by TJ Klune
“It shouldn’t have!” he snaps. “It shouldn’t have.”
“But it did. I’m not perfect, Bear. I’ve fucked up. I know this. I make mistakes.”
“But you always talked to me about it,” he says. “Always. And then the shit started to hit the fan and I didn’t know about it. Do you know what it felt like, Kid, finding all those empty pill bottles stashed in your room? Do you know what it did to me, knowing how many hundreds of pills you’d gone through in the space of a few months?” He shakes his head angrily. “That killed me. And Otter. I’ve never gone through anything like that.”
“I’ve apologized for that,” I say coolly. “Many times. I don’t think I have it in me to keep apologizing. It’s over. I’m clean now.”
“I know.”
“I know it was stupid. I didn’t know what else to do!”
“It was because of Dom,” Bear says.
“That’s not fair,” I say hoarsely. “That’s not fair and you know it. Don’t you dare put that on him. He didn’t cause my mistakes. I did.”
“You know what I mean. It killed you, what happened.”
“It did. But that wasn’t all of it. It was a part. But not all.”
“And you think things will be any different now?”
I don’t know how we got to this point. It feels like we’re spiraling out of control. The anger in my chest is white hot, and I’m struggling to keep breathing. “You’re not my father. No matter how hard you try.”
“I know that,” he says helplessly. “But I am more than that. I am your brother.”
“Then why do you keep throwing shit back in my face? Why can’t you trust me on this?”
“Because I failed you,” he says. And with that, the fight seems to leave him. His shoulders slump and he looks down at his hands. “Because it’s my fault all of this happened. Everything you went through after we left.”
I sigh. “Bear. It wasn’t you. You know that.”
“Maybe if I’d—”
“There was nothing you could’ve done,” I tell him as gently as I can. “You or Otter. This was something that happened. It was something that ended. I got knocked on my ass, but I picked myself back up. You helped. You always do, and I don’t know if I could have done it without you.”
He shakes his head. “I keep thinking—” He stops as his voice breaks. “I keep thinking what would have happened. If I’d have lost you. I….”
“You didn’t.”
“It would’ve killed me,” he says, looking up at me. His eyes are bright. “If something had happened to you. If it does, if it ever does, I think I might just lie down right there and die. I can’t. Not without you. Not ever.”
“Bear—”
“You made me promise you. Do you remember? A long time ago, you made me promise that it’d always be you and me. Do you remember?”
I do. Bear and Otter had gone out one night. I was nine. Left with Mrs. Paquinn. It should’ve been fine. And it was, for a time. But then something hit me wrong. Bad dreams, bad feelings, bad something, and I was in the bathtub before I knew it.
I woke the next morning in Bear’s bed. Otter slept next to us. And I made him promise. Told him that if anything had happened to him, I’d die. Just like he tells me now.
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes burning. “I remember.”
“I promised you.” He’s shaking.
“I know.”
“I meant it.”
“I know.”
“Now, you promise me.”
I don’t hesitate. For him, I never will. “You and me, Bear.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
He takes a deep breath. I do the same. We let it out.
“Is it over?” he asks me.
I don’t know if it ever will be, but I don’t know what he means specifically. “What?”
“With her.”
There’s only one “her” he could mean. “Yeah,” I say. “It’s over.”
“She hurt you?” That fire returns to his eyes. That steel in his voice.
“No,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t let her. I….” I only hurt myself. I only allowed myself to feel that way. Nothing more. “She’s lost, Bear. And I don’t think she’s ever going to be found. Nothing’s changed. But….”
“What?”
“I met Izzie.”
His eyes widen. “Isabelle?”
I nod. “Bear, she’s… amazing. She’s like me. Smarter, even. I don’t know if I have words to even describe her.” I shake my head. “No, I take that back. She’s like us. She’s you and me.”
“We can’t….” He’s upset.
“I know. There’s nothing… bad happening. I don’t think. She wasn’t bruised. But Julie was never like that.”
“There’s more than one type of abuse,” Bear mutters, and I can’t help but smile.
“I told her the same thing. Julie.”
“Will she listen?”
“I don’t know. Bear, we can’t forget about her.”
“There’s not much more we can do, Ty. Julie would never let us see her.”
“She said as much. But there has to be some way, right?”
Bear shrugs. “We can ask Erica Sharp, but I don’t know how many rights siblings have when the parent is still involved. Even one with a history like Julie McKenna.”
“I promised Izzie too. Just like you.”
“What?”
“That I wouldn’t forget about her.”
“We won’t,” he says. “I just… I don’t know what we can do.”
We’re quiet then, each lost in his own thoughts, and even though I know it’s going to be tough, and it’s going to be met with resistance, I know my next step. I know what I have to do to make sure I can stand on my own.
Man, are they going to hate this. I already do.
“I love him,” I say. “Dominic.”
“I know you do,” he says quietly.
“Like you love Otter. It’s the same.”
He looks doubtful, but doesn’t say anything.
“There’s something there for me. It’s inevitable.”
