by A. C. Bextor
Dad’s eyes reach to mine, strangled with sadness and regret. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Twenty-nine fucking years old, Dad. That’s how old I am.” Walking toward him, he takes a step back as though waiting for me to strike. I don’t and I wouldn’t. I do get in his face, though. I point to the paper sitting alone on the floor behind me as I explain what he already knows. “My mother blew her fucking head off, and you’ve never thought this information was something I should know?”
“Step back, son.”
“All this time I thought she left us. I thought she woke up one day and made a decision to find whatever happiness she thought she didn’t have.”
“She did.” His bullshit justification causes me to laugh.
“She sure did. You give her the gun? The bullets, too? Your permission?” I step back and turn around, avoiding his face.
I snatch the paper up from the floor right before he starts talking through his ridiculous excuse. “You were eight before you started putting pieces together. Most kids ask for their mothers so much earlier. You never did.”
“You didn’t tell me the truth and you’re blaming me?” I laugh again; the walls hold the sound, leaving my dad and me in a bubble of fury. “I didn’t need a mother, Dad. I had you to fuck me up all by yourself.”
“Hayden, please. Let me explain.”
I can’t hear any more of this. I need to process, to understand why a person so young would choose death over all the possibilities her life would’ve offered. I need away from the man who lied to me, over and over every fucking day since the day she ‘left.’
“I hate you. It should be your name on this paper,” I tell him on the way out the door.
I hear him call my name as I walk down the driveway. It’s a broken plea, a roar of anguish and despair that falls only on my deaf ears.
My mom didn’t leave me; she’s dead. I need a minute.
I take more than a minute to stop at the gas station, pick up not one but two bottles of the cheapest and strongest whiskey I can find, and drive around with it open, consuming shot after shot. My phone rings beside me in frantic tones one after another. Text messages and calls roll through the notifications. Lacey first. Followed by Travis, Ace, Raegan, and finally Bean.
Not a fucking word from my traitorous dad.
Guilt about what I’m doing behind the wheel has caused me to park down the street from my place, not ready yet to go in and explain to them about my fucking day of past-discovery. The crowds of cars cause me to look at the time and find it’s late; I’ve been out of touch for over seven hours. Lacey and the others must be worried sick.
I can’t face the truth yet, not out loud in front of an audience. It’s a sad truth which once said can never be taken back. My mother didn’t have the strength I always like to have thought she had.
Walking away from a child and a man she loved must have taken guts. If I think back to my college classes, I remember a debate about women who feel trapped and how once finding the courage to leave and making the decision to do so, found it strengthened them. All these years, although never knowing her, I looked up to her and her ability to find a way for herself, leaving behind a life she must’ve felt held her back.
My dad always told me she was a free spirit. She loved generously. After seeing his face and watching what little grief I would allow, I know her death was as much a shock to him as it is to me . . . all these years later.
Things make more sense now, though, especially Dad’s drinking. He used alcohol as a crutch; a self-medicating tool. He loved her and she chose death over a life with him. I can empathize with him, but he’ll get no other consideration from me. He lied and there’s no reason to forgive him for it. As far as I’m concerned, every other word from his mouth was a lie to cover another.
As my eyes grow heavy, I clean the mess I’ve made in my car and carry the trash with me as I walk unsteadily down my darkened street. The lights in my condo shine and silhouettes walk the interior rooms in wait. The porch light hits my eyes along with the realization of what I’m about to tell my friends.
My mom is dead.
The door swings open and I’m met with Sarah’s look of lingering concern. “He’s here!” she screams, loud enough to cause my eyes to narrow. Sarah doesn’t have an inside voice. If she did, I doubt she’d use it.
“Move.” I push her gently to the side and walk in the house.
Ace is standing next to Rae as she sits on the couch. Her face falls as I enter but she says nothing. Travis comes at me, Lacey behind him, and rushes me at the door. Sarah doesn’t say a word as the others take in my ragged appearance.
Once he notices what I’m holding, Travis speaks first with ire in his words. “You were out fuckin’ drinking?” He pulls the bottles from my grasp and my hand darts out to chase the one that’s not empty, but he’s too quick and hands it off to Lacey behind him.
“Hayden?” she says, clutching it in her small hand. I watch the bottle, not her, not wanting to see her worry. “Where have you been?”
“It’s been a long day,” I tell them, but it does nothing to quiet their questions. “Why the fuck are you all here?” I slur obnoxiously.
“Lacey called, said she couldn’t get a hold of you and you were with your dad.” Raegan stands, walking to me. “So, I called him. He was upset and didn’t explain but said we should talk to you.”
“I needed a few minutes alone.”
“Hayden, you were gone all day. You didn’t answer your phone.” Lacey’s at my side; her hand finds mine and creates the first connection I’ve felt to anything since what happened with Dad. I look down at her and pull it back.
“I’m fine.”
As I make my way to the couch, Sarah’s eyes grow wide upon my arrival and she moves off quickly, allowing me to lie down. The others remain quiet as I stare at the ceiling, wishing I had another drink.
