Dear Life

  I haven’t been to work in a few days, blowing my uncle off every time he calls to find out why I’m not slaving away behind the grill. His voice messages are full of threats that hold no weight to me now, because I hold the key to my freedom. Money.

  Amber liquid drips down my throat, my body feeling numb with each swallow. I welcome the burn, loving the way it briefly dilutes the constant ache ricocheting through my body.

  What a dump. This apartment, such a shithole. But there was one person who actually liked it, because she could see the good in everything. She saw it as a place of freedom. I see it as a prison of solitude, a place I’m trapped with my demons. She saw my bed as one of the most comfortable sleeps she’s ever had. I see it as a rectangle of regret. My kitchen, she saw as a showcase to watch me in my element. To me, it’s an embarrassing temple where I shattered the heart of the only person I’ve ever cared for.

  The glass bottle touches my lips again and I tilt back just as a battle of fists rams against my front door, startling the hell out of me so whiskey gets all over my shirt.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, setting the bottle on the coffee table in front of me and looking toward the front door. Someone is about to regret disturbing me.

  On wobbly legs, I make my way to the door and when I open it, I’m greeted with a meaty fist to my face which sends me stumbling backward until I fall flat on my ass. Disoriented, I try to make sense of what just happened and that’s when I see my uncle, hovering above me, shaking his fist out.

  “Get up.”

  “Fuck you,” I spit out, the taste of blood filling my mouth.

  Shaking his head, he shuts the door behind him and stares down at me. “It’s funny how sometimes I can be so wrong about people.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I move my jaw around with the assistance of my hand. Nope, not broken, just sore as hell. If I wasn’t so shaky on my own legs, I would fight back, show my uncle he can’t rule me anymore.

  “When you came to my house with one pathetic suitcase in hand, but hope for a change in your eyes, I thought you would actually make something of yourself.” Motioning around with his hand, he continues, “I guess I was wrong. You’re just ending up like your sorry excuse of a father, no future, no aspirations.”

  “Fuck you. I have aspirations.” I stand up, stumbling into the wall as I catch my footing. I take a moment to right myself before continuing. “I want so much more than this dump of a life but you’ve been holding me back, making me pay off my servitude.”

  “No, son, you’ve been holding yourself back.”

  “Don’t call me, son. You haven’t earned that right.”

  “Like hell I haven’t. I fed you, gave you somewhere to sleep, gave you opportunities to pursue your interests. I gave you a hell of a lot more than your father ever did.”

  “Yeah, with a side of fucking guilt and a handful of IOUs.”

  “Nothing is ever free in life, Carter. You have to work for it. I may not have known what I was doing, raising a kid that wasn’t mine, but I did my damnedest to instill the value of a strong work ethic. And do you know why? Because I didn’t want you to end up like my brother; a loser druggie with nothing but a needle in his hand and a bounty over his head. Did I mess up along the way? Of course. Did I blame you for the lack of freedom I had? Often. But I won’t apologize for making you work hard, for never giving you anything for free, because you now know the value of your efforts. You know what it takes to keep your head above water.” Looking around again, he says, “At least I thought you did.”

  Mentally knocked over, I find my way to the couch and try to gather my thoughts. My entire life I’ve thought of this man as a retched human being, out to make my life miserable in return for ruining his. And yes, there may have been some subconscious payback on his part, but from what he’s saying, his intent was to make something of me, and fuck if that doesn’t mess with my liquor-soaked brain.

  “You couldn’t have shown a little compassion? A little understanding for a little boy who lost his parents?” I ask.

  “I don’t know compassion, Carter. My father was an abusive alcoholic and my mother was nowhere to be found. Compassion doesn’t hold a bone in my body.”

  “I was scared,” I say meekly. “I lost everything I knew and had to live with a terrifying man who wanted nothing to do with me. I went to bed every night, hiding in my closet, afraid you were going to do something to me with your volatile temper. And when I was old enough, tall enough to hold my own, you turned me into a bitter man. You speak of value and ethics but where’s the value in showing humanity?” I point at him, throwing emphasis behind my words. “You could have stepped up, and not just by taking me in, but by showing an ounce of kindness, interest, love.”

