Page 12 of Ours to Lose
I wanted this house to look as foreign as I felt.
Dad reached for the door handle, and I rolled my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. He swung the door open, and my heart pounded in my throat as I stepped inside, my muscles bracing as if the floor had been laid with hidden traps.
None sprang. It was just the house I’d grown up in, exactly as I remembered it.
The same family photos on the walls. Same welcome mat on the floor. Same couch and loveseat in front of the TV. Dad’s chair still in the corner beside the lamp that spilled warm light into the room.
The TV tray next to Dad’s chair was the only new addition. That and the missing floral scent. Even in the cold months, Mom had some sort of candle or spray to imitate pine or a winter bouquet. Now it smelled like nothing.
“I’ll go put this in your room,” Dad said, hauling my duffel up the stairs. “Want me to grab you some slippers?”
I unglued my feet from the entryway and shut the door behind me, swallowing the dryness from my mouth. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”
While he disappeared to the second floor, I toed off my shoes and wandered inside.
For as similar as it appeared, nothing about the house felt the same. Like it was an aquarium drained of its water; the life it once contained drained with it. All that remained were empty shells, and every one of them, from the couch and curtains to the dining furniture and kitchen clock, seemed to turn their accusing eyes on me.
I felt like a stranger. Unsure of my place, not wanting to touch anything I shouldn’t.
Not wanting to be here.
The floor creaked as Dad descended the stairs. “I changed your sheets when you texted. They’re the flannel ones. They should keep you plenty warm. Are you hungry?”
“I can wait until morning. It’s late.”
He waved me off. “That doesn’t matter. You had a long flight, and I’m not sending you to bed on an empty stomach.”
I followed him into the kitchen, where he rooted through the fridge.
“I don’t have much in the way of leftovers, but we’ve got bread if you want a sandwich. Or I could make eggs. Oh, and I’ll heat some eggnog.”
I almost argued but decided not to. He clearly needed this, and I was as glad for his company, even if it meant he didn’t sleep.
There was no question Aubrey had been right about him staying up late. In the bright light of the kitchen, his changes were painfully obvious.
He’d lost weight. Looked older.
He’d had white hair for years, so that wasn’t it, and the lines in his face weren’t any deeper. Somehow, he was just…frail. Wilted. A tired version of the sixty-something retiree who used to be bounding with energy. Energy he still seemed to lack even with the huge smile on his face.
Or maybe that was due to the bags under his eyes. They shouted at me like an accusation, stabbing at my guilt.
As much as I’d known when I left the way I did how fucked up it was—to stay away and not text, to rarely call, to all but disappear—a part of me had believed my dad and Evan would be okay. That they would be there for each other the way I couldn’t be there for anyone. That together, they would find the path toward healing I didn’t get to find after the shitty son I’d been.
It wasn’t like there was anything I could offer. Not hope. Not strength. Not solace. I was a toxin it was better for everyone to be far away from, and believing it was how I’d stayed gone for so long. But even as I let myself live inside the delusion, a part of me had known it wasn’t true.
None of us were okay. My dad least of all.
And I hadn’t been here for him any more than I’d been there for Mom.
He placed a mug of eggnog in front of me at the small breakfast table, the steam warming my nose. “So are you back for a while?” he asked as he sat across from me with his own mug. The hope in his voice was impossible to miss.
“I think so.” I tried to make my voice light. “I’ve been training this kid, Noah—I think I told you about him.”
“The kid from Allentown?”
“Him. He’s got selection camp for the Olympics starting next week, so I’ll fly out for that. But then, I’ll be back. Coach Lou is looking for someone to sell his gym to, and I’m going to see if I can make it work.”
“Your own gym?” Dad’s whole face lifted with delight. “Son, that’s incredible. Tell me more about what Coach Lou said—wait, first…” He hopped up and grabbed the bread off the counter. “Sandwich or eggs? We could even have some real fun and go for French toast. What’ll it be?”
