Sharpening His Broken Talon (Living Art Book 2)

by River Mitchell

  8

  Tate

  It had been a few weeks since Talon’s pain and history had been shared to the whole family. It was also the same length of time since most of us had seen or heard from Talon himself. Dane assured us all that he was okay and that he was getting there. Talon hadn’t wanted to see anyone; he was too embarrassed. We all understood. We didn’t like it, however. Fear, in particular, was finding it hard. The whole big brother thing had taken hold of him in a big way, and to see one of his younger siblings in so much pain wasn’t something that he was handling very well. But then none of us were.

  Tristan had become Talon’s shadow. Molly was suffering from crippling morning sickness and was always on edge. Dane was walking on eggshells, trying not to alienate his eldest son, while protecting his middle children and trying to shield his youngest. The man was exhausted and we could all see it. I had never felt more useless.

  My usually happy family was hurting, and I couldn’t stand it for another second. We’d had enough pain between us already. In fact, we have had more than our fair share. There had to be something that I could do. I was so tired of seeing the people I cared about hurting and in pain.

  Without really thinking about what I was doing, I decided that it was up to me to bring Talon back from wherever he’d locked himself away. How I was going to do it I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to let a little thing like not having a fucking clue stop me.

  A letter was my brilliant plan. I was going to use the form of communication he felt most comfortable with. Was I any good at putting pen to paper? Absolutely not. Was I still going to do it? Yes, sirree.

  Talon,

  Let me start this letter by saying how utterly useless I am with the written word. I am not even good at texting.

  I am obviously a very simple man with an equally simple mind. (In my defense, I have big fingers so texting was never going to be my thing.) But seeing as how writing is how you feel most comfortable communicating, I thought that I would give it a go.

  I am going to catch you up on all that has been going on since you have taken a little time. Hayley and JJ are filling in for you at the shop. And wasn’t that a treat, walking into the break room and coming face to face with the boob of the woman you see as a sister. Not only do I have your brother and Alfie trying to have a quickie, but now Hayley is whipping her bits out. My virgin eyes are reeling.

  What else can I tell you, urm… Oh yeah. Drake was tatting a client the last week when her husband walked into the shop with his bit on the side. Let me tell you, drama drama drama. Poor Drake, you should have seen his face.

  Mama Sheri has taught Lily how to strut. It is a sight to behold, let me tell you. Just wait till you see it. I literally fell off my chair. Alfie had a fit. It was so funny that Hayley said she even peed a little. (That may have been an over share.) He has now banned any and all supervised visits where he is not present. He makes me laugh so much, the perfect Ying to Fear’s Yang.

  The other guys are all good. James and Carter are the same as ever. Nothing much changes with them.

  Fear, well I could lie and say that he is all right and in some ways he is. But mostly he is worried sick about his little brother. He has the biggest heart of anyone I know, and he wants nothing more than to be able to take away anything that causes pain to those he loves. Yes, that includes you.

  I watched a movie once where this little kid asked his mom why an old neighbor was so fat. The mom replied, “She has to be big because she had such a big heart that she needs a big body to hold it in.” I think that is true of Fear and your family, too. You are all so big, tall, and strong because you have such an amazing capacity for love that you need to be so huge to hold all that love inside.

  You have to know that none of us think of you any differently. At least I hope that you would not think that of any of us. All we want is for you to feel safe with us.

  We miss you.

  Come home.

  I may even let you have a chocolate donut. (Probably not. I will try, but I cannot guarantee that I will be able to go through with it, but I am pretty sure it is the thought that counts.)

  Tate x

  After finishing the letter, I didn’t waste time questioning what I wrote or even why I’d written it. I drove straight to Dane’s and handed it over to Molly when she answered the door.

  Talon

  “T, this just came for you.” Molly handed me a letter.

  I took it from her, refusing to meet her eyes. I knew she and Dad were just doing what they thought was the right thing by sharing my past with everyone. I was able to recognize that after my reaction to Tate’s client, everyone would want to know what caused it. Everyone would want some sort of explanation. That didn’t stop the hurt I felt that they’d shared something that was not theirs to share. As if I didn’t have enough flaws out there that they could already see. They didn’t need to know any of that, and if by some strange reason I wanted them to know, it should have been my decision, my choice, to share something so personal. Mine, not theirs.

  I just couldn’t understand why they thought that sharing my darkest moment was in any way a help to me. I was so fucking angry, no matter how many days, weeks had passed; I couldn’t seem to let it go. I hadn’t spoken to any of them since Dad told me what he and Molly had told everyone.

  “Come on, T, I am sorry. I never meant for you to feel betrayed. Fear and everyone needed to know what was happening. They were worried about you.” Molly pleaded with me to understand.

  She could try and explain her reasons for doing what she did, but nothing could undo it. Everyone would always know. They would look at me and know that not only was I freak without a voice, I was now a weak and selfish fool who had given up and tried but failed to take my own life. Yes, I even failed at that. There was no way I could look at my brother and his family in the eyes again. I was so humiliated. My worst moments were now up for public discussion, and a shining beacon illuminated and broadcasted each and every secret I owned.