  His hand propped on the counter, he nods his head, his eyes cast down. “I could have,” he says softly. “But I’m not that big of a man, and I’m not afraid to admit it.” He meets my gaze. “But you are. That girl you were with, she means a lot to you, doesn’t she?”

  “She did,” I admit, a bitterness left on my tongue.

  “Did.” His lips press tightly together. “Because of me? Because of what I said?”

  I want to say yes, but I know it’s not the truth. “No, it’s because of me.” Then I pause. “And maybe a little of you. I crushed her. I’m incapable of letting anyone in because I’m too bitter.” I’m the bitter man you created. “Like you.”

  “You are who you want to be, Carter. I choose to be bitter, to live my life in solitude, running my restaurant, and never stepping outside of my element. But you shouldn’t. You have potential. Why do you think I pushed the Dear Life program?”

  “Because you wanted me to be a fucking line cook for the rest of my life. Wanted the money you’d spent on me back.”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t care about the money. I was never going to take it from you, but I wanted you to work for it, to learn how to save. As for the job, you needed to know what it was like to work for someone else, to know that you’re not a know-it-all punk who is God’s gift to the whisk. A little humility goes a long way, Carter.” Mind-fucking-blown, life around me crumbling into a million pieces of the unknown. “I enrolled you into the program because I saw a darkness in your eyes, the kind of darkness I saw in your father’s. It scared me. You were teetering on the edge of giving in to that darkness and throwing away the potential I see in you. I couldn’t bear to witness that, so I took action.”

  “I can’t . . .” My fingers sift through my unkempt hair. “Why the fuck didn’t you just say something?”

  “Because, you’re a know-it-all punk who wouldn’t take a word I say to heart. Like I said, I’ve never parented before, and I sure as shit didn’t have a good example. I didn’t know what I was doing. You’re lucky you were fed and clothed growing up. But I cared, Carter, I still do.”

  “That’s why you came to my apartment and knocked the fuck out of my jaw?”

  “It’s called knocking some sense into you. I take that term literally.” There is a small smirk on his face, and it’s the first time I can remember my uncle ever joking with me.

  It’s weird.

  “So what now?” I ask, confused by the entire conversation. “Do we shake hands and become best friends?”

  “Not if I can help it.” He chuckles this time and eyes the money on my couch. “Your loot?”

  “Yeah. I was planning on paying you back once I got my ass off the couch.”

  He nods. “Looks like I don’t have to feel guilty about firing you then.”

  “You’re firing me?” I ask, not really too surprised.

  “Yeah, I don’t put up with no calls, no-shows at my restaurant, and I sure as hell don’t partake in nepotism. Your shit is outside your apartment door in a brown box along with your last paycheck.”

  Like a crushing blow to my chest, I sit on the couch and try to think about what the hell I’m going to do now. Yeah, I have twenty thousand dollars sitting on my couch
but that isn’t all mine.

  “Listen. This is your defining moment, a crossroads where you can decide to follow in your father’s footsteps, or finally take what I’ve instilled in you and make something of yourself. That money you owe me, it’s a wash. You owe me nothing but a chance for me to see you actually do something with your life. I don’t know if I’ve earned this, but I want you to make me proud. Take that money and create your freedom.”

  I rub my forehead, not quite sure I can comprehend everything. Find my freedom. I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I picked up a kitchen knife, but I’ve felt stifled by the man who’s now setting me free. And now that I have it, I have no clue which way to go because the one thing I desperately want is no longer in the picture.

  HOLLYN

  “Wow, look at that cactus.” Daisy’s face is plastered to the Uber car window while the driver shoots off facts about Arizona. Did you know the official state necklace of Arizona is the bolo tie? Yeah, neither did I. But I do now.