“But he’s got Ben. Stacey.”
“Ben will always come first. I know that.”
“Do you?” Bear asks. “Kid, he’s a parent. A father. He was married.”
“And you were with Anna before Otter. The only thing that’s different is they had a son.”
“He’s special needs, Ty,” Bear says softly. “I love him, and he’s wonderful, but the amount of work that goes into that….”
“I’m not going to step in and be a parent,” I say.
“But you would have to,” he says. “Eventually. If it lasts.”
“Bear?”
“Yeah?”
“When did you know? That Otter was it for you?”
He seems surprised by the question. “I don’t know. I guess it was when he came back, though it went further than that. I know that now. There was always something there. I just needed to admit it to myself.”
“But what was the exact moment?”
He sighs. “After she came back. When she threatened us. When I broke up with Otter. The look on his face. I… his heart was breaking, and I never wanted to see that again. So when I was saying good-bye, that was when I knew. When I thought it was over.”
“The day we left for New Hampshire,” I say. “When I had to say good-bye to Dominic. That was the day for me.”
“Shit,” Bear says, his voice filling with disdain. “We’re the same.”
I snort. “Wow. Thanks for making it sound awful. It’s not that bad!”
“Are you out of your mind?” he almost shouts at me. “Do you know some of the shit I’ve done? If we’re the same, that means you’re going to do it too!”
I groan. “Please, do not elaborate on that. I don’t want to know.”
“But I’ve let Otter—”
“Bear! Oversharing! Unless you want me to tell you what Dom did—”
He pales. “You shut your mouth right this second.”
“Do you think Otter and Dom are talking shit about us?”
He sighs. “Probably. We’re slightly… neurotic.”
“I don’t know if that even begins to describe us.”
“We have to start somewhere.”
“Are we good?” I ask him.
He laughs shakily. “Yeah, Kid. We are. Though why do I have a feeling this isn’t over?”
“Because it’s not.”
“I’m not going to like this part, am I?”
“Dom said the same thing.”
“Then you’re fucked.”
“Probably,” I agree. “But I have to.”
“They need to hear this?” he asks, motioning his head toward the back patio.
I nod. “Might as well get this over with.”
He watches me for a moment, and it’s like looking in a mirror. He turns and heads toward the patio door. Before he disappears from sight, he stops. He doesn’t turn, but I can hear him just fine. “I’m proud of you,” my brother says. “More than I could ever say. No matter what happens, I want you to know that.”
“I know,” I say.
“Just remember your promise. Okay? Whatever you’ve decided to do. Please. That’s… that’s all I ask.”
“You and me. That’ll never change, Papa Bear.” And it won’t. I’ll never let it.
He nods, apparently satisfied. Then he’s gone.
And I wait for them to come back in, wondering just how I’m going to say what needs to be said to them. My family. My brother. My almost-father. The love of my short, albeit extremely complicated life. It’s going to be difficult.
But then saying good-bye always is.
28. Where Tyson Breathes
Six Weeks Later
WE WALK along that little section of beach, Dom and I. Hand in hand, because this is who we are now. And I think this is who we’ll be again, once I get my head on straight. It’ll take some work, but I’m motivated now. Not just for him. For myself.
I haven’t told him I love him, but I think he knows. He has to. I can barely keep it off my face every time he says my name. Every time his lips find mine. His skin against my own. The feel of my heartbeat under his hand. The play of the morning light against his bare back. The rough dark stubble along his cheeks. The way he smiles. The way he makes me smile back. He has to know. Even if I can’t find the power to say it, he has to know. I belong to him just as surely as he belongs to me. I’m gathering my courage.
The wind is cold this morning. The waves are white-capped and choppy. The sky is overcast, with bits of sun and blue poking through before being covered again. The fog is dissipating. The seagulls cry above as we walk through the sand. The tracks left behind are close together. Big ones and smaller ones. Like they’ve always been.
He says, This is going to be hard.
I say, I know.
And we walk on.
The wind whips up around us, curling up my legs and arms and through my hair. I huddle closer to him. He’s warm. My head bumps his shoulder. He smells good.
He says, You don’t have to do this.
I laugh. So you’ve said.
I just….
I know.
But—
Dom.
A boat, out in the sea. The sun catches its white sail and flashes brightly.
I’m on the verge of something here. A precipice. I’ll either fly or fall. It could go either way, because some days are still harder than others. There’s no magical cure, no matter how much I wish it. Bear cannot fix me. Otter cannot fix me. Dom cannot fix me. And it’s unfair to think any of them could. Only I can fix me. Silly boys. They insist I’m not broken. And maybe I’m not. Maybe it’s just something as simple as being off track. Maybe I’ll never get to be exactly how I want to be. Maybe I’ll crash and burn and everything I know and love will fall down around me. But I can’t know until I jump. And I can’t be who I want to be for them until I do. Is it selfish? I don’t know. Maybe.
Probably.
What if you don’t come back? he asks. He lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.
I will. I try not to let him feel that I’m shaking.
How do you know?
