Page 112 of Lost Boy
Now, it’s officially spring. Signs of life and growth surround us. It’s a season for regeneration. Yet for me, it means death. Cold, uncaringdeath. It means six years since I lost my father. My best friend. Six years since I abandoned him to die alone in a hospital bed.
The words are harsh, and the truth is unsettling, jarring even. But no matter how much regret I carry or how much the pain has begun to break through the mental fog, nothing I do or say will ever change the fact that I wasn’t there for him. That I couldn’t handle it, and I left him before he ultimately left me.
“We’re almost to the hotel,” Ryder whispers, nudging me awake from where I fell asleep on his shoulder in the rental car. Although I haven’t exactly been asleep, more like stuck in my head and letting my negative thoughts consume me.
“We’re going to freshen up after the long flight and settle into our rooms. We have adjoining suites, so just knock if you need anything, boys,” Al says kindly from the passenger seat. “We can meet for lunch at the hotel restaurant after and decide what’s first on the agenda. If there’s anything in the city you want to do for fun or show us, Fallon, just let me know.”
“Not really,” I mumble. I’m not here for a vacation or for fun. I actually don’t even want to be here. I don’t want to think about Dad. Or Mom. Or how I’m all alone. Well, Iwasall alone. Now I have Ryder and Uncle Joel and all of these other people surrounding me. Supporting me. Loving me.
I swallow past the lump in my throat, knowing it will only get larger as the weekend progresses.
“Nothing?”
I shake my head. I hate being here. The memories, the negative thoughts. Questions about where Mom is and if she even loves me. It’s all too much.
Alejandro’s dark brows furrow, creasing the skin around his eyes even more than normal.
“Alright, well. Think about it.” I can tell he wants to say more, but it was a long flight. We’re all a little tired and well aware that things could get emotionally charged soon.
I don’t have the energy to pretend to enjoy myself. And I’m not here to sightsee. I just can’t do it.
As if sensing my mood, Ryder’s big palm settles on my thigh, squeezing gently.
I glance over at him, and he mouths, “It’s okay.”
I sink into my seat and close my eyes for a moment longer, trying to halt the emotions threatening to bubble up. I know I agreed to this trip, but I’m not one hundred percent certain I’m actually ready for this. I haven’t been to my dad’s grave.Ever.Didn’t even go to his funeral.
I’m a shit person sometimes.
There’s nothing else to say.
A vortex of self-hatred is forming so strong that if it sucks me in, I’ll be spiraling for days. All of this will be for nothing. I’ll have wasted everyone’s time, and maybe they’ll end up leaving me like—
“Fallon.”
My uncle’s voice pulls me from the brink, and an odd sense of déjà vu washes over me. I feel like I’m back in that social worker’s office when he came to retrieve me all those weeks ago.
“Hmm?”
“We’re here,” Ryder says, repeating what Joel probably said a few times.
“M’kay,” I mumble, running through a list of names. Guys that I might be able to call for some weed. Or maybe even some pills.
I need it to stop.
I don’t want to feel these things. I’d rather go back to feeling less than nothing if I have to.
“Fallon, you okay?” I meet Ryder’s concerned stare, so earnest and compelling.
“Yeah,” I lie. Although I’m sure he knows. It’s obvious I’m not.
His brows furrow and his lips tighten, but he doesn’t call me out.
“Let’s get the bags while they check us in.”
I nod, moving on autopilot.
Ryder hops down, grabbing me by the waist and lifting me out of the rental SUV, even though it’s lower than his truck and Joel’s Bronco.
