too busy and had more important things to worry about than his hairstyle. And it wasn’t like he would ever be considered clean-cut. He often wore his black hair shaved down close to his head, which revealed the very intricate and detailed black and gray mandala image that was tattooed on one side. In fact, the design that covered my arm was a mimic of the design he had on his head. I would never forget the look of pure and unfiltered joy on his usually solemn face when I asked him to draw it up for me. It was one hell of an eighteenth birthday gift.
My father had always stood out in a totally different way than I did.
He shut off the tablet and got up. He walked to the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers. It was way too late to drink, but I didn’t tell him no when he handed it to me. He leaned on the counter next to me, watching my every movement carefully.
“You’re too young to have a plan for everything. Some shit you just have to let happen and live through the experience. That’s how you grow. That’s how you learn to adapt when the plan falls apart.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and gave me a hard look. “There are going to be people who move in and out of your life all the time, son. They’ll be important one minute and not so much the next. You have to let them come and go so you can figure out the ones you need to keep close and hold onto, and the ones you need to let go of. I would’ve let your mother slip right through my fingers if I hadn’t had anyone else to compare her to. I knew she was different because the way she made me feel was different from anyone else just passing through. It might make me sound like a dick, but it’s the truth.”
I sighed and took a drink from my bottle. “I think I figured out that there are some incomparable people who come into your world, and when you try to hold anyone else up to them, it’s bound to be a failure. It’s going to leave someone hurt in the end.”
My dad cocked his head to the side and stared at me. “How many times did you end up limping off the field after taking a hit that would land most kids in the ICU?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “More than I can count.”
He tilted the top of the beer bottle in my direction. “Exactly. You play knowing there’s a chance you or someone else might get hurt. That’s just part of the game. It’s also part of life. You keep playing until you win, even if it hurts sometimes.”
I was quiet for a minute because I was a little pissed he used a football analogy on me. That was my trick, but somehow he did it better than I did.
I sighed again and put the half-empty beer down in front of me. I was already tired, but now I felt exhaustion creep in. “Aston is a good girl. We’ve been friends for a long time. She deserved better from me. I didn’t start our relationship for the right reasons.”
“Maybe. But you treated her well when you were together, and you now know she ended it for the right reasons. Because you were friends, you should be able to have an honest conversation about those reasons.” My dad reached out a tattooed hand and clapped me on the back of the neck. He gave it a little squeeze and told me, “I might not understand where your head is half the time, Ry, but I know without a doubt you are not the kind of man who breaks something and doesn’t do his best to put it back together. You’re just like your Uncle Remy in that way. He was always trying to fix everything, no matter who did the damage.”
I flinched a little at the comparison, but he must’ve felt the knee-jerk reaction. He shifted his hold to my shoulder and turned me to face him.
“What’s wrong? I know you don’t know much about my twin brother other than what we’ve told you, but believe me when I tell you that you have all his best parts in you.”
I closed my eyes and let my head fall again. It was heavy, being the living, breathing memorial of a