Page 71 of Unspoken Rules

Maybe I should have forced Christopher to live with his mother when he was younger, the way the court wanted. Maybe she’d have done a better job. I did what I could. I showed him love, nurtured him, supported him. I swear I did everything to let him know I would be there for him, protect him, whatever he needed. He came to me for everything, always was open with me. Then suddenly, that stopped. It just stopped, and I have no idea why.

Now here we are fighting like we hate each other. I never raise my voice at him. Today, I did. I yelled at my son. I’ve never done that before; not the way I did earlier.

Everything is a mess. My home life. Love life. Work life. It’s all a big goddamn mess.

I sit in front of the bar in my truck for a long time, just looking across the street at the hotel. If the bar was open this early, I’d be in there.

I need to get a handle on this shit. On all of it. I feel terrible that Christopher told Bryson I didn’t want him there. It’s not that I didn’t want him there, but I knew things would be difficult after what happened. I need to explain that to him. Part of me knows he understands. Hell, he told me he was avoiding my house. But still. I know him. He’s too insecure to let something like that go.

He should be the last thing I’m worrying about right now, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s the easiest to fix. I have no idea how to handle this shit with Bart Montgomery and work. No idea how to fix this stuff with Christopher. The only thing I do know how to fix is this mess with Bryson. Because things with him are easy. They’re simple. We barely have to speak to understand one another. I can’t begin to understand how this even happened with us. How does he go from being a teenager that I was practically raising, to being so much more?

I need to talk to my son too, but now isn’t the time. He needs to cool off, and so do I. I need to have a normal conversation with him about what’s going on. Let him know I’m concerned. Not like it’ll be the first time. I’ve done it plenty over this last year, but he’s turning on his friends now. First, he’s going to ruin things with Bryson, then he’ll ruin friendships with everyone else too. It’s only a matter of time before he spirals. As his father, I can’t sit back and watch it happen. I have to help, anyway I can.

Chris is going to ruin his life if he keeps this up. It’s a miracle he manages to go to work. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t control him. Can’t tell him what to do. He isn’t a child. Am I supposed to sit back and watch him make such a huge mistake? It’s a terrible feeling.

I pick up my phone and shoot Bryson a text to see if he’s home still. When he says he is, I ask if he can stay there so we can talk. He agrees. So I head back home.

Simple things first.

One step at a time.

The sun is bright in the sky when I get home. It’s close to three in the afternoon, and it feels like my entire day has been wasted. I have no idea how I’m going to feel after this conversation with Bryson, but I have work I need to get done, so hopefully it doesn’t go badly. When I walk in, I find him pacing in the living room.

“Hey,” he says, stopping and staring at me. He’s anxious. I can sense it all over him. From his stiff posture to the furrow of his brows.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, taking a tentative step toward me.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “This shit with Christopher is a lot.”

He blows out a breath. “You’re telling me.” He drops to the couch and looks up at me. “Do you really think he believes I took his money?”

I shake my head and sit in the armchair across from him. “I think he does now, but once he’s sober, he’ll realize he’s mistaken.”

Bryson sighs and falls back against the couch.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he mutters.

I wait a beat before I explain my side of things. “It’s not that I didn’t want you here, Bryson. But after what happened in Astoria, I knew it would make things difficult.”

“I know.”

“And unfortunately, it has made things difficult.”

“I know that too.”

He’s answering me, but I can tell in his tight tone he doesn’t want to have this conversation. His eyes are closed and he’s facing the ceiling. I don’t want to talk about this either, but it needs to be done.

“We need to try harder.”

“Yeah, we do.”

That’s relieving. If we’re on the same page, this will be easier. Having this honest, face-to-face conversation with each other is what we needed from the beginning. I shouldn’t have left him alone at the hotel all those months ago. I should have told him from the get-go how things would be. I should have offered him a place to stay then, and not allowed him to go back to his father, who clearly did more damage than ever before.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I never should have propositioned you at the bar.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You make it seem like I’m a prostitute.” He lets out a frustrated sound and brings his gaze to me. “I’m sorry too. We both made the mistake. I could have said no, and I didn’t. It was stupid. But now that we know this can’t work, we just need to let it go.”

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