Page 3 of Cursed Bonds: An Alpha's Destiny

“One other thing to think about,” Harley continued. “If we list it and it sells, there’s a chance the new owners may simply tear the cabin down and rebuild. That, or gut the thing and add on, making it unrecognizable. Can you handle that?”

As much as I wanted to say I could, deep down I wasn’t sure. Even all these years later, I could remember how much Nana had loved being tucked back in the woods. Could I really sell it? Even considering it gave me a bitter taste at the back of my throat, almost like I would be betraying Nana. Maybe all I needed was to see the place, make my peace, clear it out, and say goodbye once and for all.

“School ends next week,” I said. “Once that’s done, I’ll head down and take care of it. I can make a bit of a vacation out of it. Spend the summer there one last time and decide afterward whether I want to keep it or sell it. How does that sound?”

Harley smiled and took a swig of her beer. “Sounds like a hell of a vacation. No hustle and bustle, no traffic, green trees and nature? Freaking paradise.”

The next week of classes was brutal, as it always was this time of year. The kids were so ready for summer break that teaching had basically become more like herding cats than bestowing knowledge. That, along with my upcoming trip to Nana’s cabin, had amped up my anxiety. When the final bell rang and all the students flooded into the hall to catch their buses, I flopped into my office chair and breathed a sigh of relief before packing up my things.

The principal had already informed me I would be moving classrooms next year, so I had to pack all my stuff. Most of the décor fit into one plastic bin, and my personal items went into the two cardboard boxes I’d brought in that morning. One of the last things I grabbed was the framed picture of Nana and me.

I took a good long look at it, a lump forming in my throat. Nana stood smiling, her arm around me. I was sixteen from the looks of it, and I recalled it was the last picture we’d taken at the cabin. I hadn’t realized then that I’d never return. Part of me had assumed we’d go back the next summer, like always, but life got in the way sometimes.

My happiest memories were with Nana. Now I’d never get to talk to her again. Blinking away the tears that threatened to spill, I tucked the picture into the box with reverence, wondering whether I had the guts to sell the cabin.

The last thing I had to do before making the drive to Missouri was to talk to my father. It was something I had zero desire to do, but after going through the paperwork the lawyer had given me, I’d learned that the box of items Nana had left him was actually at the cabin. I’d tried calling him a few times since her funeral, but he was either too strung out or drunk to answer the phone or had no desire to speak to me. In my opinion, he didn’t deserve a single thing from Nana, but the will explicitly stated that he was to receive the items, and I’d be damned if I didn’t do my best to follow her final wishes.

With a sigh, I carried my boxes to the car and drove across town to see my father.

Half an hour later, I sat in the driveway of his small rental house: a one-bedroom, one-bath that sat on a quiet side street. To my irritation, it took me nearly ten minutes to work up the courage to get out of my car and walk up to his door.

To my complete and utter shock, he answered only a few seconds after I knocked. I’d assumed he’d be passed out on his couch and that I’d have to bang on the door frame until he woke.

“Oh, hey, kiddo,” he mumbled in surprise when he saw me. His face was covered in thick stubble, and his hair was a mess of cowlicks and tangles.

“Can I come in?” I asked coolly.

“Uh, sure, yeah.” He stepped back and swept a hand toward the interior.

Stepping in, I was surprised—as I always was—by how clean and tidy his home was. My father was a high-functioning addict, able to hold down jobs for the most part, clean up after himself, and pass himself off as a healthy, well-balanced individual in public. It was only his private and family life that suffered from his alcohol benders and pill-popping.

I took a seat on the couch, trying not to eyeball the empty plastic bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey on the coffee table. Dad sat heavily on the recliner opposite me and kept glancing around the house, unable or unwilling to meet my eyes.

“So, uh, what brings you by?” he finally asked.

“Nana’s will,” I said.

He turned and finally looked me in the eye. “Oh, well… yeah, I got your messages. I just… uh, I haven’t…”

“Yeah, lots going on, I guess. You’re busy.” My words came out clipped and short.

Dad sighed and bowed his head. “Just tell me what she left me. We can make this quick.”

A humorless laugh huffed out of me, and I shook my head in disgust. “That’s great, Dad. Really great. Sure, let’s get this over with. She left you a box of stuff at the cabin in Crestwood. I just stopped by to let you know I’d bring it to you at the end of summer. I’m heading down there to clean the place up a bit.”

“What kind of stuff?” Dad asked, his curiosity perking up, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from snorting. He was probably hoping for something to sell.

“Some antiques and old items from your childhood, I think. The will didn’t go into specifics, but she wanted you to have it.”

Hearing that, Dad rolled his eyes and slumped back into the seat. “Probably just a bunch of junk, anyway.”

“Goddamn it,” I hissed, unable to control my temper any longer. “It shouldn’t matter if it’s gold jewelry or some fucking macaroni artwork you made in kindergarten. Nana cherished the stuff enough to hold on to it her whole life, and you should be happy to have them.”

“Kid,” he said tiredly, “I don’t really have room for a bunch of old shit, whether she wanted me to have them or not. Stuff I can sell? That helps me out. Otherwise, what’s the point? Mom told me a couple years ago most of the stuff was going to you. Why do you think I didn’t bother going to the stupid will reading? I knew I’d get a box of shit I didn’t want or need. She was always sentimental. If it’s that big a deal, you can ship it to me. Maybe there’ll be something of value I can sell online.”

He gazed back at me with rheumy eyes, still glazed with drunkenness. I’d made a mistake in coming here. What I should have done was gone straight to the cabin, packed up the shit that belonged to him, and mailed it. Then he could do whatever he wanted with it. My entire life, he’d loved booze and drugs more than he loved me. Diving, again and again, into that bottle and those syringes while I slipped further away from him. Never once had he made any sort of effort to try and get me back. He’d been content to let his mother raise his only daughter, and from everything I’d seen, he was still happy with that set-up and how it had all worked out.

For the first time since the funeral, it truly sank in that I was alone. An orphan. This man before me was no father. This was a shadow that would always trace itself into the corners of my life but hold no real bearing for me. No solace, no comfort, and no consolation.

---