Page 88 of Our Secrets and Scars

He’s more than an uncle. He’s a father. And my best friend.

“Let her know the tattoo’s on me for being a major asshole, would you?” I ask him. “Maybe even throw in a sorry on my behalf.”

“There’s my boy.” He grins. “Now fuck off. I don’t wanna see your miserable face until tonight, ya hear me?”

With that, he disappears down the hall, offering an apology for my behavior along the lines of “sorry about him, he gets crabby when he hasn’t had lunch.”

I roll my eyes, then set about finishing tidying up my things. And when I’m finally back in my apartment, I slide down the closed door to the ground and cry into my knees, weeping for the love I’ve lost and begging the universe for a miracle.

“Come on, life ain’t that bad,” Uncle Mack says, his words light but his tone sober.

He pours two fingers’ worth of bourbon into a glass tumbler he found in the kitchen and hands it to me. I knock it back with a single swallow.

“Seriously kid, you’re acting like someone’s died.”

Frowning, I hold out my glass for a refill.

“Feels that way.”

He tries a smile to lighten the mood, but it morphs quickly into a look of concern. His brows furrow as he pours more amber liquid into my glass before taking a swig directly from the bottle. He sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he holds his clenched hands between them.

And then he sucks in a deep breath and says, “Look, son, truth is, I’ve been where you are.”

I look to him quizzically; confusion etched into every line on my face. “What?”

“Got my heartbroken once. Long time ago.” His voice trails off to a low rumble as his eyes fill with sad nostalgia. “Loved her more than I ever fucking thought possible, but I guess it wasn’t the same for her.”

“What happened?” I ask in a hushed whisper.

My uncle is a proud man. He doesn’t talk about his emotions or share personal information lightly. In fact, in all the years he’s raised me, this is possibly the deepest part of himself that he’s ever offered up to me freely. I don’t know how to handle it. I’m worried that the slightest movement or wrongly muttered word will spook him back into silence.

“She found someone better.” He punctuates the statement with a casual shrug of his shoulders as if what he’s telling me is no big deal.

But it is.

I’ve never known my uncle to keep a woman around for more than a month or so. And even then, he did what he could to keep his affairs hidden from me. It was only because of the differently scented perfumes that would linger in the air that I caught on to what was going on. And when one scent would fade out only to be replaced by another, I knew that there was a new woman in his bed.

But I never saw them for myself. Never made breakfast for them in the morning or even bumped into them in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom. He kept his romantic life totally secluded from the one he shared with me.

“Look, I’m gonna be real honest with you here,” he says soberly, turning his body to face me so he can look me in the eye as he speaks. He’s shifting in his seat, his gaze steady but his hands fidgeting subtly in his lap. This conversation is paining him, I can tell that much. “I’m not a man with many regrets, but my biggest one was letting her go. Don’t make the mistake I did, son.”

“But it was me who fucked up, Mack. I betrayed her. I did something so utterly unforgiveable that I know the best thing for her is to never see me again. Even if it fucking kills me, letting her go is what’s best for her.”

He tuts, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Didn’t know I raised a coward.”

My jaw drops as I gape at him. I blink a few times, wondering if I misheard him. But I didn’t. His sentiment is evident in the disenchantment that stains his silvery gaze.

“Sorry?”

“You fucked up, kid. You did. Ain’t no question about that. But guess what? You’re human. We all have screw ups, we all make mistakes from time to time. Doesn’t mean we give up on the people we love though.”

“But I—”

He holds a hand up to silence me. “I know what you did and I get why she’d be devastated by it. But giving up on her would be an even bigger mistake than the one you’ve already made.”

“She told me she hates me,” I rasp. The pain of remembering her words is deafening in every syllable I utter.

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