Page 72 of Surviving the Break
I downed mine, then topped us both off. “Why now?”
He looked to the ceiling, eyes closed, breathing deeply. “I used to hear your screams. When we were younger, after...” He sipped his drink this time, taking a moment to appreciate the burn. “I would pretend to be asleep.” The sound of his foot tapping against the stool railing filled the space. “To help you would’ve meant helping myself, first.” He met my stare.
“Wow, look how far you’ve come,” I said with pride. Damon had grown in so many ways; he wouldn’t have been able to say that a couple months ago. “I miss him.” It felt good to be talking and thinking about someone other than Max.
“Me too.” His smile lacked joy. “Julie says that our dreams are sometimes manifestations of our subconscious mind.” His face turned questioning. “What are you subconsciously guilty of, Ash? You played no role in his death.”
“I also played no role in saving him. I convinced you to go to that game—”
“No, you didn’t. We were boys placed in an impossible situation of having to guard a child from the threat of its mother.”
“Yet we went anyway,” I said, balling my fists on the island, pain now assaulting me on multiple fronts.
“Which was our right, damnit,” he hissed, more inwardly than in frustration with me. “She did this. I know it now, and I’m getting better.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and slipped it to me. “You can stop suffering for me now.”
I picked it up warily, eyeing the credentials scrawled across it.
“Julie vouches for him. It’s not your fault, and it’s not mine. It never was.”
“I know—”
“Do you?”
“I’m starting to.”
“I suspect it’s going to take more than this brief conversation to keep you from running to that pool in a cold sweat.” Damon turned his eyes to the sliding glass doors.
“Yeah, it will. This is a start.” I rose off my stool to reach over, placing my palm at his nape and bringing his forehead to mine. I held him there until his hand mirrored mine. “I love you, brother.”
“Ditto,” he said, still a work in progress.
“One of these days, I’m going to get those three little words from you.” I retook my seat. I’d thought the same thing about Max, once upon a time.
“Remember that time,” he started, “when your dad didn’t show up to the end-of-season father/son baseball game?”
“Yeah?” One of many times he didn’t show up, after having finally shown up in my life.
“I sat in the bleachers with your mom, and we watched you sitting alone in the dugout, eyes fixed on your cleats, while everyone else was on the field setting up to play.”
“A shadow had passed over the sun, drenching the field in darkness.” At least that's how it had felt. “My head snapped up in alarm, but the darkness was you, menacingly heading my way.” I smiled at the memory. One of many just like it. Of Damon saving the day.
“I told you to bat up, and we marched onto that baseball diamond.”
“You told the coach you were stepping in for my father.”
“And he said it was against the rules and that I couldn’t.”
“And you said,” I swallowed past the lump in my throat, “who’s gonna stop me?” We’d won too. Damon and me.
“I’ll always have your back. No one’s ever going to stop me.”
At a loss for words, I said, “Thank you.”
And unlike our car ride from the airport many months ago when he couldn’t handle my gratitude, this time, Damon looked me in the eyes and said, “You’re welcome.Always.”
I gave a hard nod.
“Now, let’s talk about why I haven’t been able to pin you down and why you look like shit.”
