Page 75 of Fighting for You
“So you think coming here and doing shit for me is gonna win her back or something?”
I huff out a laugh. “Not a chance.”
“So why’re you here, boy?” He pushes his plate away from him and crosses his arms over his chest. His face is stone cold. And I get it, I’m no one to him, but I wonder if that’s the face he wears for Margot too.
“To fix all the broken shit in this house,” I answer without missing a beat. And I realize how ironic it is. A broken man fixing broken things in another broken man’s home, what a joke. Am I more like Keaton Mason than I first thought? Is this a glimpse into my future?
Cutting off my spiraling thoughts, Keaton deadpans, “You still aren’t saying why.”
The reason I’m here is complicated. It’s partly for me, partly for him, but mostly for Margot. I look to the ground, staring at my shoes like they’re the most interesting thing in the room as I speak my truth. “My parents died in a car accident seven weeksago yesterday.” I pause to move my gaze to him as I say the next part. “By a drunk driver.”
The shame on his face shows in the redness of his cheeks. He wasn’t the driver. I’m not sure he’s left this house to go farther than the liquor store down the street in years. We know who did it. He’s in prison for the next twenty-five years.
“I-I didn’t—” he starts, his voice shaking with terror like I’m here to avenge my parents’ death.
“I know. But it could have been. Could have been me too. I’m not exactly an innocent man either.” I shift my legs so my ankles cross, getting comfortable to douse him with a hard truth. “We didn’t have a great relationship. My dad was an asshole. My mom was a pushover. I have… a lot of unresolved feelings where they’re concerned. And now they’re gone.” I can tell from the look of confusion on his face he has no idea where I’m going with this.
“Instead of airing out our shit and making things better, my mom wrote a letter. Not because she knew she was dying an untimely death, but because she knew one day, she’d be gone and I’d wonder why the fuck our relationship was shit. She couldn’t say it to my face. Nevertheless, it was good to find out, ya know? To know she didn’t see me as the fuck-up I thought she did. But it was also a bullshit thing to do.”
I shove my hand in my pocket, finding my dad’s knife there. Running my fingers over the cold metal grounds me. “Don’t do that to Margot.”
His face twists up as he says, “What are you talking about?”
Walking toward the table, I pull out the chair across from him and sit down. Placing my elbows on the table, I lean closer as I say, “Don’t wait until you’re dead or dying to fix your relationship. She loves you; she wastes her time coming over here and cleaning up your messes, making sure you have food. She shouldn’t have to do that. But she does it because sheloves you. Be a fucking father and love her back. Stop drinking. Stop wallowing. Stop depending on your twenty-three year old daughter for everything. It’s not fair to her, and she deserves better. Sobebetter.”
His eyes are glassy. Bringing the man to tears wasn’t my goal. I just wanted to maybe talk some sense into him, maybe help Margot a little.
“I uh—” He swipes at his eye as a lone tear falls from the corner. “You’re right. Margot deserves the world. She’s a good girl. Always has been. Too good to have a son of a bitch like me as a father.” He trails off, so I take the opportunity to bring up the other Mason.
“I don’t know what shit is between you and Hayes, but you need to fix that too. The dude is insufferable, maybe not hating his father would help.”
He nods his head, and I don’t ask any more questions. Hayes isn’t my concern, but I know their relationship being better would benefit Margot as well. I use my feet to push away from the table, just about to stand when he says, “Why do you care?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I stand and push my chair back in. “Because I think I’m in love with your daughter. Don’t worry, she hates me, so it won’t work. But I still want her to have everything good in this world. And I know having a better relationship with you would bring some joy back to her life. And maybe you won’t listen and you’ll make the same mistakes my parents made, but at least I gave it a shot.”
I don’t wait for him to reply, I don’t care what he has to say about it. There’s nothing to say. So I grab the glass of water I have sitting on the counter, put my jacket back on, and make my way to the door. “I’ll be out here fixing the porch steps if you need me,” I say over my shoulder. Then I’m out the door. The bitter cold bites at my exposed skin as I place the glass on the railing and jump off the porch.
Despite the cold air, I’m sweating my balls off. I’ve built some shit before, I’ve been renovating parts of my parents’ house for the last month, but math was never my strong suit. I’ve watched five YouTube videos and redone my calculations at least fifteen times. I want to make sure I’m not making this worse than I found it.
Luckily, it’s only three steps, and I’m on the last one. I wanted to paint them as well, but I underestimated how hard this would be, so I won’t have time today. Maybe I’ll come back next week. Or I could leave it to Hayes or Margot. I’ll leave the paint in the garage with a note on it or something, just in case.
The good news is they’re sturdy as fuck. No one is going to fall through these, which is the point, so I’m calling it a win. Keaton has looked out through the blinds a couple times. I’ve got music playing, but I feel his eyes on me every time he does it. I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t quite understand why I’m here or why I’m doing this. I’m not entirely sure I do either. I just knew I wanted to.
I’ve got the last boards cut to size, and just as I’m about to take them to the porch, the front door opens. Keaton stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m gonna quit.”
His words shock me. For a second, I wonder if I heard him wrong. “What?”
He takes one of his hands and runs it through his hair then rubs at the back of his neck as he says, “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right. I think I need to finally put the bottle down and figure my shit out.”
Well, this wasn’t what I expected. I never for one second thought anything I said would actually make an impact on him. “You’re talking about drinking? Just so we’re clear,” I clarify, my gaze never leaving his. He nods his head as he takes a deep breath. “Okay. Uh. Have you tried to stop before?”
He pops his knuckles, out of anxiety, I’m sure. “Not seriously. But I am serious this time. I uh… I need some help though.”
Setting the boards back down on the ground, I remove my gloves and wipe my hands on my jeans. “Okay.”
Keaton walks toward the railing, leaning his elbows on the wood. It’s a few more moments before he continues, “I tried to get rid of it, but I can’t make myself do it. Can you—fuck. Can you do it for me?” There’s an earnestness in his voice. I think he’s serious about trying to quit drinking. I’m just still shocked I had anything to do with it.
I clear my throat, trying to push past the lump that’s formed from the sheer emotion of the situation. “Yeah. Yeah, Keaton, I can do that.”
