TinderElla: A Modern Day Single Dad Fairy-Tale (Fairy Tale Series Book 2)

by Eddie Cleveland

Sure, he was a Canadian, so not exactly a SEAL, but we’re all brothers in arms. I sat up straighter when he talked about how his addiction started after he returned from duty. One thing he said really stuck with me, “Addiction is tricky, it starts for one reason. In my case, I needed to get out of my own head sometimes. However, even though it starts because of one particular cause, it always continues for another. It morphs. Takes you over. Until you’re not using because of shit you experienced or saw anymore. You’re using because you’re an addict.”

  That hit home for me.

  I look up at my mother, she’s watching me closely. How many nights of sleep have I stolen from her? How much worry, how much anguish, and how much sorrow have I exchanged for her rest?

  “Mom, I really am doing well,” I finally answer. “I didn’t think I needed help when I first came, but I know I’m in the right place now. It’s working,” I smile. “My name is Jacob Armstrong and I’m an addict,” I smile weakly, trying to make light of the confession.

  “That’s wonderful to hear, Jake. Not that you’re an addict, of course, but that it’s working. I’m so happy to hear that it’s working. I’ve been praying for you.” Tears brim her eyelids and she clasps her hands together in front of her heart.

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  “Don, did you hear that? Jake’s getting better.” She urges my father to participate, but he just juts out his jaw in silence. “Donald, will you stop sulking and speak to your son,” she raises her voice, clearly feeling as annoyed as I am by my father’s attitude.

  “I’m not sulking. I have nothing to say to him,” he spits out the last word like it burned his tongue.

  “Donald Armstrong, I told you not to do this,” my mother leans into him as she hisses her words quietly. I know that the idea of our family making a scene horrifies her.

  “I’m not doing anything,” my father pouts. “I told you I never wanted to come here. You can sit there and act like everything’s all better just because he says he’s an addict or whatever. But, that don’t make a lick of difference to me,” his voice is starting to fill the room.

  “Keep it down, Don,” my mother scolds him. I look around the room, and other families are trying hard not to notice our family scuffle.

  “Why? Why should I keep it down, huh? So, people in this room don’t know what a failure our son is? So, they don’t find out how much he humiliated our family? How he got caught with cocaine by the police and he decided to run away, like a coward?” A wave of crimson is rising up his neck and splashing onto his cheeks as his voice keeps getting louder.

  “I’m sorry for that, Dad,” I admit. “I’m ashamed of what I did, there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think about it. Trust me,” I try to jump in.

  “Oh, you’re sorry? Well, then that makes it all ok, doesn’t it? Did you hear that, Bev? He’s sorry. All fixed.” He claps his hands together like he’s brushing of dirt.

  “Don,” my mother drops her head from the now staring eyes of other families in this room, “stop.”

  “No, I won’t.” Dad hops to his feet abruptly. “I won’t sit here and act like everything is ok, just because he’s sorry. Or act like it’s all water under the bridge just because he wants a participation medal for being here. It doesn’t change anything!” He points in my face, “It doesn’t change what you did.”

  I jump to my feet and stare my father down as anger licks at the back of my throat. “How about instead of pretending that what I did was ok, you just pretend not to be such a shitty excuse for a father. Try that on for your first acting lesson, ok Pops? Because I might not be winning any awards for the shit I’ve done, but you aren’t winning Dad-of-the-fucking-year anytime soon either.” I jut my finger back in his face as my mother hangs her head in the crossfire.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He spits back, “You gonna give me some sad sack story about how this is all my fault? That you have some kind of Daddy issues. Save it.” He rolls his eyes hard.

  “You can do that, sure,” I snarl. “You go ahead and stand there like you’ve got any room to look down your nose at me, but you know that you aren’t a good father. Just ask Cameron.” I bite back. “You think a good father only shows love and respect to their kid if they follow the path they want? You think a good dad is only there for their kids when they’re succeeding? You don’t care about me, you never did. Cameron used to joke that I was the golden boy, and what a joke it was. I was the golden boy alright, as long as I lived my life to make you happy. You wanna laugh and say I’ve got ‘Daddy issues’? You’re right, I do. Because I never grew up with a real father, I grew up with a tyrant who just wanted me to live out your failed dreams.”