Do you love me? How odd, that. To be able to ask that aloud and to know the answer even before it’s said.
Yes.
That’s how I know.
The sand is warm beneath my feet. I step on a shell and it pinches my skin. Farther ahead, I see a kite flying high in the sky. It’s green. I can’t make out yet who’s flying it. They’re still too far away. I imagine it’s a little boy with his mother and that nothing else matters to them but this sunny day and the sun and the sky and the kite and each other. Those are what matter to them right at this moment. Those little, monumental things.
What did Corey say? he asks me.
That I’m crazy. And that’s putting it lightly.
You are. In the best way possible.
This is getting harder with every step. Only you would think so, I say, struggling to keep my voice even.
Probably, he agrees.
He wasn’t happy with me.
I don’t know any of us are, Dom says honestly.
Do you understand why?
I’m trying.
That’s all I ask.
We step over the spot where Bear and Otter were married. We step over the spot where Mrs. Paquinn went into the ocean. Where Bear waited for Otter and instead received a phone call. Where I found Bear that one day so very long ago, by himself, his arms curled around his knees as he thought it possible that everything was over. There is history here. So much history. I stop, just for a moment. Dom doesn’t question it. I breathe in. And out.
He kisses me then. Lingering and sweet. His nose bumps mine. He traces my cheeks with his thumbs. My heart races in my chest. There are stars. So many stars. They burn brightly. For me and him.
Eventually, he pulls away.
He says, I can’t—
There’s still time, I tell him. Not much, but enough.
We crest a small hill near our beach. I can see the kite fliers now. The kite is green and flies high. And it’s not my mother and I. Of course it isn’t. It’s a young boy and an older boy and the wind carries their laughter. The younger one cranes his neck back and watches the kite overhead. The older one watches the younger boy. He has a smile on his face. He drops his hand onto the little guy’s shoulder. They laugh again. I wonder if they’re brothers. I hope so.
They say hey to us as we pass them. We say hey back.
The older one says, We need to get a move on or I’ll be late for work.
The younger one says, Aw, man! Can’t we just fly it a little bit more? Look how high it is, Mal!
The older boy laughs. Yeah. It is. Okay. Maybe just a little bit longer.
Definitely brothers.
Bear’s not happy, Dom says.
He’s just worried. That’s what he does. They have other things to focus on.
Have they found a surrogate?
No. But they will. Now that Bear truly wants it, it’s only a matter of time.
Ben will miss you.
I wince. This is the hardest part. He and I have grown close. His routine….
Dom shakes his head. It’ll take time. You’re part of him now. It’ll be okay.
I hope he’s right.
It’s getting late. I don’t have much time left to say what I want to say. It seems petty now. Trite, even. After all this man has done for me, and for all he’s letting me do to find myself without so much as a cross word, there should be more. I should be giving him everything.
But I can’t.
One day.
For now, though, I hope this is enough.
Dom? Oh God. How my voice breaks on his name. How my throat closes.
He stops walking. Turns to me. He’s big. He’s so very big.
Ty, h
e says, and this is Dom. Dominic. That lost and lonely boy who found a scared, precocious Kid and showed him how to breathe again. I owe him everything.
I… just….
Say it, it whispers. He deserves to hear it from you.
I—
He kisses me. The rest of my words are lost in him.
And then he clutches me tightly. As if I’m just a little guy. As if I need protecting from the world around us. As if our hearts are breaking with each passing second. And I hold him back as if all of this is true and it’s the only way things will be.
It’s inevitable, after all.
OREGON TO New Hampshire
Three thousand miles.
It’ll take me four or five days. Maybe six, if I take my time.
And I might.
I wipe my eyes. Grip the steering wheel.
Moments later, I pass a sign:
NOW LEAVING SEAFARE! COME BACK SOON!
I ONLY make it to the Oregon/Idaho border. The tremors in my hands have gotten worse, and I’m having trouble breathing. I’m gasping for air by the time I throw open the door to the hotel room. My legs crash into a chair. I tell myself to breathe and breathe and just fucking breathe! It’s funny, really. Panicking doesn’t help when in the grips of a panic attack, but that’s all you can do. Panic is all I know. I slide over the lip of the bathtub and knock my head on the faucet, and stars, stars, stars again, and they are bright and loud and how they scream.
I stay in the bathtub for the rest of the night.
Near dawn, I fall asleep and dream of Dominic.
He smiles at me and I can breathe.
I SIT in the parking lot of the hotel in this little Idaho town whose name I don’t know. West is home. East is uncertainty. There are texts on my phone, saying things like The key is under the mat, you crazy SOB (Corey) and Don’t buy drugs from truckers unless they’re good drugs (Creed) and Make sure you call us when you get there (Anna). There are others and I read them all.
I save three of them for last.
Otter. I miss you already. It’s too quiet here. Call me when you can.
Bear. I miss you already. Call me every day. Maybe two or three times a day.
And the last. Dom. Four words, and I read them over and over again. A few minutes later, I save the message and head east.
