Page 16 of Catch the Sun

My father is not a bad person. He’s a flawed person who needs somebody willing to put in the effort to bring him back to his former self. He’s a run-down house with peeling paint, cracked tiles, and faulty appliances, where the inspector tells you that it needs some work, but at least the bones are good.

When another crashing sound rattles the walls, McKay finally pops up from the couch with an exasperated sigh and sweeps past me, beelining toward our father’s bedroom.

I follow.

We both enter the room, but it’s me who Dad looks at, his chest heaving, shoulders sagged and hunched over. He stares at me with drunk-glazed eyes, hobbling in place, a look of absolute defeat etched all over his face. “She left me,” he murmurs, bottom lip quivering. “And I miss her…so much.”

McKay is not at all moved. “She left all of us. Not just you,” he states firmly.

Dad’s gaze is still locked on me. Something tortured gleams within the shadows and desaturated blue. A shade of blue that was once ocean-strong.

And it breaks my fucking heart.

“It’s okay, Dad.” Even though McKay shoots me a deadly look that screams, “It’s not okay, you dipshit,” I step forward and lead my father toward the bed. “Let’s clean up this mess and get you to bed. We can talk later.”

“I d’wanna talk,” Dad slurs, stumbling along and holding on to my arm. “We’ve got that barbecue tonight. Jefferson’ll be here soon. Gotta make my brisket.”

Jefferson was an old coworker. Haven’t seen the guy in years. “I’ve got the brisket covered. Don’t worry about it.” I help Dad slide into bed and pick up a pile of wadded-up blankets from the floor, draping them over my father’s shivering, weakened body. He curls his knees to his chest and latches on to a downy pillow like it’s his only lifeline.

I’m about to turn away when he stops me.

“Maxwell,” he murmurs, face partially buried in the pillow.

I glance down at him. “Yeah?”

“You’re a wonderful son.” His eyes close and he’s passed out within seconds.

There’s a ball of brimstone in my throat when I lift my eyes to McKay. My brother remains silent, his stance rigid as he ignores the inadvertent dismissal and focuses on a blue jay perched on a tree branch outside the window. Then he pivots and stomps away, heading back to the living room.

I flick both hands through my damp hair, still slick from a water-bottle cooldown while mowing the lawn. When I exit the bedroom, McKay is plucking his earbuds off the living room floor and returning to his can’t-be-bothered position on the couch.

He collapses with a long breath. “You should go to the bonfire tomorrow night,” he tells me, avoiding the prior exchange like a skilled tactician sidestepping a minefield. “You’re still young and stupid. You should do what I do and enjoy life while you can.”

“What, and watch other people get drunk and belligerent?” I counter, crossing my arms over a sleeveless heather-gray tee. “I’ve had my fill. Thanks.”

“Bring a girl and get your dick wet. It’s a great distraction.” He smirks at me. “Libby would climb you like a tree if you’d let her. Or…what about that redhead across the street you used to hang out with when we were kids?” Collapsing onto a sofa cushion, he spreads his arms across the back of the couch. “She got hot, I’ll give her that. Weird but hot. Great tits.”

“I don’t give a shit about her tits.”

“That’s your problem. You have no hobbies, no interests, no sex life. Your entire existence is holed up in this cesspit with a depressed alcoholic who doesn’t appreciate a single thing you do for him.”

My teeth grind together but I don’t acknowledge the barb.

Our father isn’t the only one who doesn’t appreciate me.

McKay has no fucking concept of the fact that I’m doing all of this sohecan live the life he wantsmeto live. He doesn’t realize that we both can’t have that life. One of us has to hold down the fort. One of us has to sacrifice, so all three of us can survive.

And that person just so happens to be me.

I brush off the bonfire invitation and slip into my beat-up running shoes. “I’ll think about it,” I mutter, catching the shrug he sends me before lying back down and closing his eyes.

I take a moment to savor the silence.

Dad is quiet.

McKay is quiet.

But my mind is still restless, so I do what I always do when I need to find true peace:

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