  A part of me wanted to be able to shrug all this off, to not care that they knew. But I did care and I couldn’t let it go.

  Molly sniffled and walked out of my room. She knew that I could hold a grudge better than anybody. She knew more than most what Emily had done and how it affected me. We lived it together. Yes, I got the brunt of her anger and words, but I think that Mom loved the pain it caused Molly when she hurt me. It was the power she held over everyone, the manipulations she used as another form of control was all part of a game to her.

  Shaking off thoughts about the bitch-mom, I read Tate’s letter. Reading the words was bittersweet. I loved hearing about what everyone was up to. But knowing that I was causing pain to more people only made the shit I was feeling a million times worse. I didn’t want that; I didn’t want anyone’s worry. I just wanted to be able to feel whole, safe, normal, and if I was feeling really greedy, maybe I could even try for happy.

  It was nothing but a useless wish. The guilt and the shame were too strong and had now become like a physical pain I lived with daily. I was so pathetic, I know. I just wanted to not be a fucking disaster.

  Tate,

  Thanks for keeping me updated on all the goings on, and Lily’s strut sounds like a must see.

  Please tell Fear not to worry about me and please tell him that I am sorry about any pain I have caused him or anyone else. I just can’t face everyone right now.

  It may seem petty to you, or it should be as simple as letting it go, but to me, my biggest and most painful secrets were shared wide to the people I most wanted to keep them from.

  Please understand; I am not trying to cause a problem. I would much rather forget it all happened. But now every time I look at one of you, all I will see is my pain reflected back at me. The humiliation and failures that I have tried to put behind me. I thought in moving here and meeting new family that I could start fresh. I would be able to let that part of my life stay buried. So having my dad and Molly tell you felt bi
gger than a betrayal; it felt as if they were sharing all the things that proved what I feel about myself is true. I am a failure, I am weak, I am a freak, I am a 23-year-old man who has mommy issues. I can’t find a job without being bullied and picked on like a child. I feel so pathetic and useless that I find day-to-day living a struggle.

  Believe it or not, I am a lot better now. I still have anxiety and hate meeting strangers. I slip when something triggers memories of my mom, and I sort of get trapped in a whirlpool of doubt. But since I moved here, I have really been trying. I had left the house and was really trying.

  I wish I could explain in a way that you would understand, but I just don’t have the words. My head and heart are so conflicted. I feel so alone. I want my dad and sister back. I want to not have to hide from my little brother because the pain in his eyes cuts me deeper than any pain that I could inflict on myself. But wanting that and forcing myself to forgive the people who should protect me and know the pain and damage it would do by sharing what they did are not connecting. I never wanted you, Fear, any of you to look at me and know that I was ever that person. Especially when I have worked so hard not to be.

  I think that you’re the first person I have spoken to in weeks. I didn’t mean to go on and on about me. I just wanted to explain the why of things. I know I haven’t done a very good job. I only hope that I have been able to help you understand my thinking a little. I am not asking you to agree with it, only hear it.

  Please ask Fear to forgive me, and tell him that I am trying to work this out so that I can be a better person and a part of this/your/my family. A person that you all can be proud to claim.

  I want to come home. I hope I can soon.

  Talon

  Leaving my room for the first time in what felt like forever, I left the letter on the kitchen table with a note asking someone to pass the letter on to Tate. I didn’t care who did it, but I hoped that someone would.

  I quickly retreated to my room, feeling a little lighter. It felt good to be able to talk to someone. And for whatever reason, I didn’t feel all the crap with Tate that I did with everybody else. I felt as if he saw the me I should have been. The me I would have been had it not been for her.

  Dad and Molly tried to speak to me for the next few days, but I still couldn’t bring myself to forgive them. Tristan was so busy with school and new friends that I haven’t seen him. I thought Dad and Molly might have been keeping him out of the house as much as possible. He has texted me on and off. I always replied but kept my response short and to the point. I knew that none of this was his fault, and I hated what seeing me like this did to him, but I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t bring him more pain. Tristan had a messed-up childhood enough because of me.

  I still had one secret, though, one that I wouldn’t share with anyone. This one was just for me, something that I could have and no one could steal, shame, or belittle. The only thing I could keep and enjoy all for myself. It was the only thing I could lose myself in and forget about who I was for a time. I could be anyone I wanted. Sure, it only lasted for three or four minutes at a time, but for those fleeting minutes, I was free. I was me, the me with no pain or doubt, the me with everything I ever wanted. Peace, happiness, and the feeling that I was like everyone else.

  That secret was the only thing that kept me going these past weeks. So when I found another letter from Tate pushed under my door, how good it felt took me by surprise.

  Talon,

  Thank you for writing back to me.

  It feels so good to be able to talk to you. I am not sure if I can put it into words in any way that makes sense, but being able to connect with you gives me the warm fuzzies. Yes, I am aware that I just wrote that down, but like I said, I am no good at writing down feelings.