  Things I also learned while on this trip:

  Daisy lost her virginity to Carter the night before they broke up.

  Carter is the epitome of every male with commitment-phobia.

  And I don’t want to be here.

  Spending time with someone who’s never traveled outside the city they live in can put a new perspective on how you see things.

  And no matter how many times I tell myself I’m going to have fun today, waves of nausea continue to hit me hard.

  “Thanks for inviting me, Hollyn. Getting away was just what I needed.”

  I can’t help but ask. “No word from him?” She shakes her head, her once semi-happy mood vanished by one simple question. Good job, Hollyn. I guess misery loves company. “No one has seen him at the restaurant. He hasn’t come in.”

  “And he didn’t show up at the meeting. Do you think he’s okay?”

  Now she’s worried. I’m a really good friend.

  “If I know Carter like I think I do, I would put a very large bet on him drowning his sorrows.”

  “I don’t like that,” Daisy states and then looks out the window some more. “I don’t like that at all. It seems like a giant waste of time and extremely pointless. What does that kind of drinking do for anyone?”

  “It helps them forget,” I say absentmindedly. “Sometimes, as humans, we don’t know how to handle the loops of the roller coaster life takes us on, so we silently turn to our vices for support; drinking, drugs, binge eating. There is no physical reason to do so, no actual justification for our actions, besides wanting to temporarily dull the ache within our bruised and brittle souls.”

  “Is that what you did when you lost Eric? Did you drink?”

  A sardonic laugh pops out of me, my eyes transfixed on the stadium up ahead. “Yeah, I drank. I drank a lot, Daisy. I drank so much that I had to get my stomach pumped one night. My mom and Amanda spent months taking care of me, making sure I went to work and then picking me up after, watching my every move so I didn’t drop everything and let my life disappear from my weak grasp.” Damn it. Why do I always feel so ill when I talk about this? “Pain comes in all shapes and sizes and affects us differently.”

  “Do you want to be dropped off at the front? Or is there a special entrance you need to be brought to since you’re Mr. Barnes’s friends?” Sandy, the Uber driver asks.

  Somberly, I answer, “The front is fine. Thank you, Sandy.”

  I gather my purse and wait for the car to come to a stop. After we thank Sandy and step out of her Ford Explorer, I’m hit with sounds and smells of a sporting event. Rowdy fans, food vendors, excited children, and stadium staff milling about, all gearing up for the nine innings waiting behind the brick and stone walls.

  Silently and stiffly, I make my way toward “Will Call” hoping Daisy is following closely behind. I go through the motions of getting our tickets, going through the gates, and finding our seats on field level, right next to the dugout. On the field, the grounds crew meticulously line the grass and dirt, players carefully stretch and warm up, and the fans beg and plead for an autograph. Not far from the dugout, Jace is talking with one of his coaches, holding his glove at his hip and pulling on the brim of his hat.

  Until this moment, it’s never really soaked in that Jace plays baseball professionally. I know Jace outside the ballpark and now, seeing him dressed in his uniform, looking confident and in his element, it reminds me of someone else.

  Eric.

  The way he holds himself.

  The way his hat sits low on his brow.

  The way he jokes around while tossing a ball.

  I’m transported, my senses on overload, my memory blackening everything around me.

  There is it, Eric’s smirk, the first thing that captured me about the man. Standing across from me, tossing a football. His swagger so sexy. His smell so intoxicating. That deep voice of his calling my name.

  Hollyn. Hollyn. Hollyn.

  “Hey, Hollyn. Are you okay?” Daisy shakes my arm. “I’m sorry if I was rude back in the Uber. Is everything all right? You look like a ghost right now.”

  My eyes are trained on Jace’s, his eyes now fixated on mine, a concerned look on his face. Right now, I can choose two options, fight or flight. With memories clogging my throat, I only have one option.

  I’m not ready.

  I can’t do this.

  It’s too soon.

  “Hollyn, where are you going?” Daisy calls out.

