Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 748(@200wpm)___ 598(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“Bad shit, Finn.” Ty’s eyes turn serious. “Armed robbery… And he shot and killed a cop in the process.”
The rug is pulled out from under my feet, and I have to reach out to steady myself with my hand on his desk. “When did he do that?”
“In Reno, about twenty-two years ago,” he says gently. I may not be great at math, but even I can work out the timeline on that one. He fucking killed someone right before getting together with my mom. I knew my dad was a piece of shit, but it seems he left a few pertinent details out of his journal. Murder. I can’t fucking believe I share DNA with someone capable of it.
“Listen, I know this is a delicate issue, and I’m sure it’s going to be particularly devasting for your mom.” I nod, and Ty grasps my shoulder. “Do you want me to tell your mom and siblings, or do you want to do it?”
“I’ll do it,” I answer honestly and without hesitation. Even though Ty is our brother and the trust we have as a family unit is growing, I’d rather they hear this kind of news from me. I scoff. “No wonder he changed his name.”
“Yeah.” Ty lets out a deep sigh. “It’s a real kick to the balls, isn’t it? Knowing you share DNA with such a horrible human being.”
Having him voice my thoughts aloud is a comfort. I never imagined I’d feel this way, but knowing Ty makes me feel less alone.
“Yeah. I just… I hope…” I pause, and Ty reaches out to clap a hand on my shoulder.
“Listen carefully, Finn,” he says, holding my gaze carefully. “Just because he’s our father doesn’t mean we’re like him. Just because he’s our own flesh and blood doesn’t mean we need to claim him. His choices and the way he’s chosen to live his life don’t mean shit when it comes to us and our lives, okay?” I nod, trying to take his words to heart. “I’m a good person. You’re a good person,” he says and releases my shoulder. “Hell, the only time I’ve ever seen you fight is to protect another student. Even when it threatened to give you severe consequences. That’s not something our father would do. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. Okay?”
“Yeah,” I agree, and I even think I mean it. He nods and starts to pack up, but I pull him up short with a question on a different topic. “Is there any way you can get me a class schedule for another student?”
His brow furrows. “Who?”
“Scottie. She’s still having a hard time, and I don’t want her to fall behind for missing classes. Your stuff is easy to get, but I don’t even know what she’s supposed to be in other than this since it’s a new semester.”
He doesn’t hesitate to open his laptop and log in to the university database to get the info for me, and I jot it down in my notebook. Now, I can get a plan together to make sure she has notes for everything when she’s ready.
I want to do more for her, to be able to love her out loud and in person, but until she’s ready, this will have to do.
Scottie
My face feels swollen and my mind groggy as I sit up in bed and look around my room. My hair is still damp, my towel wrapped haphazardly around me, but from the fading light of dusk outside, I can tell quite a bit of time has passed.
My stomach growls, and I rub at the thinning part of my waist in an attempt to quell it. I don’t recommend the fucked-up parent diet, but it’s pretty goddamn effective.
Still, if I have any shot at keeping up my ability to function at a high level for cheerleading, I’m going to have to stop skipping meals at some point.
Newly determined, I drag myself off my bed to my dresser for clothes and pull on the first thing I touch. A silver lining of total emotional devastation, perhaps—I’m not really concerned with my outfits.
I slide on my comfiest pair of Uggs and head for the door, key and wallet in hand. A small breeze blows in as I open the door to the hall, and a ruffling stack of papers on the floor catches my attention. There’s also a cup of hot chocolate from the coffee cart outside of Brower and a brown bag of goodies, the steaming dragon logo on the side of both unmistakable.
I reach for the papers first, flipping through quickly. There are notes for all the classes I missed today and a white piece of paper at the back with a single quote printed across it.
What’s gone and what’s past help, should be past grief.
It’s from The Winter’s Tale, and I can’t think of a single person in our friend group whom I didn’t spam with it while reading it. I resonated with the powerful nature of how it reflects on how we encounter circumstances in life that are beyond our control and believed its notion that it’s more productive to acknowledge what’s happened and accept it so that we can heal and free ourselves from the burden of grief.