  I also want to thank you for being so open with me. I wish I could find a way for me to erase all that makes you doubt yourself. I wish I could go back in time and be there for the little boy who needed a friend to stand by his side and say, “Ignore her, she is obviously a psycho crazy wacko.” I wish that said psycho crazy wacko had been a decent mom and you got to live the childhood you deserved. I wish you knew how loved and wanted you are. I wish so many things, so fucking many. But mostly I wish I could make you happy. Show you that smiling is not something that has to be forced or faked. It can’t take away past pain, but it can help you enjoy the moment you are in.

  None of us think less of you for what you did or had to endure. But what does piss me the fuck off is that you and the rest of this family are so quick to take blame and shoulder the guilt. None of what happened was your fault, none of it was your dad’s or Molly’s either. Place the fault where it should be, YOUR WACKO MOMMA. She tried to destroy the lives of all the Parker family while she was around. Please don’t allow her to do it when she isn’t. She treated her kids and husband like shit. None of you were at fault for her actions so don’t let her get away scot-free. This is her shit to carry.

  Anyway, enough about the wicked witch of nothing, (because let’s face it, besides making beautiful children both inside and out, which I am sure had more to do with your dad than it did her, what is she really good for? Molly described her best when she kept calling her the incubator.) I guess she could be the wicked witch of shitty mothers. From what I have heard of her, I bet she would just love that title. I hope I get to share it with her one day. You can be standing right by my side when I do.

  I spoke with Fear, told him what you wrote for me to pass along. He has a message for you, too. “I love you, little brother. Those words have been harder for me to say than any other for a long time. But with all the lessons that I have learned recently, telling someone that they are loved and wanted should never be held back due to fear. I won’t tell you that I understand, no one can, not having lived through what you have. What I will tell you is that I am here for you always. You will never have to face anything alone ever again. I won’t let you. It’s what big brothers are for. You have protected everyone for so long, time to rest, little brother; I will take it from here, let you catch your breath and relax a little. Come home soon, little bro. I will be here ready and waiting with my arms open wide.”

  Fear’s handwriting was almost non-legible, I thought it best that I write it out for him. The man is an artist when it comes to drawing and painting, but handwriting is not something that he ever mastered. All you have to do when reading that section is imagine a deep, surly voice saying it.

  Tristan came by the shop last week. He’s a tough kid. He has that huge Parker heart and annoying family trait of trying to pile everything onto his shoulders. He wants to fix it all and he is so fiercely loyal to you. I wish you could see how much that kid loves you and is proud to call you his big brother.

  Speaking of Tris, I know that you know his birthday is coming up. Mama Sheri has decided that what this family needs is a reason to get down and boogie (her words). Tristan’s birthday has given her just the excuse. She has now started planning the party of the century. I hope that you’ll be there; we both know Tristan would want you there. Oh, it’s a surprise party, so hush hush on that info.

  O.K. so I have bored you enough, and if I haven’t, think of all the fun the next letter is going to be.

  Write me back soon. I look forward to your letters and the warm fuzzies.

  Tate xx

  I couldn’t help but smile at his warm fuzzy comment. I knew exactly what he meant; I was not sure that I would describe it as a warm fuzzy, but I loved that he did.

  Some of the things he wrote struck a chord with me, and I could practically feel his frustration. It wasn’t the same as what I felt from Molly and Dad, but it was strong enough to be communicated from paper and pen directly to a punch in the gut.

  I couldn’t think about what Fear wrote. I wanted nothing more than to just go to him and feel his protection, but I was so stuck I just couldn’t take the first step yet.

  No, what was freaking me out was that I would have to face everyone, and a lot
sooner that I wanted to or was ready for. The thought of not going didn’t even enter my mind, because Tate was right. Tristan would want me there, and there was no way on earth I was going to disappoint him on his birthday—or ever, if I could help it.

  I would just have to suck it up and hide in corner or something. As long as Tristan saw me there, I might be able to get away with it.

  9

  Tate

  The party was tomorrow and Mama Sheri and Alfie were running around like a pair of chickens with their heads cut off. I would like to say that I offered my assistance and told them both to take a load off while I picked up the slack. But, of course, I did not; it was kind of funny watching these two lose their minds.

  “Did you confirm everything that needed to be confirmed?” Sheridan asked her son for the hundredth time.

  “No. I thought about it and thought to myself, I know what I will do. I will stand in front of my lunatic mother and pretend to call around to the twenty people she asked me to call. I won’t actually call them. I will have a little bit of fun and waste my fucking time and play pretend!” Alfie finished on a shout.

  “Who are you shouting at, Alfred? Hmmm, I know it better not be me. Your wonderful mother. The woman who carried you and pushed your melon-sized head out of my lady garden. Because let me tell you, my darling boy, you did not slide out of there singing show tunes, riding the rainbow of love. You took thirty-seven hellish fucking hours…”

  “Mum, I am begging you to not continue. I think we should up your meds. Maybe we should have you committed to a nice facility where they let you make things with pasta shapes. You would like that, wouldn’t you? All those pretty shapes. I promise to come and visit you once a year.”