Page 2 of Memories of Us

Brenton

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER...

“Yeah, I'll be there,” I said through a deep exhale to the man on the other end of the line. “Thank you for calling and the condolences. I'll see you at the ranch for the funeral in three days.”

With a deep West Texas drawl, the older man detailed the specifics of the service before ending the call with another “He was a good man” sentiment.

I slipped the phone back into my suit breast pocket as I moved toward the wet bar. The dark liquid of the various half-empty bottles called to me, begging me to pop one open for a quick swig. With a steady, focused hand, I reached past the whiskey’s siren call to grab the near-hidden bottle of Perrier. It had been my mind trick during rehab and still was. With a little lime added and enough ice, it took the edge off the constant urge that simmered just below the surface for something stronger.

Bubbles rose to the rim of the crystal highball I had pulled from the cabinet above. Drink clutched in hand, I stepped out onto the penthouse balcony and leaned against the warm metal railing. Bright green lights glowed a few blocks over from downtown Dallas’s Green Monster. The unobstructed view of the famous building was one reason Caleb and I chose this building, this exact loft, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Back then, having a place large enough to host all our friends at one time, along with great proximity to the high-end clubs we frequented, was the priority. Some people might call those the good old days. Maybe for them, those who leached off us for so long, they were. For me, not even close. If I looked back now, from what little I remember of those years, I'd see a lonely, shallow shell of a boy who was on a fast track to nowhere.

But tonight there was no raging party, no Caleb begging me to join him for a wild night out. Tonight it was just me, the busy streets forty stories below my feet, and fizzy water. After the five-hour therapy session earlier, the quiet was exactly what I needed.

Ice snapped and shifted in the highball glass from the unbearable eighty-five-degree heat. As suffocating as it was, something was reassuring about the Texas summer heat that I'd in some ways missed the past few years. To a true Texan, it was merely a reminder of the constants in our lives. Your life could be shit, you could have no clue which way was up, but you could count on it being balls hot during a Texas summer.

After today, and the unexpected call just now, I needed that specific comfort.

Dead.

Gone without me there. Hell, I hadn't been back in years. Too busy was always the excuse, but looking back at the wasted opportunities to see the old man, was I really? Yes, this was the most extended leave I'd taken since joining the army, but would it have killed me to fly over and see him one weekend? I should’ve stayed after Caleb's funeral months ago instead of jumping on the jet moments after the final prayer.

I pressed the sweating glass against my forehead and rolled it back and forth in an attempt to settle the self-accusing direction of my thoughts. Pappy knew why I had to leave and never come back; surely he didn't hold it against me in the end. His death wasn't a big surprise—the man was ninety after all—but I guess I still thought there was more time before this moment. Maybe a future weekend when I could've flown out to see him, show him who I'd become since being the prick he knew: the idiot teen through my young adult years when I terrorized his ranch hands, stuffed enough powder up my nose to kill an elephant, and fucked any willing female.

Most importantly, I wanted an opportunity to show him I wasn’t my father, or my brother for that matter. But now that chance was gone, and he'd never know that I wasn’t the person I used to be.

Well, mostly. I'd grown from a spoiled prick to an arrogant jackass, if you believed the few girls I'd dated.

With a sigh, I downed the last few sips and tipped my gaze to the bright night sky. Against the lights of the city, not a single star blinked. Hell, with the pollution, even the moon was barely visible. At Pappy's ranch, the stars peppered the sky every night when I visited during those extended summer stays and holidays. Those stars and the vastness of the night sky were my favorite part of the family estate.

Long-forgotten memories flitted to the front of my mind, urging a small smile to curl the edge of my lips. That ranch, those nights, fueled my obsession with the sky, which drew me to the career I now love.

Damn, when was the last time I even thought of that place?

Most of the memories were hazy at best, diluted by those years filled with copious amounts of coke and booze consumption. There was too much I didn't remember, not only from those trips to the ranch but also from life here in Dallas before rehab. Even though it sucked, missing pieces of my life, it never nagged or worried me. What did keep me awake at night, kept my mind reeling, was the ever-present sensation that I'd forgotten something, maybe even a someone, that I shouldn't have—something or someone important. But how do you pinpoint the cause when nearly six years of your life were blurred?

Vibrations against my chest pulled my attention back to the present. I wiped the dampness from my hand to snag the phone once again. Brow furrowed, I stared at the bright screen that flashed with an unknown number. Considering it came minutes after the previous call about Pappy's death, there was no doubt who I'd hear on the other end of the line.

“Yeah.” Turning on the heels of my thousand-dollar shoes, I strode back into the loft and straight for the wet bar. No doubt liquor would make this conversation easier, but no way would I let Dad be the reason I fell off my thirteen-year sobriety wagon.

“Did you hear?”

“Yeah.” The gurgle of the clear fizzing liquid pouring into the glass echoed in the otherwise silent loft. A pang of guilt and loneliness hit at the reminder of my solitude.

No. Not going there now. Caleb made his own damn choices.

“Bastard finally kicked it. Damn. Have you heard when the lawyers will disburse the estate?” Dad asked. Steady bass and a loud giggle filled the background. Of course he was at the strip club minutes after his father died. And Dad wondered why Pappy never approved of who he became and how he dwindled his trust.

“No.” Fuck, the conversation was already too long. The thick vein in my neck beat faster and faster with my rapid pulse. The dark granite of the bar was cool beneath my grip when I latched on to steady myself. Each breath grew shorter with the building anger and resentment. “What do you want?” I said through clenched teeth.

“Let's go out and celebrate, son. Tell your boss you need to head home for the funeral. Bring a few of your buddies with you. Damn, I should plan a damn parade. The mean bastard is finally gone.”

Funny, the mean bastard in my life was still alive and well and wouldn't let me off the fucking phone.

No way could I tell him I was already in town. First, I didn't want to see him, and second, I couldn't tell my father the reasons behind the two weeks’ leave I’d started three days before.

I couldn't tell anyone.

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