  I don’t stop. I flee. Even when I bump into someone holding a tray of nachos, I keep retreating to the past, leaving my future in my tumultuous wake.

  JACE

  “Three errors and two strike outs. Not your best showing tonight, Jace.”

  Reporters hover around my locker, microphones crowding me, camera lights brightly flashing in my face, my coach walking by, giving me a knowing look. Fuck, yeah, I would say it wasn’t my best showing at all.

  “Just working out the kinks, I’ll be ready by the season opener.” I give them the generic response.

  I’m not about to spill my guts to these media leeches that the woman I wanted sitting in the stands, supporting me, took off before the first pitch was even thrown. I’m not about to tell them that deep in my soul, I know I’ve fallen for a woman I won’t ever be able to have because she will forever be undeniably in love with her late husband. No matter how hard I try, how much I support her, there will be no action, no words that will cause her to change. Even if your heart rests in their hands, there’s no use trying to help someone move on when they don’t want to.

  And fuck did she just grab it without warning.

  “Can we count on another rookie-of-the-year-type season from you?” one of the reporters asks.

  I towel off my head and hang the terrycloth over my shoulders as I answer. “I can’t make any predictions about what’s to come this season. All I know is my training regimen, my connection with my team, and my mental game has all stepped up this year.”

  The mental game part is a drastic lie, but they don’t have to know that.

  “You say your mental game is intact,” a reporter says off to the side. Of course they would pick up on that. “Could you tell us if giving your baby up for adoption is going to affect that?”

  The fuck?

  Searching the crowd for the person who asked the question, I say, “Where the fuck did you get that information?”

  A man off to the right looks around, nervous from the venom spitting out of me. “Uh, I have sources.”

  Plowing through the reporters, I grip the man by the collar of his shirt and seethe at him. “What fucking sources?”

  “Jace.” Coach comes running toward me and pulls me away from the reporter who adjusts his tie and smirks at me.

  “I’m going to take that as a yes,” the reporter assumes.

  “Get him the fuck out of here,” I shout, being carried off by my coach and a few players now.

  “Barnes, shut your damn mouth and get in
my office now.”

  Not my best day, my best showing, or my best temperament.

  Another fine from the front office, a threat of sending me back down to the minors, and two hours later, I’m pulling my duffel bag out of my car and walking up to my apartment. If I wasn’t going through a living nightmare, the threats my coach sent my way would most likely take action. He doesn’t put up with much. This entire day wasn’t how I planned it. I wasn’t expecting to play like shit, almost plow a member of the press through the locker room wall, and go home alone. And yet, all those things happened tonight.

  The walkway to my apartment is dark, but when I reach my front door, a familiar figure sits at my door.

  Hollyn.

  Curled up, her legs tucked under, and her hair draping around her face, she looks defeated. She can’t stick around for the game but she can come to my temporary apartment after. I want to be the man she needs, the one who’s going to hug her and be understanding, but that man is nowhere to be found right now. Instead, I’m a volatile and angry man with the need to get drunk.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, looking for my house key. “Where’s Daisy?”

  From my voice, she stands abruptly. Carefully, she tucks her hair behind her ear and shifts in place.

  “She’s taken care of, don’t worry.” She takes a deep breath. “I want to apologize.”

  “For what, Hollyn? For giving me the feeling that you actually might want to move on? That maybe, there is a shred of hope for a relationship between us, that maybe, just maybe you might be falling for me like I’ve fallen so fucking hard for you?”

  “Jace . . .” Her trembling chin briefly pulls my attention away from being mad, but only briefly.

  “Why did you leave, Hollyn?”

  Watery eyes meet mine. “It was too much.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s life for you, Hollyn.” Frustrated, I grab the back of my neck and look down at her. “Life isn’t some walk in the park where you can make wishes on dandelions. Life is work. Life is a journey of triumphs and sorrows. Of successes and failures. Of learning experiences and growing opportunities. You can’t sit back and expect different results when you’re not doing anything to change.”