  My father’s face is absorbed by crimson and he balls up his fist, “You tryin’ to say I’m the failure here?”

  “Yeah, you are. You failed at living your big, wild, military dreams and then you failed at being a dad. I guess I learned from the best.”

  “Hey! Hey! What’s going on here?” A staff member enters the room and races over to us. My father and I don’t move. We’re frozen in rage, staring each other down.

  “If you two can’t be civil and sit down, we might need to end this visit,” the man with wire-rimmed glasses and a comb-over informs us.

  “No need to end it, we were already done,” Dad doesn’t blink or unlock his eyes from mine. “Let’s go, Bev. We’re leaving.”

  “Don, please. Can’t you just sit down and talk this out. We came all this way,” Mom protests weakly.

  “I said, we’re leaving!” Dad roars.

  Mom stands up and runs her hands over her dress pants, pulls her purse on her shoulder and forces herself to hold her head up.

  I don’t watch as my father storms out of the room. He doesn’t deserve any more of my attention. Instead, I look at my mother. I hate that she’s crying. I hate that, after everything, I’m still causing her more pain.

  “I love you, Jake,” she whispers and gives me a hug.

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  “He’ll come around. I know he will,” she tries to reassure me.

  “Sure.” I answer, giving her a quick squeeze. Mom follows my father out into the hall and out of the building.

  “No he won’t,” I mutter to myself. “He’ll never change.”

  18|Holly

  I try not to watch how happy the other patients are with their families as I make my way down the hall to my room. The smiles. The hugs. The love. Did my family ever have those moments? I know we did. Back before we fell apart, with a hole torn into our hearts that would never heal. Back before Heather died.

  I fight to keep the tears locked up inside, threatening to spill from my broken soul. I’m tired of feeling this way. This guilt. I want to let it go. I need to let it go.

  Then do it.

  The thought flits through my mind like a butterfly flickering in and out of a warm summer sky. Mesmerizing and beautiful.

  I stop in front of the door to my room and lay my hand on the handle. No. I let my fingers slide off the door knob and my arm falls to my side. I’m not going to go wallow in self-pity anymore. I’m not going to hide from the things upsetting me. My parents didn’t show up, and yeah, that sucks, but it doesn’t mean I’m dead. It’s time to stop letting other people control my feelings, letting them control my life.

  My mind flashes to Knox, the man who controlled everything I did for five years. He told me what to eat, what to wear, who I could talk to, when I could talk. The worst part was: I let him. I never tried to escape, even when he started beating me, even when he did worse than that. I told myself it was impossible to get away.

  And I was wrong.

  I stand straight and push back my shoulders, turning on my heel, I make my way back up the hall. If I could stand up to him and start over, then I can face anything. I’m not hiding anymore. I’ve already made it through hell and lived to tell the tale. If that didn’t break me, nothing can.

  I march down past
the common room full of patients and their loved ones. This time, when I let my gaze wander over them, I don’t feel sad. My time will come. I’m not sure when or how, but I know in my heart that I’ll be happy again. This too, shall pass. The Alcoholics Anonymous mantra that we’ve repeated in here a hundred times, pops into my head.

  In the meantime, I need to figure out what to do with myself right now. I look around the facility and all the public spaces are filled up with visitors. I don’t want to hide in my room, licking my wounds. However, I don’t want to sit down next to any of the families like some kind of creeper either.

  Shuffling my feet along the tile floor, I make my way to the mail room. I know I don’t have any mail, but it gives me a place to go. That’s all I’m looking for right now.

  “Hey there, I’m Kyle,” a short, pudgy man with wiry hair smiles at me. I can’t help but stare at his clothes. His sweater looks like one of those joke ones you see people wear to ‘ugly sweater parties’.

