Page 46 of Rules

"You've lost me, Tobias, no idea of what?"

"Hold on, I need a drink." I hefted the bottle and drained it. "Didn't know what Michael was doing right under my nose for years. Y-E-A-R-S Roo-y, Roo, Roo. And now he's coming back, and I'll fail at stopping him too."

"Michael's coming back?" Even in my current state, I could hear the shock in her voice.

"Shit." I rubbed my face. "I shouldn't have said that. But it's okay, Law knows, deputies know, family knows now Roo Ruth knows. Yeah, you can know, it's ok. I will tell you."

"Tobias, listen to me. You're not thinking clearly. No more drinking tonight, okay?"

"I'm thinking more clearly than I have in years." I laughed again, that same empty sound. "Clear enough to know I can't have you."

"What?"

"You deserve better, Ruth. Someone who isn't broken." The whiskey kept the words flowing. "Not me, I’m broken."

"You don't get to decide what I deserve," she said, anger edging into her voice.

"I'm sorry." And I was. "Sorry for everything."

"Tobias, go get some sleep. Everything will be better after you sleep." Her voice softened again. "Please, go drink some water."

I insisted, "It's better if you stay away from me. I'm bad news, Ruth. Bad for the town, bad for you. Bad for the hairy kangaroo, too."

"Hairy kangaroo? Tobias, I'm not going to argue with the booze. Call me tomorrow when you're sober and we'll talk." She hung up before I could respond. I stared at the phone, feeling even worse than before.

Time blurred after that. I vaguely remember calling Tim, my words slurring as I told him what a disappointment I'd been as a father and how horrid it was that my brand new whiskey bottlewas now empty. I apologized for being too rigid, too focused on rules and structure. The conversation ended with Tim saying he was coming over, and me insisting he stay home.

The rain lulled me to sleep in my chair.

Morning announced itself with brutal efficiency—sunlight piercing through the curtains I'd forgotten to close, stabbing directly into my eyes. My mouth felt like I'd been chewing on sand, my head pounded with each heartbeat, and my back screamed from a night spent awkwardly in my Lazy Boy.

"Damn," I groaned, slowly pushing myself upright.

The empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table told the story of my night. Fragmented memories surfaced: talking to Joan, calling Ruth, calling Tim, telling them both I was a failure.

"Fuck," I muttered, my voice like gravel.

The sound of a key in the front door made me wince. I knew who it was before the door swung open, revealing my son standing there with grocery bags in his hands, his expression a mixture of concern and disappointment.

"Hey Dad, you look like hell," Tim said, chuckling, stepping inside and closing the door with his foot.

"Good morning to you too." Rubbing my temples, "What are you doing here?"

Tim moved to the kitchen, setting down the bags with more force than necessary. I could hear him filling the coffee pot, cabinets opening and closing.

"I told you last night I'd be over with breakfast."

I groaned and gagged at the thought of food.

"So," he called from the kitchen. "You didn't eat yesterday, did you? Want to tell me what last night was about?"

I groaned again. "Not particularly. I don't remember most of it."

Tim appeared in the doorway, arms crossed. "Let me remind you, my father, rambled drunkenly about what a failure he is, to his son, the town and some hairy kangaroo, whatever that is."

I closed my eyes and blew out a breath. Shit.

The coffee maker gurgled to life, filling the house with the rich aroma of brewing coffee. Tim disappeared back into the kitchen, returning moments later with a large glass of water and aspirin.

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