I snagged the half-empty bottle of Jager, and the second I cleared the crowd, I rushed for the back door, refusing to look back.
I stumbled outside into the darkness like a fool clutching that bottle and that phone.
I ran smack into the smell of salt and the sea and humidity, my ears full of the pounding of the waves that pummeled the beach on the shore.
Wind whipped through, battering my face, and I sucked for more of that air I couldn’t find as I treaded across the elevated deck and down the boardwalk toward the darkened beach.
I never slowed as my feet hit the sand.
Emotion crashed.
Fear overwhelming.
My breaths were coming in jagged pants.
A million thoughts zipped in and out.
Wanted to get up and go.
Fight.
Protect.
But to Dalton or Tennessee, I wasn’t sure.
I sank to one of the high banks of sand, balanced the bottle between my knees, and tapped out a message.
Stay the fuck away from her. You know the deal.
I unscrewed the cap on the bottle and tossed it back while I waited for the response.
Sucked it down.
Relished the promise of oblivion while sickness churned in my guts.
A second later, my phone buzzed again.
Exactly. We had a deal.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I roughed a shaking hand through my hair, realizing I was rocking.
Rocking with rage.
I buried the bottom of the bottle in the sand to keep it from tipping over and let my fingers fumble over the screen.
I needed to verify that she is okay.
I’d needed to check on her.
See her with my own eyes.
Tell her I was sorry.
Genny.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m so fuckin’ sorry.
Except I’d been saying it for years, and it didn’t change a fucking thing.
Two seconds later, the phone blipped again.
Your mom looks happy.
I choked over a sob that formed at the base of my throat. A knot of fury and desperation.
She doesn’t have anything to do with this. You do anything to her, and I will destroy you. End you. I promise you that.
I meant it in the most literal way.
My phone pinged again.
You don’t make rules. You suffer the consequences. I warned you I didn’t ever want to see your face again.
Yet he had no issues accepting the money I sent month after month.
Agony clawed across my flesh.
Pain.
Regret.
A ghost I was never gonna outrun.
Just stay away from my mom. I’ll give you anything you want.
I could almost taste the bitterness through the miles.
The hatred.
You haven’t even begun to pay for what you did.
Motherfucker.
Torment screamed, and I wondered if he could feel my hatred radiatin’ back.
Way it curled around my consciousness and seeped into my spirit.
Didn’t matter…I owed it. Would give it all.
Take care of her.
Both of them.
I reached over and gulped down more of the fire from the bottle like it could be a balm.
Medicine.
A cure.
It tore up my throat like a slosh of lava and landed in a pool of fury that boiled over in my belly and spilled into my bloodstream.
I could feel it speeding through my veins. Taking over. Filling up the void.
My sight came in and out of focus.
Delirium so close to taking hold.
I slugged back the rest of the bottle, and I welcomed the way consciousness ebbed and flowed. Darkness pressed into my mind and threatened to take me hostage.
It crawled over me like the waves crawling the beach.
Heavy and corrupt and foreboding.
Taking me under and swamping me in my regrets.
I wished I could go back.
Change it.
Stop all of it before it happened.
I slumped back onto the sand and let the darkness take me.
Knowing no matter where I went, how much money I had, how much success I had tacked to my name, that was where I was always gonna be.
Four
Rhys
Six Years Old
“Richard, Emily, Rhys, it’s supper time,” Mrs. Ramsey called from somewhere downstairs, her voice echoing up to Richard’s room.
All three of them scrambled to their feet from where they were building a fort. They went racing out the door to the staircase, each trying to get ahead of the other, their feet pounding on the hardwood as they trampled downstairs.
Way out front, Rhys jumped from the third step. He landed it without toppling over. He threw a fist in the air. “Heck, yes! Did y’all see that? I just nailed it.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t fall and ruin your face,” Emily scolded. She constantly was naggin’ at him and Richard that they weren’t followin’ the rules and were gonna get hurt.
“Pssh. Not a chance. I’m the strongest man in the world.”
“No, you’re not. My daddy is,” she retorted.
“Heck no, my daddy is,” he returned, just a tad louder.
She stuck out her tongue and stomped off to the kitchen.
He figured that meant he won, not that he didn’t think Mr. Ramsey was really cool and strong. But his daddy was just way taller and way bigger and he had about fifteen thousand muscles puffed out all over the place.