Page 111 of Forbidden Lyrics

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Gibson

My brother’s head is in his hands as he sits on a metal bench outside the gas station. He looks broken. And it’s because of me.

“Hey, Fen,” I mumble, my hands shoved in my pockets.

With bloodshot eyes, he glances up at me. “Look, I’m sorry––”

“Stop. I’m the one that’s sorry.”

Confused, his forehead wrinkles, but he scoots over a few inches and gives me some room on the stupid bench.

“It must be a bitch playing the messenger all the time,” I continue, flopping down next to him and stretching out my legs. Fen snorts before crossing his arms.

“You have no idea,” he replies.

“That’s on me. I shouldn’t have gotten pissed at you.”

He sighs. “Look. I know Dad was a shitty father when we were young, Sonny. I had a similar experience, remember?”

“Exactly,” I return. “Which is why I don’t get why you’d want anything to do with him.”

“Honestly, I don’t know, either. The only reason I answered his call that first time was because I was drunk off my ass and didn’t know the can of shit I was opening when I clicked accept.”

“Seriously?”

When I found out Fen was talking to our dad, I was too pissed to ask questions. I told him I wanted nothing to do with it. And he respected my wishes. Didn’t push me. Didn’t even bring Donny Hayes up for months until their relationship was more stable. Until Fen thought he could fix mine.

“Yeah,” Fen answers dryly. “I lost my mind when I answered his call and rambled a bunch of shit, telling him that everything was his fault and I wanted him to die.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?” I ask again.

“Yeah.” He nods, lost in the memory, sliding his hands up and down his thighs and shifting his weight on the bench to get more comfortable. “I hung up on him and expected that to be the end of it. Except, the next night he called again. And again. And again. Until I answered and did the exact same thing. I told him to go to Hell and that I was done. Over and over again. It happened for weeks. Every conversation would start out the same. I would call him out for being a shitty dad. He would apologize. I’d hang up. And the next night, he’d call again. And then slowly, after I finished rambling about how he screwed up his sons and he’d say he was sorry, the call would turn into an actual conversation, and my anger would get a little less overwhelming every time. We started really talking. About random shit. And I wasn’t pissed anymore. I actually looked forward to his calls. We talked about music. Bands. What I wanted to do with my life. His offer to help in any way he could. And when he did make the offer to help the band out that first time…I guess it didn’t sound like such a bad idea anymore.”

“When was this?” I rasp, almost jealous if it weren’t for the giant wall I’d built around myself when I found out I wasn’t Donny’s only kid all those years ago. Still, the reminder that Fen has a relationship with him while mine is shamefully pathetic leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

His eyes go hazy, and he stares into the distance, recounting the conversations before coming to some kind of conclusion. “Dad mentioned helping the band about a year ago, maybe? I dunno. Broken Vows was already formed. We were already gaining traction, and I knew you’d be pissed if I took him up on his offer.”

“So, you didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t. I knew how you felt about him. How you still feel about him,” he clarifies. “I wasn’t going to cross that line and ask for his help without your permission. Then, after I screwed up at SeaBird, well”––he scrubs his hand over his face––“I guess we both know how that played out.”

I pause to appreciate a few of the blanks that have been filled in, my respect for my father rising a few notches. I’ve never heard this story, but I have been on the other end of Fen’s benders. They’re no joke. If Donny Hayes could handle those and still bothered to call the next day, he deserves a damn award.

However, there’s still a massive elephant from our past that I want to know about.

“And what about Marty?” I ask, staring at the sun setting in the distance. “Why’d you connect with him?”

“Marty’s…Marty.” Fen laughs. “When I found out we had another brother who wanted to meet, of course, I didn’t turn it down. I knew what it was like to have a kick-ass older brother. Why wouldn’t I want another one? And yeah, he’s an ass and didn’t turn out to be like you, but he’s still blood. I know you don’t look at family the same way I do, but we all have our shit, right?”

“He was the one who introduced you to the hard stuff, Fen. You’re addicted to more shit than you can count, and it’s all his fault.”

“I’m handling it––”

“Bullshit,” I spit before attempting to rein in my temper. With a deep breath, I try again. “If you were handling it, I wouldn’t be here.”

He sighs, resting his elbows on his knees. “Listen. I want you here, Sonny. I really do. But despite Hawthorne’s recommendation, I don’t need a babysitter. I got this.”

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