Ace, finally tiring of my lack of explanation, stands directly over me. If I were sober, I’d make a joke. “Where the fuck have you been? You owe Lacey an explanation.”
“No, I really don’t.”
Coming closer, Ace bends to my face. As quietly as his anger will allow him, he whispers harshly, “Lacey’s been worried sick and out of her fuckin’ mind all goddamn day. If you don’t wanna share your drunken excuses with the rest of us, then share them with her. We’re leavin’.”
Ace grabs Rae’s arm as he heads toward the door. The fact that he’s in my face after the day I’ve had infuriates all the pent-up anger I’ve been holding onto since leaving my dad’s. Seven hours of frustration and fury come spewing out before I’m able to stop it.
“My mom!” I scream, releasing what I can and in essence giving it to someone else.
“What about her?” Ace matches my raised voice with his own.
Leaning up on my elbows, scanning the now quiet and nervous crowd around me, I continue to explain. “My mother shot herself in the head. She was only twenty. I wasn’t even a week old and she didn’t want me.”
“Oh, God.” I hear Lacey’s voice in my ear, even from across the room.
“Shit.” Sarah’s hand covers her forehead with one hand and reaches out to grab Lacey’s with the other.
“I’m a poster child for tragedy,” I claim to no one.
“What?” Ace hisses from the door he just shut. He’s not leaving now, I guess.
“I thought she left,” I explain. “I thought she didn’t want me and went to find something better. Instead, she blew her fucking head off. Blew her motherfucking brains out.”
“Hayden.” Ace’s voice is level. He’s processing what I’ve just told them.
“Dead,” I repeat.
“Hayden,” he repeats with a calming tone. “It’ll be okay, brother. Just . . .”
“Can you imagine the mess my father had to clean up after that?” I say this in a jovial tone, one they’re all used to because that’s what they would expect from me. “Who wakes up one day a
nd says ‘fuck, it’s a good day to die’?”
“Christ, stop talkin’!” Travis yells after hearing a dark sob spill from Lacey.
“How much forethought do you think she had before she did it? I mean, tell me . . .” I start, directing my eyes to the ceiling. “How many ways are there to die? Pills are peaceful, almost a chicken’s way out. You could hang yourself, but then if the rope breaks . . . that’s not pretty.”
“Fuckin’ shut your mouth, Hayden!” Ace bellows from across the room. Finally, he’s losing patience and feeling something other than the pity I didn’t ask for.
“She could’ve loaded herself into a car and landed against a tree. Or maybe . . .”
I hear Sarah’s voice hit the room; it’s a tone from her I’m not used to hearing and it stops my rambling frustration. “Hayden, please. I can’t hear any more. Please.”
“I got Lacey knocked up.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Ruined her life, most likely. She’s young, too. She has years to fucking learn to hate me. She will; isn’t that right, Trav? Isn’t that what you predicted anyway? Nothing good comes from having a liar’s baby.”
“Jesus Christ, Hayden.” Ace again, trying to control the cycle of words I’m spinning. I don’t listen.
“My mom’s dead. Lacey’s ruined. Who’s up next?” I ask, spreading my arms wide and looking to the ceiling, barking a laugh I don’t feel. “I mean, really. Bad things happen in threes, don’t they?”
Looking to my side, I see Raegan staring at me with a look of absolute shock, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Rae, you ever think about your past and how different you’d be today if you knew then what you know . . .”
I don’t register until it’s too late that Ace has one hand around my throat and the other clutching my shirt as he lifts me off the couch and slams my back into the wall next to it. I don’t hear the screams of terror around me as he pounds his fists into my face. I don’t notice because everything was dark before, and thankfully now it’s fading to black.
I wake up a few minutes or hours later; the reality hitting each bruise softly. The cold rag Lacey’s tracing gently along the edges of my face as she looks down at me with sadness feels anything but soothing.
“What have you done?” she whispers once I try to open my eyes.
My right lip is cut; I feel the pull when I try to talk so I stop. My left eye is matted shut; it won’t move without pain so I don’t try. Both my eyes stay closed as Lacey’s voice continues.
“I’m sorry, Hayden,” she tells me. “I can’t imagine how you must feel.”
“Like shit,” I utter, running my tongue over a loose tooth. Oddly, I think to myself that I’ve never had a loose tooth I remember. It’s random, but it’s what I’m thinking.
“I thought Ace was going to kill you.”
“I thought he did.”
“Here. I brought you some water.”
I start to sit up and take inventory of the room. Lacey and I are on the floor; she had my head in her lap. Small smears of what I assume are my bloodstain the wall behind us. Thinking better of it, I lay my head back down in Lacey’s lap, move my ear to her stomach and listen.
“Is that your heart beat or the baby’s?”
“Mine. I don’t think you can hear the baby’s like that.”
The room is quiet. The darkness allows me to blanket the emotions I’m trying so hard not to continue to examine. I’ve done enough thinking; I want to stop.
“What’s under all that beauty, Hayden?” Lacey asks, running her finger over my eyebrow.
All I know to answer is, “Pain, Lace. So fucking much of it.” Running my hand over her stomach, I admit, “I fucked up.”
“You did.”
