Page 89 of The Heir

“I married her. I fucking hated her. I’m here to tell you, I wanted to drive that fucking bike right off the side of the interstate with her on the back of it on the way back from that Chicago wedding.”

I whipped around, giving a wild glance toward the porch and the direction Trista had gone in search of his wife.

He snorted, “I ain’t never admitted that to nobody. Don’t go squealing on me, now.”

I slowly fixed my attention back on him, unsure if I believed that.

“I don’t snitch.”

He nodded, “Point is, once we arrived–” He shrugged, “We got off rich–She fuckin shot me.”

“What?” I laughed.

“Well, I mean– I might have smacked her a little or whatever, but yeah– She fuckin’ put a bullet in me. We hate fucked a few times. I was possessive of her, but that ain’t love, Blaze. I didn’t love her until I saw how hard she was willing to ride for me and my kids. You’re possessive of my daughter. I see it. The whole party heard it– but do you really love her?”

Fuck.

Nice move, Blaze.

Serenade the club and party with the sound of his daughter coming, then ask for a job!

What the fuck was I thinking?

I groaned and glanced away.

“It isn’t a matter of fucking her. I– shouldn’t have fucked her at that party.” I held a finger up, willing to admit when I was wrong, “Not outside anyhow.”

He snorted and laughed shaking his head, “You’re fucking Ant all over again.”

He might as well have slapped me in the fucking mouth like I did his daughter last night.

When he glanced back and saw the stunned look on my face, the humor left his eyes. They tightened momentarily, before he canted his head.

“That's it, isn’t it?” He quieted momentarily and frowned at the ground, “I– I couldn’t reach her with that. Never. No matter how I tried. I mean, I know what it’s like to lose a mother, I lost mine the same day she lost hers, but I was a grown fucking man. She was just a little girl. I don’t even think I processed my mother’s death for years. It was just a blip in a long list of fucked-up shit, you know–”

I nodded. It was an unfathomable tragedy. I didn’t know all the minor details, but I was piecing it together and it was already bad enough.

“She didn’t just push me out– She pushed everyone out and put up walls that I didn’t think would ever get scaled.” He eyed me and gave an impressive whistle.

“It’s a lot. I mean– between me and her. I feel like it’s a lot, but I know it's just the beginning. The walls may not be what you think they are. I don’t push my mom to talk about my dad. I gave up on that a long time ago, so I dance around the topic of him with her and beg everyone to share their memories with me.”

“I couldn’t talk about Sasha with them. Afterwards– Not really. I wasn’t a good husband. Shit, I was barely a father. The only thing I’ve ever been good at is being a brother and making shit happen. I made a lot of mistakes with Sasha. The kids know it, but that doesn't mean I was ready to go stomping down memory lane with all that, confirming their suspicions that I was a no-good bastard.”

“I don’t know if she thinks that, but– I wonder if maybe one of those bricks in her wall that you speak of is the lack of transparency that may or may not be detected by her on some level. Is it possible sensing such makes her question the authenticity of everyone around her, including her own ability to recall or interpret the world she lives in?”

He stared at me for so long, I thought I’d offended him for a minute.

“Maybe,” He mused after a moment, “Think you could find out for me?”

“Huh?” I blurted out.

“Find out what my daughter holds against me.”

“Get me a job and I’ll think about it.”

He laughed and looked at me like I was being ridiculous.

“What? I need a fuckin’ job. I got a wife to take care of, you know…” I carried on, before being serious, “I’m locked down with this house arrest, shit. The court will put my ass back in the county if I don’t have a job soon.”

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