Page 61 of Just Business

I focus on the photo in my hand, pulling myself back together. “I know. I know I don't have to but I need to tell someone. Some days it’s like I’m burning up from the inside out holding all this back. And you need to know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Okay,” Penny whispers into the dark room. “I’m listening.”

“Whenever he’d get this way, once the fight was over he’d pass out somewhere in the house or get in his truck and leave. Sometimes she wasn’t too bad and she’d clean herself up and I’d help straighten whatever mess he made. But more times than not, I’d have to help clean Mom up. I’d help her get to the bathroom, and she’d sit on the toilet while I handed her a warm washcloth and Band-Aids. Together we’d bandage her up.”

“How old were you?”

I tilt my head to think back. “The first time I remember doing that I was in first grade. I remember because the next day I got in trouble. I kept drifting off to sleep in class. My teacher sent me to the principal's office.”

“So you were, what, six or seven? Do you wanna know what I was doing at that age?” she asks. “Because what you were doing is more than any six-year-old should have to handle. It’s more than any human should have to handle, period, full stop. At that age I was challenging Jackson on the swing set to see who could swing the highest. At that age, I didn’t even know that kind of violence existed. Your childhood was stolen from you.” Her grip on my hand is so tight now my fingers are probably turning purple. “So how’d you end up with your aunt and uncle?”

“One night I worked up the courage to call my aunt. Two hours later Uncle Brad showed up. It was one of those nights when my dad got in his truck and left—and my mom wouldn’t leave. I’m sure she was scared. But she did let Uncle Brad take Cassie and me.”

Penny tugs the hem of her shirt up to wipe her tear streaked face. “And your dad? When’s the last time you saw him?

“It’s been years. When I was in middle school, he’d get drunk and show up at my baseball games. It was fucking embarrassing. He’d yell all kinds of shit at me. In our small town most people knew how he was, and Uncle Brad and my coach would convince him to leave. Nothing was ever done about it. He did it a few times when I was in high school, too. I guess it got old for him, though, because he gradually stopped making an ass of himself in public like that. Cassie was practically non-existent to him, but he couldn’t seem to leave me alone. Aunt Ashley always said it’s cause I look just like him. He’d take one look at me and see a bright future that he didn’t have.” I huff out a sardonic laugh. “I dunno if that's true or not.”

“What about your mom? Where is she now?” she asks.

“Still with him. One of my dad’s best friends is the police chief. My mom always says it’s pointless to even try to do anything about it. I tried for years to help her, but she’d tell me there were some things that couldn’t be fixed. She eventually started distancing herself from Cassie and me. Aunt Ashley says that shame can make people do strange things.”

We sit in complete silence, Penny’s sniffling the only thing I hear. I’m working up the nerve to tell her the rest of it, but this isn’t something I’ve ever told anyone. Not my sister, not my aunt and uncle, not even Tyler.

“There’s more.” I stare up at the ceiling trying to collect my thoughts. “I’ve never told a soul about this. You’re the first person I’ve wanted to tell, okay?” I glance at her, and she nods. “When I started making a name for myself, I guess maybe he saw me on social media or heard me on the radio—I don’t know. Anyway, he used my mom’s phone. I always picked up, and he knew it. Deep down I knew it wouldn’t be her, but I still held onto the hope that for once it would be. I’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened and I didn’t get her call.”

“Austin,” she starts but then stops.

“I know what you’re gonna say. What could I do from the road? It’s the same thing I ask myself all the time. But when it happens it's like I stop thinking rationally. I guess you’d say it’s a fight or flight response that kicks in. I have no rational explanation.” She doesn’t respond, so I continue. “He probably knew I’d pick up if he used her phone. He was obviously drunk, but I still remember every word he said like it’s stamped on my brain. He basically told me no matter how many songs I sing or awards I receive; in the end I’ll end up exactly like him.”

I sit for a minute thinking back to that night, how slurred his words were. I was already in a bad headspace when he called. I was on the road, lonely and exhausted. My vocals were weak at that night’s concert and all I wanted to do was go to bed. Something about his words hit their mark and I believed him. I’d always end up a drunk fuck-up.

“That's the first night I destroyed a hotel room. I got drunk and lost it. When it hit the news, it’s like it confirmed his words. Apparently he must have felt that way, too, because ever since then he’s made it his personal mission to make sure I don’t lose sight of the future I’m destined for.”

Penny straightens, turning to face me. “No, you listen to me. He's evil. Doing that to your own child is pure evil. My dad used to say hell is empty and all the devils are here. This just proves his point.” She spits out the words like they’re bitter on her tongue. “But you’re not like him and you know it. You’re gentle and kind. You care about the people around you. No,fuck him. You’re nothing like him.”

Several seconds pass and she rests her back against the headboard again. The night is silent around us, and I desperately wish I could read her thoughts right now.

“Does this change anything? I’m a walking disaster, a work in progress. I’d love to promise that I’ll never have any struggles again, but you and I both know that’d be a lie. The day after the nightmare was—well, it was rough. Then I almost gave in to it the day of the festival. I drank that one drink but found it in myself to stop at just one.”

She gasps, one hand going to her mouth. “He’d been calling you that day, hadn’t he?”

“Correct. I was starting to think Singing River held some sort of magic power. I should have known things were too easy.”

“You realize you probably need some therapy, right?”

“You sound like Cassie. She sent me some therapist names the other day but I haven’t made an appointment yet.”

“You know when the best time to call a therapist is?”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “When?”

“The day Cassie sent that list. You know when the next best day is?”

“Today?” I ask, one side of my mouth tugging up slightly.

“Today,” Penny says. “Today is the next best day. You told me the day we met that you’re starting over. It’s a perfect time to start therapy.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’ll make the appointment, right?”

Therapy isn’t something I can keep putting off. I know this. “Yeah, I’ll make an appointment.”

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