  “Uh, hi,” I manage to answer.

  “Can I help you with something? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” his brown eyes twinkle cheerfully.

  “It’s Holly, I just… wanted to check on my mail.” I finally pry my eyes from the clash of colors and patterns on his body.

  “Like the sweater, huh?” Kyle answers.

  “Isn’t it for Christmas?” I blurt out.

  “No, why do you think that?” His face erupts into a smile and I can’t help but feel like he wears this thing just to mess with people.

  “It’s covered in penguins,” I point to the design.

  “You can wear penguins any time of year,” he pulls down on the hem of his gaudy fashion choice and smoothes his hand over the wrinkles.

  “In May? I mean, I guess so. But, it’s red and green,” I laugh.

  “So are flowers,” he answers with a straight face. Now I’m starting to wonder if he really does think this is a year-round sweater and I’m offending him.

  “I guess you’ve got me there,” I smile. “I like it,” I lie.

  “No you don’t,” Kyle meets my eyes and I blush. I guess I did offend him after all. “It made you smile though, and that’s worth it to me. If I can wear a dorky sweater and make someone’s day in here a little brighter, then I don’t care how silly it looks,” he explains.

  “That’s really nice,” I laugh, relieved that I haven’t insulted his tacky taste.

  “So, Holly, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need a last name to check your mail.”

  “Sure, it’s Evans,” I answer.

  Kyle whirls around and searches through one of many filing cabinets lining the back wall. “Evans, ok, just a sec,” he runs his hand over the drawers until he reaches the one for names starting with E. I watch as he flips his nubby fingers through the folders in the drawer until he almost reaches the back. “Evans!” He sounds excited as he pulls out a couple of envelopes, “Holly Evans. Here we go, you’ve got mail today.”

  “I do,” I peer curiously over to the mystery letters in his hand.

  “You sure do, now I just need you to sign this sheet,” he pulls a clipboard from the top of the filing cabinet with a pen attached to it by a string, “to mark that you’ve gotten them.”

  “Sure,” I sign the paper and slide it back to him. Wrapping my fingers around the edge of the letters, I tingle with excitement. I can’t remember the last time I got mail. I don’t mean in here, I mean in life. I forgot the little rush you get when something unexpected is sent to you.

  “Thanks!” I cheerfully call out as I start back down the hall to my room. At least this time I’m not going to drown in sadness.

  “No problem, and Holly?” Kyle calls out and I turn back to look at him in his ridiculous Christmas sweater once more.

  “Yeah?”

  “Keep on smiling,” he answers.

  “I’ll try,” I beam at him and then hurry back to my room.

  I peer down at the envelopes, one of them is clearly from my father. The return address on it makes it easy to figure out. The other is more mysterious. The address to send it here has been printed on a sticker and stuck to the front and there’s no return address to be found.

  I rush into my room and close the door with my foot, quickly making my way over to my small bed. My fingers make quick work of tearing the edge of the first envelope open and my heart beats quickly as I pull the handwritten letter from my father out.

  Dear Holly,

  I hope this finds you well. It’s been so hard to have you suddenly appear back in our lives only to have you disappear into rehab for two months. I understand that it’s important for your recovery, and that’s all that truly matters. I know that in time, when you’re clean and back home, the communication you aren’t allowed to have with us now will fade into a distant memory. It’s just hard right now.

  I’m writing this because I needed to tell you that we received a notice from Edgewood inviting us to Family Day. Unfortunately, it came really late in the mail and we weren’t able to book travel out of the country with such short notice. It kills me to know we could have had time together, and I hope you understand that I would’ve come if I could.

  I’m rooting for you, Holly. I know you’re going to get the help you need and live the life you’ve always deserved; one filled with joy and success. I love you and will be there for your graduation day.

