Page 2 of Gabriel's Salvation

As usual, John just ignores me the way he does every time we have this argument. He calls everyone son; I know this. It still doesn’t stop me wanting to rip his fucking throat out every time.

“What do you want, Gabe?” I can hear a note of irritation in his voice.

“I was just calling to see if you had any jobs for me today.”

“Gabe, it’s Christmas Eve! No fucker’s working! Not even me. Go fuck off, relax, enjoy the holidays, and try to spread some Christmas cheer.”

“Do I look like a fucking elf?” I snap again, the irritation clear in my voice.

“Well, go find some Christmas pussy and fuck that attitude out of ya for all I care. Just get the fuck off the phone. Me and my little angel are making Christmas cookies, aren't we?” he coos in some pathetic baby voice.

“That kid’s made you fucking weak man,” I scoff.

“Remember who you're talking to. I may not have brought you into this world but I'm more than happy to take you out of it. Now f.u.c.k. off, before I kick your a.s.s.,” he spells out because of his granddaughter’s proximity to him. Even that gets on my nerves. Where was that concern for protecting the innocent when I was a kid?

“Really, old man? I'd like to see you try,” I laugh back before hanging up. Fuck me, what am I gonna do now?

Ever since his granddaughter was born, she's had him wrapped around her little finger. She’s probably only about 4 or 5 but follows him everywhere. She's an annoying little shit, constantly stealing all the donuts or following her grandad around like a bad smell. Usually kids are scared of me, crying when they hear my bike or see my tattoos. But she just laughed when she saw me and demanded I let her sit on the bike. I would never let her, of course. But she's alright I guess.

Climbing onto my bike, I let the sound of the engine coming to life distract me as I drive home. The streets become a blur as I rev the engine, getting faster and faster. It’s pretty empty, and the road is clear, so I allow myself to open up the engine and soar.

As soon as I get home, I waste no time popping open a bottle and parking my ass in front of the TV. My phone buzzes in my pocket but as soon as I see who it is, I decline the call.

A few seconds later my phone buzzes, telling me I have a new voice message. I know I shouldn't, but curiosity gets the better of me, so I play it.

“10:30 a.m. on the 22nd of December - Hello Gabe, it's Sarah, erm… Mrs. Jackson. I'm just calling to remind you that you're still welcome here for Christmas. It would mean the world to Nate if you would come. In case you forgot our address, it’s- '' I hit delete on the voicemail and skip to the next message.

“8:03 a.m. today - Gabe, it's me. Call me back, bro.”

“8:07 a.m. - Come on birthday boy, call me back.” I can't help but grin as I listen to Nate's voicemails, knowing full well he'd have been bouncing around like an excitable toddler leaving them. Even as a kid, he’s always loved birthdays. Even when we both knew our asshole of a father wouldn't get us much, if anything. He'd act like the small handmade gift I made him was better than winning the lottery.

I remember his sixth birthday; mom had passed away a few months before and my father had spent that whole time basically comatose on the couch. So I snuck out and stole a teddy bear for him. Wrapping it in some newspaper and string I found lying around the house. He carried that teddy bear everywhere with him. Even years later when it started to resemble a dog's chew toy from the years of love and attention he gave it - he continued to lug it everywhere with him. I still remember the hours of inconsolable tears I had to dry when my father ripped its head off in anger one day. I can't remember why he did it though. Knowing that asshole, just because he felt like it or wanted to hurt my brother, just for daring to breathe.

My smile is short-lived though as the phone automatically skips to the next message.

“9:46 a.m. - Hey Gabe, it’s Mrs. Jackson. Nate says you won't be joining us. So I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and let you know I've sent a little something to you in the mail. . . it says it was delivered a few days ago. Please let me know if you received it.”

Reluctantly, I head down to the mailbox. When I get there I notice it's almost full. I grab everything out and head back inside.

I flip through the pile of mail, which is mostly bills and junk mail, and find three things that aren’t. The first is clearly a card of some sort. I open it and straight away cash falls out. Retrieving the unexpected gift from the floor, I count it - fifty dollars.

Who the fuck would send me cash?

Opening the card it reads:

To Gabe, have a great 21st birthday! Treat yourself to something nice. Love from Sarah and Tim (Mr. and Mrs, Jackson)

Well, I never did like the Jacksons, Nate may consider them part of his chosen family, but I never will. But I’ll hand it to them, the money they send every birthday sure is a welcome gift.

The next is a package from Nate consisting of a birthday card, some chocolates, an Amazon gift card, and the latest Sons of Anarchy box set.

And finally, there's a Christmas card. This one appears to have been hand-delivered.

Inside, it simply says;

To Nathaniel and Gabe. Merry Christmas, love from the Williams family.

I tear it up into tiny pieces and throw it in the trash. The last thing I want to see is a card from Isabella's family. Back when we were kids and Nate first developed his little infatuation with her and her family, I thought she could be okay. For years I watched their friendship blossom and was dumb enough to believe maybe she could be a true friend to us both. That was until she and her grandparents betrayed us. A betrayal that led to us being removed from the only life we’d ever known and thrown into foster care. And now the mere mention of her name is enough to send my blood boiling.

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