to honor him, because he doesn’t deserve it.”
I turned until I was fulling facing him and we were both on our sides. I reached a hand up, snaking it around his back and letting my hand glide back and forth on his shoulders. Whether to comfort him or me, I’m not sure. “Maybe it’s not about honoring him. Maybe it’s about saying goodbye to that chapter of your life and opening a new one. One free of his influence.”
The bitter sadness in his expression gutted me. Like he couldn’t even begin to picture a life where he wasn’t not haunted by his childhood abuse.
“I’m never going to be free of his influence. People in this town think I provoked him. They think I enjoyed knocking around my aging father because I had a temper problem. People still look at me like I’m an out of control twenty-year-old who likes beating on my dad. They don’t give a shit that I’ve built an empire, or brought high-paying jobs to town. They only see me as an angry kid.”
“They don’t think that.”
“Yes they do! My mom begged me not to tell anyone how abusive he was to us. So I kept my mouth shut. And everyone thought my dad was just the sweet, loving father he pretended to be.” His eyes shut for a moment, frustration seeping through, tightening in his shoulders. And then he looked at me again, imploring me to understand. “He kept pictures of us in his fucking wallet and showed it off to his work buddies. Then he’d go home and scream about how worthless I was, or throw his dinner across the room because it was cold. Never mind that he was two hours late because god forbid he come home sober.”
I didn’t know what to say. But Landon wasn’t done.
“I destroyed my own reputation by protecting his. I let people think he was a good person, so the only conclusion to the idea of me giving him a black eye just had to be that I was some out of control punk. And you know what? My mom still protected him. Still took his side. And now he’s dead and she’s acting like she’s going to miss him? Fuck that. Fuck all of it. I’m not going to his funeral, or his wake, or his fucking grave. And that’s the last of it.”
His voice had risen the longer he talked, and his chest heaved with anger. It hummed beneath his skin, crackling with an energy that begged to be let loose. In this moment, I knew what Annie had seen when she said he was looking for a fight.
“Alright. Alright,” I said. “You’re not going. Let’s just forget about it, okay?” I leaned against him, resting my head against this chest. Moments ticked past, his breathing slowing as he reeled his emotions back in. I wasn’t sure what I wanted—for him to behave like everything was fine, or for him to yell and scream until he let out all of the truths bottled up inside.
He ran his fingers absent-mindedly through my hair, twisting it around his fingers and then letting it slide across my back. I closed my eyes, relishing the feeling. “For what it’s worth,” I said, as I settled against him. “I never saw you like that. Like a punk kid who started shit with his dad. I know you’re the victim, not the instigator.”
“I’m not a victim,” he said, vehemently. “I stopped being that by the time I turned twelve.”
“I know,” I said.
And I did. Landon Hill possessed too much power and strength to ever be a victim.
I just had to convince him that the battle was over.
Chapter 3
I awoke to the sound of running water, and the light streaming across his giant bedroom. We’d never bothered to close the curtains, so I sat and watched the grey clouds march across the sky. I laid back against the pillows, pulling the sheet up to my shoulders and listening to the sounds of him in the other room.
I didn’t know what to expect when he walked back in here. How I’d convince him he should go to the wake, if only to support his mother.
After a few moments of studying the clouds, the water shut off and Landon walked back into his bedroom, a pair of boxer briefs snug on his hips.
“You’re up,” he said. He sounded normal, like this was just any other morning and not the morning of his father’s wake.
“I am.”