“How’s Rae?” The last I remember before going black was Raegan’s broken face as I struck her gut with my words.
“She’s upset. She’s the one who pulled Ace from you, though. I’d never seen a man so set on murder. If she and Sarah wouldn’t have been here . . .” She stops talking, realizing what Ace could have done had he wanted.
The room is quiet; the others must have left in a hurry to get away from me. I would’ve done the same. “Travis go, too?”
“Yeah, went with Rae.” Of course he did. This offers some relief to me. Changing the subject, I ask, “Lacey, how do you know you’ll be a good mother?”
“I don’t,” she says quickly. “But until last night,” she smiles, “I thought I had you to help.”
“Yeah, about what I said . . .”
Lacey drops the washcloth and moves her fingers to trace the side of my mouth left uninjured. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean it.”
Once she lifts her hand and starts stroking my hair, I continue. “You’re right. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what the fuck I was saying. I was angry and wanted someone else to feel the pain I was feeling.”
“I know.”
I sigh in relief. She gets me.
“I don’t want to ruin you,” I tell her.
“Do you think I’d let you?”
“Not on purpose, but it’s possible. I’ve already changed you.”
She sighs heavily, her stomach moving with her exhale. “I’m stronger than you give me credit for, Hayden. I’m not scared of you.”
“I’m scared of you.” I’m scared of the way she makes me feel; unsettled and out of control.
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I’m tired, Lacey.”
“Should I take you to a doctor?”
Other than being sore and feeling the dawning effects of a hangover, I’m fine. “No. I’m tough.”
Her eyebrows raise and she gives me another smirk. “You looked it. I think before Ace knocked you out, you were almost ready to beat his ass.”
“God, you’re mean.”
“No, really. You had him nearly pinned and ready for the count.”
“You’re awful.”
“You’re an idiot.”
I laugh and my face hurts when I do. Luckily, other than my lip and eye, it doesn’t appear Ace went for any other part of my body.
Reaching up, I run my thumb down Lacey’s cheek. The mark of tears is gone, but her eyes are still full of expressive sadness. “I wouldn’t ever hurt you on purpose. Do you believe me?”
“Yes, Hayden.”
“I’m so tired.”
“Sleep. I’ll stay here with you.”
“I’ve got a lot of whiskey to sleep off,” I tell her with a small yawn.
“Hayden, I’m due next month. You don’t have that long to sober up.”
I turn my face to her and find her smirking. Even after all I’ve done, she’s still able to offer me that. “Shut up.”
“Child’s answer,” I hear her say before I close my eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lacey
I WOKE THIS morning with a pain in my chest. Call it a new mother’s protective instinct, but I also fought with the urge to contact Hayden’s dad and get answers to the many questions I’ve struggled with all night.
Hayden survived Ace’s anger. Ace didn’t have to hit him hard and from what I saw during the commotion, he didn’t. It was enough to knock him down and make him bleed, though.
My baby daddy bruises like a peach.
Ace’s actions to shut Hayden down were justified. Hayden shouldn’t have brought anyone else into his frustration, and bringing up Raegan’s past was like tossing a match on a barrel of gas and not expecting it to explode in your face. It was on him and after talking it through with him last night, I sense he knows this. It didn’t stop me from wanting to take care of him, though. After receiving the news of his lifelong deception, he was entitled to a few days to process. We didn’t give him that and should have. Instead, we pressed before he was ready.
As I walk into the living room expecting to find a broken man, I see the pillow and blanket next to the wall where I left him last night. He’s not there. I check the window and notice his Land Rover isn’t parked wh
ere Travis had parked it last night before they made their hurried exit.
Hayden’s not in the kitchen or the bathroom. He’s gone.
I grab my phone from the charger and call his number, but I get no answer. I send a quick text asking where he went and it’s returned immediately with, Need some space. Thank you for last night. I’ll call you soon.
Time alone and space is never a good idea for anyone who’s processing devastating news. I start to tell him this, but think better of it and turn to dress instead.
After eating, showering, and straightening the mess from last night, I get in my beat-up car, which hasn’t been driven in months, and head to where I know, even before going, I shouldn’t.
The door answers and he, looking broken and lost, answers right away.
“Can I come in?” I say with a snap I should’ve reeled in. Too late.
“Lacey.” Brian moves to the side and lets me pass without saying anything. A quick check of the house tells me he’s alone.
“Hayden’s not with me,” I tell him. He relaxes and follows me inside, offering a seat in the living room with his hand.
“I didn’t anticipate he’d be coming anywhere near this place any time soon, but stranger things have happened.”
“You mean me being here,” I state boldly.
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“Hayden’s gone. He told me he needed space. I need to know where that space he’s looking for could be.”
He shakes his head. “I have no idea.”
“Ace hit him a few times last night.”
Brian stands, angry and bitter. “Why? Hayden was dealing . . .”
“Hayden wasn’t dealing, Mr. Flynn; that was the problem. Hayden didn’t get home until last night. He’d been drinking and he was out of line. Way out of line.”
Brian sits again and braces his elbows to his knees, running his hands wildly through his thick, dark hair.
