Page 106 of Blindside Me
I take it, my fingers curling around the cold glass automatically, but I don’t drink. Just hold it like a prop while my eyes scan the bar, searching for blonde hair that isn’t here.
The bartender nods at me from behind the counter. I recognize him from last semester’s history class. “The usual?”
“Whiskey. Neat.” The words come out without thought. Dad’s drink. Jake’s drink. The Klaas men’s solution to everything.
Drew quirks an eyebrow. “Beer not strong enough?”
I shrug.
The amber liquid appears in front of me. I lift it, breathe in the sharp, familiar scent. One sip burns all the way down, and I set the glass back on the bar, untouched after that.
Jake’s voice echoes in my head.Nothing kills the noise like whiskey, little brother.The night before he wrapped his car around a tree. Three fistfights during the game. Five whiskeys deep after arguing with Dad.
I push the glass away.
And then there was him.
I spotted my dad in the stands during warmup. He was tucked up near the edge in one of the VIP seats he never bothered to tell me he’d gotten. No wave. Just a look. Cold. Measuring.
I didn’t think about it again until I caught sight of him after the fight, standing at the top corner of the stands, arms folded. Not yelling, not shocked. Just … done. He was already turning away before the refs even blew the whistle.
I checked my phone after the game. One message. Just one.
“Real smart. Scouts were in the building, and you pulled that shit? Grow up.”
No concern. No,are you okay?No,what happened?
Just disappointment, crisp and impersonal.
I haven’t answered. Don’t know if I ever will.
I slip my phone from my pocket and open the two texts from Jade:
Jade: You alive?
And then, like a knife between my ribs:
Jade: You don’t have to protect me, you know. I’m not going anywhere.
I swear I hear her voice when I read it. Soft, stubborn, warm. And it guts me. Because she’s wrong.
I couldn’t even protect her from me.
My throat tightens. She doesn’t get it. This isn’t about protecting her. This is about me being exactly what I’ve always feared, my father’s son. Jake’s brother. A Klaas man who solves problems with his fists and then whiskey.
I type:I’m sorry.
Delete.
I shouldn’t have lost it like that.
Delete.
I’ll understand if you no longer want to see me.
Delete.
I’m at Barton’s.
