Page 54 of Tiny Fractures

“Absolutely.” I reciprocate his smile. “I’ll see you later,” I say, and he nods before I turn and join Ronan to walk back out to the deck.

“I have to admit, I got worried there for a second,” Ronan says amusedly, his voice low.

I giggle. “Why?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re incredibly beautiful and I’m actually shocked that some dude hasn’t snatched you yet.”

“Oh, they tried,” I say, feigning swagger.

Ronan grins at me. “Trust me, I’m well aware,” he says with a sincere nod. “Thanks for picking me,” he adds, his voice husky.

“Likewise,” I say, and smile at him.

His green eyes lock on mine, and he takes my hand briefly in his, squeezing it before letting go again just in time for us to walk out onto the deck to join our friends.

Thursday, June 10th

Ronan

It’s Thursday afternoon and I just managed to drag myself out of bed after leaving it all at the gym this morning. I didn’t get home from work until just before three last night and was up again by seven, when Steve and I went to meet Shane and Zack at our usual gym—a repurposed warehouse uniquely suited for boxing, weightlifting, and CrossFit. Shane has a deep-seated dislike for chain gyms, as he calls them, because he thinks people go there to show off their physique but don’t actually put in the work.

It was a brutal workout, and I crashed hard after taking a hot shower that relaxed my tired muscles. When I finally wake up, neither Steve nor my mom are home, but I find my dad in the living room where he’s working on his laptop.

As promised, my dad came home last Friday. I was working, so I didn’t actually see him until I got back from the gym at noon on Saturday. It’s been nice having him around. While I don’t spend a ton of time with him, it’s mostly the energy at home that’s different when he’s here. My mother’s mood is better, more stable. She doesn’t lose control like she does when my dad’s gone, doesn’t seem so agitated by my mere existence.

My dad looks up from his work when I walk into the living room. “Hey, Ran. You look beat. How was the workout?”

“Rough,” I admit, still exhausted. I notice his packed bag by the foot of the stairs. “You’re still leaving tomorrow?” I ask, my voice neutral, unaffected by what I know his answer will be.

He nods, giving me an apologetic look. “Yeah. I’m heading to Germany for a couple of weeks and then back to Virginia.”

“So, I won’t see you for a while, huh?” I ask, already formulating a plot of how to best avoid sticky situations at home. When I was little, I would dread my dad leaving, though some years ago I learned to just accept the fact that when my father was gone, things were bad for me. It’s been like this my whole life—my dad being gone for long stretches of time, coming home for brief periods, then leaving again. I’m resigned to the fact he’s always gone, numb to what awaits me the moment he steps out the door for weeks or months on end.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I have noticed him being gone longer, being home less frequently, and appearing happier as his departure day approaches. It’s been so noticeable that I shared my suspicions with Steve a few months ago.

“I think dad is having an affair with some woman in Virginia,” I randomly threw at Steve one night after I had a little too much Jack at one of Shane’s parties. My dad hadn’t been home in over two months, and it was the evening following a more violent confrontation with my mother. The bruises were dark, the cut on my jaw was still raw and deep, and I was sore, and drunk, and pissed off after just having told the same bullshit lie about how the fuck I got so banged up for the ninth time that evening.

I had been observing and analyzing my dad’s behavior for a while by then, and the only explanation I could come up with was that he was happier somewhere else. Things had been getting progressively worse at home since we moved back to New York, and my mother’s violent outbursts were more frequent and painful.

At first, I thought it was because I was getting bigger, stronger, and maybe she felt she could use more force without breaking me so easily, but then I realized she genuinely seemed angrier at me than ever before. The only correlation I saw was my dad’s increasingly prolonged absences.

Steve had waved me off, chalking my talk up to the fact that I was less than sober and obviously in a bad mood.

“I’m sorry, bud,” my dad says genuinely. “I know I haven’t been spending any time with you. But hey, if you have some time now we could get started on replacing that brake system in your Mustang?”

“Yeah, actually, that would be great,” I nod happily. “I already have the conversion kit, so it shouldn’t take all that long.”

“Awesome.”

We change clothes and get to work on my Mustang fifteen minutes later. It should be a quick job, especially with both of us working together, and I have to admit that I enjoy spending time with my dad. It’s such a rare occurrence to have him home, and even more seldom that I get to spend time with just him.

“So, tell me how you’ve been, bud,” my dad urges me, working on one side of my car while I install one of the mounting brackets. Onyx lays on the floor next to me, keeping a watchful eye on things. She’s always been attached to me.

“Um, fine, I guess,” I grunt, tightening a screw.

“Yeah? How’s hockey?”

“Hockey’s done for now, Dad. Conditioning doesn’t start up again until a couple of weeks from now.”

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