers approximately the size of the ozone layer. So maybe I’m exaggerating, and I’m also being a judgy mcjudgepants, but it’s not like I have a single reason to be happy to see him. He stops in his tracks when he sees me sitting on the porch with Tommy, then raises his free hand. “I’m just here to see Chaz,” he says in his defense.

  I realize I’m glaring at him, my brows knitted, and a snarl pulling on my lips.

  Josh stands between us, looking from one to the other. He doesn’t get a chance to speak before Tommy leaps off the porch steps and tackle hugs Chris, who smiles down at him. “Uncle Chris!” Tommy shouts, the happiness in his voice deflating my anger.

  I stand, too, and slowly make my way to him, my pride being pushed away with each step I take. “I’m sorry about your grams,” Chris says. He grabs ahold of the flowers, and only then do I realize there are two bouquets. “I got these for you,” he says, handing me one. “I know it’s not much, and it doesn’t make up for the way I treated you last time—”

  “Last time!” Tommy shouts.

  Chris laughs at him, then goes back to me, a sincerity in his eyes that knocks me back a step. “My grandpa had dementia,” he tells me. “Would it be okay if I visited your grams for a while?”

  A knot forms in my throat at his admission, and I nod while accepting his gift. I turn on my heels and lead him toward the house, smiling sadly at Josh when I catch him watching me.

  Grams doesn’t recognize him, but Chris doesn’t seem at all surprised by that. Still, he sits with her, and he talks about Josh; something Grams is familiar with. I set our flowers in vases—a new set Josh went out and bought the day after she threw one at Dad’s head. Chris stays by her side until she tells me she’s tired. He steps to the side and allows me to settle her into bed. “Thanks for visiting…” Grams says, her voice tired. “What’s your name again?”

  “Chris.”

  “Right. I’m sorry. I’m so tired and it’s hard to remember—”

  “I understand,” Chris cuts in. “Though, I’m pretty sure you don’t need any more beauty sleep.”

  Grams giggles like a schoolgirl. “He’s charming,” she tells me. “Just like my Joshua.” And then she’s asleep, her breaths even and her mind at peace, no longer wandering through a life she’s trying to piece back together.

  “I really appreciate you letting me see her,” Chris says from beside me, his fingers skimming Grams’s hand.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  He sighs. “Did Warden ever tell you about the time the team was here?”

  I sh
ake my head and look up at him. He deserves that much.

  “Yeah, we were here for an appearance for the new storefront, and she invited us all over for dinner. First home-cooked meal the boys had had in a long time. She wouldn’t let us stay in a hotel, said her guest bedrooms were fine. Four boys, two beds… but we couldn’t say no. She had us going to church with her the next morning and then out with Warden working on her yard the rest of the day. She paid us with rose petals in lemonade. It was gross, but we took it like champs and downed it.”

  My eyes narrow in confusion.

  He adds, “Looking back now, it was probably the beginning of her illness…”

  I suck in a breath, my chest tight. “You said your grandpa…”

  Nodding, Chris looks away and says, “My mom took care of him, had to watch his decline like you and Josh are doing now. I was young, so I didn’t really understand it all. I think I was Tommy’s age when he passed. I don’t remember much of it, but I do know that it took a lot out of my mom. Almost ruined her.” He clears his throat, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Your grams was like a grandmother to us all after that visit. She’s important to the whole team. And so is Josh.” He turns to me, his eyes right on mine. “Josh—he’s kind of the soul of the team, Becca, and that makes you the heart of it.”

  * * *

  Josh looks up when I step out of the house later in the day, closing the door behind me, but he doesn’t say a word, just continues to land trick after trick on his skateboard. His hands, his legs, his entire body moving, outlined by the light inside the open garage. I sit down on the porch steps, now only half of what they used to be because of the ramp, and I watch him. I watch the grace, the skill, the passion he has in what he does. Occasionally, he’ll land wrong, curse under his breath, and then try again. And again. And again. An hour goes by. Then two. Neither of us saying a word. Then he finally stops, grabs his board and takes it with him as he sits down next to me.

  I type on my phone and show it to him. Why’d you stop?