Page 38 of Fighting for You
Despite the man being found covered in the contents of his stomach, he has the balls to look me up and down like he’sjudging me. I know nothing about him, but I’ve seen enough to know he’s a shit father and has no room to pass judgment on me.
“My name is Brooks, and I’m a friend of Margot’s. I’m here with your daughter because I want to be.” The words sound matter-of-fact because they are. I’ve told a lot of lies in my life, but this isn’t one of them. He keeps his gaze locked with mine, probably waiting for me to say more, but there’s nothing more to add.
Finally, he nods his head in what I hope is understanding before he stumbles out of the shower. I catch his arm and drape it over me to help him into the bedroom.
As I push through the door, I mentally prepare myself for the rancid smell to perforate my senses again, but it never comes. Margot has cleaned it up, making it seem like the incident never happened. It makes me wonder how many times she’s had to do this. Not just cleaning him up from soiling himself in some way but cleaning up messes that aren’t hers. Making problems disappear for others so they don’t have to worry about the aftermath.
I heft him onto the bed, hoping his towel doesn’t slip, I’ve seen enough of the man to last me a lifetime. He runs his hand through his hair then meets my eyes again.
I’m not sure what he’s about to say, but I cut him off before he has a chance. “Listen, Mr. M—”
“Keaton. You can call me Keaton.”
“Right, Keaton. I don’t know you—”
He immediately goes rigid, cutting me off again, “You’re damn right you don’t.”
I let my anger simmer to the surface but hold back from unleashing on him for Margot’s sake. “But I do know Margot,” I seethe. “And she deserves better than this.”
I watch as his affronted attitude morphs into one of understanding. “I see.”
Shaking my head, I say, “You don’t. But I do. I see what she’s been dealing with on her own. I see what she’s been put through with you. She deserves more.”
Turning from him, I walk to the dresser in the corner, pulling open drawers to find clean clothes. I grab a T-shirt, a pair of briefs, and a pair of pajama pants before throwing them in his direction. He just barely catches them.
As I turn the doorknob to leave his room, he clears his throat, stopping me in my tracks.
“Thank you.”
I don’t turn around. I don’t say anything else. I just pull the door open and walk out of the room. As I walk through the house, I take my time to really look around before going to find Margot. Since the moment I met her, I had an idea of her home life and upbringing in my head. I’d painted her as a girl who grew up loved, nurtured, spoiled even. I’d built her up as the complete opposite of me. She had a career, a loving sibling—despite how overprotective the dude is—everything I thought made her who she is.
But as I look at the peeling paint on the walls—walls that raised the girl I can’t get out of my head—I realize I’d been wrong all along. I saw Margot as the rounded corners to my jagged edges. Two pieces that could never fit. I thought she was perfect in every way and being around me would taint her soul. Turns out, she grew up with those same jagged edges, and deep down, maybe she has some of her own.
Our home life was still different. Alcohol was never a problem in our house. But seeing this side of her makes me wonder if she feels unworthy too. Maybe she feels like no one else truly sees her the same way I do.
Margot’s in the kitchen washing the overflowing sink of dishes. Looking around the room, I see she’s picked up all the beer cans, old food, and trash. I’m not sure how long I spentcleaning Keaton up, but it didn’t feel long enough for her to do a deep clean.
Attempting not to scare her, I clear my throat, but it backfires as she yelps, just about jumping out of her skin. “Oh, my goodness, you scared the bejesus out of me!”
Her adorable lack of swearing makes me chuckle. Normally, I’d tease her for it. But none of this feels normal, and it doesn’t feel like the time for teasing. It’s out of character for me to even acknowledge someone else’s feelings, but I try not to look too hard at it right now. “Sorry, Freckles. Believe it or not, that was my attempt tonotscare you.”
I can still see the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, and I hate it. I hate seeing her cry. It’s quite possibly my least favorite thing in the world. And for a man who hates most things, that’s saying a lot.
“I believe you,” she says. It’s such a simple thing to say, but it rattles something deep in my soul. I don’t say anything more though, I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her. She leans her back into my chest, letting me support her weight, and we stand like this for a minute or two. Then I pull away and begin drying the dishes she’s washing. After a few moments, she opens her mouth like she’s going to say something but thinks better of it.
So we work in silence. Her washing dishes, me drying them, neither of us bringing up the shift in the air between us. I’m not sure I ever will because having any hope crushed when it comes to her might do more damage than The Pit ever could.
Chapter Sixteen
Margot
Brooks and I exchanged only a few words as we finished tidying up Dad’s house. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so embarrassed. There’s something about Brooks seeing this side of my life that makes me feel overly exposed.
I’m not usually self conscious about my dad. He’s been this way pretty much my entire life. He has an illness, and he can’t help his addiction. It didn’t feel like Brooks was judging me, but for some reason what he thinks and how he sees me matters. He seems to hold me in high regard, and I don’t want to disappoint him. I’d hate for him to treat me differently now after seeing how I grew up.
The way Brooks jumped in and helped clean up my dad has given me pause. It’s not something I asked for and certainly not what I expected him to do. He doesn’t come off as the overly caring type, but I’m starting to think he doesn’t let many people see the real him, hiding behind an abrasive attitude and cocky smile.
I appreciated what he did more than I could articulate in the moment. I’ve had to clean my dad up multiple times, and it never gets easier. I’m thankful Brooks was there to lighten the load today.
