Page 152 of The Promise Of You

They weren’t heroes either.

They couldn’t bring themselves to brave the flames. It was just too damn hot. How could someone even breathe? Their eyes hurt from the smoke, their skin felt brittle, and they weren’t even that close.

And so they watched, helpless.

They weren’t heroes.

“We weren’t criminals either,” Dad said to me. “No one could establish that Kevin was driving too fast. He claimed that the kids’ car had inched onto the main road, beyond the stop sign. It wasn’t clear cut at all. But I was there, and I knew he'd lost control of the car. Your mom was so happy her brother finally had something he was serious about, and now everything was up in the air again. I mean, he could have faced prison. It would have killed her. And it wouldn’t have brought the girl back. And so I offered them a deal.” He stayed quiet for a while and added, “We met with the authorities here, and it seemed it was the best course of action. For everyone. Doesn’t mean I liked it. Just means it was the best.”

And so, on behalf of his brother-in-law, Dad made compensation to the Wards for the loss of their daughter Audrey and to Justin for his injuries.

“It… um… it explains a lot,” I whisper to Justin. “It must have been hard for you… having him right next to you all these years.” And then me, waltzing in to take over for Uncle Kevin.

He takes a long pull on his beer and exhales loudly. Doesn’t say anything.

“I… uh… I don’t know what to say. I guess you never uh… never talked it through with Kevin, right… and I guess uh…”

“What did he tell you? Sullivan.”

“Dad? He told me about the accident, and that he offered to pay… you know, to give a monetary compensation on behalf of Kevin. To, you know…” Make it go away. “Make it go away,” I add in a whisper.

“You ashamed?” he asks me.

“Ashamed?” Of what? “My dad wasn’t a hero. I can’t say that it doesn’t hurt, that I didn’t wish he’d have told Uncle Kevin to slow down, or that he’d had the guts to help you pull Audrey out and maybe do something heroic like CPR or whatever, but he is who he is,” I finish, almost inaudibly.

What was left of daddy’s little girl just died, I guess.

“But um… he loved his wife, and his love language,” I add with a sad huff, “is money. I’m not surprised he’d throw money at a problem. I mean, I’d be surprised if he hadn’t. That wouldn’t be him. Or if it was him, if he had the means to make a problem go away by throwing money at it and he didn’t, then that would be a negative trait, as far as he’s concerned. He did the right thing by his standards.”

“How d’you feel about that?” His question comes immediately.

I look at Justin’s profile against the dark night. His strong jaw, cut cheekbones. His angry gaze. “I feel immensely lucky that I have you in my life. Despite his flaws, I love my father. But I do not envy my mother. And I would not want to share my life with a man like him. That’s how I feel.”

I expect this to get me a kiss, or at least a stroke on my back, a half hug. “I felt like a cheat,” he says instead.

Like a cheat?

He stands, goes to the kitchen, returns with two fresh beers, one for me, one for him. He sits down and starts talking. “When I came out of the hospital, I was weak and angry and mostly felt out of control of my whole life. One moment I was this asshole stealing his brother’s girlfriend, planning on losing his virginity to an experienced girl. The next I was a thief. Maybe even a murderer. A cheat.”

I set my hand on his forearm, but it falls off when he lifts his beer to take a long slug. I tug my hand between my thighs, set my bare feet on Moose, and take comfort in the dog’s soft grunt.

“And when I’m out of the hospital, I’m shoved into a room with my parents and a bunch of adults who tell me I have to sign here and here and here and everything will be okay. Audrey’s parents were there, and they were signing. The two guys who I’m told were in the other car were there and they were signing. My dad said we were grateful. Fucking grateful.” He plays with his beer between two fingers, his head hanging low, watching the bottle dangle. “I made money from someone’s death. Real money. Too much money for an eighteen-year-old. And certainly too much money for someone who survived. She wouldn’t have died if it hadn’t been for me.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I stay quiet.

“I still resent my parents for that. If I had to do it all over again, I’d never take a single cent from Sullivan. His money soiled me.”

My stomach clenches. “You turned the money into something good. Something for the community. It did some good. It didn’t bring Audrey back, but nothing could do that.”

“Heard that a million times, Chloe. You wanted to know why I called the pub the Lazy Salamander? You have your answer.”

“The Wards,” I venture awkwardly. “What did they—what did you talk about?”

“The usual shit. Forgiveness and stuff.” He takes a deep breath. “I—I didn’t mean it that way. It wasn’t shit. At all. I mean these people—these people are saints if you ask me. It’s just that…” His words die in the night, but his pain is there, looking for a way out. “It was a lot, seeing them today. Hearing them say the things they said to me.” He squints, holding tears inside. “I was looking at them, later during dinner. And listening to them. And what they said to me, they’re right, you know. I need to do that too. Live my life. Snap out of it and truly live. Stop being fucking scared.” He takes my hand again. “You give me that. The power to move forward. The courage to live my life.” Our gazes meet. Is he thinking about his unborn child, and how I’ve been by his side through the curveball life threw at him? And I’m proud I was able to do that, to be that person for him. To convince him he could do it. That he was more than capable.

That he’d be a great dad.

But I don’t know how long I can sustain this.

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