Page 95 of Until August
I kept my eye on him as we climbed, ready to lend a helping hand if needed. Although if he went down, I didn’t know if I’d be strong enough to catch him.
Luckily, he made it to the top without my assistance, and I trailed behind him until we reached his front door.
He dug around in his pocket before finally coming out with the keys. “I’m losing my son. Just when I got him back, she’s trying to take him away from me.”
“What do you mean?”
He fumbled with the keys and dropped them, the metal clanging on the concrete before he leaned over and snatched them up, swaying when he stood upright. “They’re going to fucking Hawaii. For six fucking weeks. Can you believe that shit?”
Was this why he’d gotten drunk? Because his son would be in Hawaii for six weeks?
It took him five minutes to open the door. I tried to help, but he swatted my hand away.
He shoved the door open, and it banged against the wall as he flicked on the lights. “Welcome to Shangri-La,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “Isn’t it beautiful?” He laughed. “Course it’s not. It’s a shithole. Nothing like your fancy-ass house in the hills. Welcome to my castle,princess.”
I hated how he was acting, but I kept my mouth shut and followed him into the living room. A low wall separated it from the small, dated kitchen, and linoleum masquerading as terracotta tiles covered the floor.
The brass ceiling light cast a greenish-yellow glow on the room, highlighting the dingy beige walls and the general air of neglect.
August deserved a nicer place, but he was starting over, and I suspected that money was tight. “None of that matters to me, August.”
“Not to you, maybe.” He beat his fist against his chest. “But it matters to me. I’ve got nothing to offer you.” He held his arms out at his sides, then let them drop. “Not a goddamn thing.”
“I don’t care about your money or where you live.”
I don’t even think he heard me. He was too drunk for the words to sink in.
He flopped down on a dark blue sectional. The sofa and coffee table were the only furniture in the living room.
The air was stuffy, so I opened the sliding glass door to the balcony overlooking the parking lot.
Not sure if that made things better. Now you could hear the noise from the traffic on the highway. I watched the cars zipping past, their headlights illuminating the darkness, and turned at the sound of his voice.
“I’m an ex-con. And look at you.” He waved his hand in the air and then let it drop to the sofa. “You’re so fucking beautiful. You don’t belong here.” He slunk lower on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. “You don’t even belong in my world.”
I sat next to him and tried to find the right words to make this situation better. I wasn’t used to seeing this version of August. Usually, he was a confident, take-charge kind of guy. “Don’t talk like that. You’re a good guy. Stop acting like you’re—”
“Like I’m what?” His head swiveled, and he speared me with a look. “Bad for you? Because I am. If there’s one thing I know, it’s this. No good will come of being with me.”
“Okay, I get it. It’s your turn to throw a pity party. So go for it. I’ll just be over here playing my tiny violin.” I pretended to play a tiny violin, holding an imaginary bow between my thumb and index finger, but it didn’t even get a laugh or a smile out of him.
He dropped his head against the back of the sofa and scrubbed his hands down his face, his voice weary. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here because I care about you. And I’m staying because I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I’m drunk.”
Even though it wasn’t funny, I laughed at how he said it as if he was divulging a big secret. He looked so boyish at that moment. His hair going in all directions. His face open and vulnerable. “Yeah, I figured that out.”
“I don’t like getting drunk.” He laced his hands behind his head, his eyes on the ceiling. “Hardly ever do. My father was an alcoholic, and I’ve prided myself on being nothing like him. But here we are.”
“You’re not like him. You didn’t get behind the wheel drunk.”
“I’m going to lose Sage, and I can’t fucking handle losing him again.” His eyes drifted shut like he couldn’t face the thought and was trying to block it out.
There was so much raw pain etched on his face that I did the only thing I could think to do. I scooted closer, wrapped my arms around him, and pulled him against me. “You’re not going to lose him. He’s not going away forever. You can FaceTime him and talk to him on the phone. I know it seems like a long time, but he’ll be back in six weeks—”
“No. No, no, no. They’re talking about moving to Hawaii.”