  Sincerely,

  Dad

  I pull the letter to my chest as tears fall down my face. For once, they aren’t tears of sadness or fear, but happiness. They didn’t just decide not to show up after all. Well, at least my father didn’t. I scan his words again, but notice there’s no mention of my Mom. I won’t focus on that, though. Not right now. Right now, I’ll take the small victories where I can get them. Knowing that my father didn’t choose to leave me here high and dry on Family Day is feeling like a pretty big win.

  I wipe away my tears and put his letter down on my bedside table, smiling. I stare at it in a happy haze as my fingers tear through the next envelope. Maybe things are really going to turn around for me. Once I get out of here, maybe I can get a fresh start. My future feels bright for the first time in over half a decade.

  I glance down at the typed letter trembling in my hand. The smile evaporates from my face and my eyes grow wide. I drop the paper to the floor and clamp both of my hands over the silent scream formed on my lips. All the feelings and flames of hope are extinguished by a tide of fear gripping at my heart.

  I was so wrong. I have no future. If this is true, I won’t even have a present. I look down at the note in horror. Simply typed, in the middle of the sheet are two lines:

  I told you I would find you.

  I’m going to kill you.

  19|Jake

  I stomp into my room, slamming the door behind me with a clap of thunder. Pacing the empty floor in front of my bed, I try to shake off the anger rolling through my blood.

  Who the hell does he think he is? Why did he bother to travel up here from Colorado, just to sit like a sullen lump for our visit?

  Rage boils up the back of my throat as his face, tattooed with disappointment, flashes through my mind. I hammer my fists down onto my desk with a thud, but the anger is still there. “Fuck him,” I growl at my empty room.

  This must be what Cameron has felt like his entire life. The only time my father treated him right was when he spent some time in the Army. As soon as he retired to pursue his dream of a football career, my father’s pride shrivelled up into dust. Dad retired as a General, nothing to sneeze at. You’d think his own accomplishments would be enough for him. However, he’s never been happy unless his sons were following his path, more like marching down it, in uniform. Even being in the military wasn’t really ever enough for him, he always wanted me to be Special Forces, pushing it hard. I’m guessing he wanted to live the adventures he never had in the regular force through me. Too bad my cocaine addiction didn’t fit into his ‘choose-yo
ur-own-adventure’ model.

  Looking out my window at the lush, green forest surrounding my side of the building I finally feel a calm begin to soothe me. He’ll get over it. That much is true. As long as I clean up and stay with the SEALs, that’s all he’ll need to move on. The night I ran from the cops and left my brother with a bag of coke was a black eye. Not just for my father, but for my relationship with Cameron too. Black eyes heal though. If my brother could forgive me, then Dad will eventually too.

  The sliver of good news that my mother delivered pops up from my memory. My big bro got drafted by the NFL! I always knew he’d make it. I can’t wait to get out of here and go watch one of his games. Just goes to show that following Dad’s dreams aren’t worth shit. Cameron broke free, did his own thing and now look at him.

  Pride for my brother swells up in my chest and a smile spreads over my lips. I wish I could call him and congratulate him.

  THUNK!

  My fists ball up at my sides as I whirl around to see who’s coming into my room with the grace of a rhino. The tension eases from my body and my fingers unfurl as my eyes lock on Holly’s impossible sexiness.

  Wait, her eyes, they look glassy. Her face is drained of the usual bright glow I’ve looked forward to seeing every day. She looks like a corpse, standing in my doorframe with one fist balled up in front of her and her muscles motionless.

  “What’s wrong? I thought you didn’t want us visiting each other’s rooms anymore?” I look over her shoulder, out into the hall for possible staff members. Holly doesn’t move. It’s hard to tell if she’s even breathing. I rush over to her and ease her inside my room, gently closing the door behind her.

  “What’s going on?” I prod. “Holly, please tell me. What happened?” My mind begins to race through worst case scenarios as she stares blankly ahead.

  “He found me.” Her pale lips barely move as she finally whispers a clue.

  “Who found you? What do you mean?” I look down at the fist she’s still holding out in front of her, frozen in time. Between the cracks in her fingers I can see she’s holding something. A paper.