Page 49 of Haunted Hearts
I bang the bottle on the counter again, and the cap goes flying. “Take it easy? Take iteasy? I had to pay cash I barely haveto bail you out of fuckingjail, Zeke—less than twenty-four hours ago—and you’re telling me to take iteasy?”
Zeke raises his hands in surrender. “Okay. Yes. Will, one. Zeke, zero. But, like, I don’t see what that’s got to do with?—”
“I’lltellyou what it’s got to do with it,” I shout. “I have spent the last twenty-two years trying to be what our piece of shit dad was not. Trying to be some kind of father figure for you, for Benji. And Phoebe. Trying to be the backbone of this family. And all for fuckingnothing.”
Zeke’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. “Because I drove drunk?”
“Yes, because you drove drunk,” I snap. “And because you’re sitting here on your ass in my house day in and day out, too lazy to get a job because you’re out fucking ghosts at the harbor.”
The corners of Zeke’s mouth twitch. “That’s not your fault. And—please don’t bite my head off—none of that has anything to do with the librarian.”
I down the second beer in a single long chug and chuck the empty bottle at the fridge, where it shatters across the floor into a million fractals.
Across the counter, Zeke flinches. “Fuck, Will. Can you just… chill out?”
I grab beer number three. Bang. Pop. Swig. The edges of my vision are swimming now, and the warmth of the alcohol as it hits my bloodstream is beginning to soften the red-hot anger I feel at myself into something darker. Something more like despair. I sink down to the kitchen floor and rest my head against the cabinets, barely even noticing the shards of broken glass beneath me.
I close my eyes, letting the start of drunkenness wash over me. “I fucking failed, Zeke.”
“Failed…?”
“I’m just like Dad. I tried so fucking hard not to be, but I just… am.”
Zeke starts picking his way across the kitchen floor toward me. Broken glass crackles beneath his feet. He crouches down next to me, takes the now empty third beer from my hand. “Bro, what the fuck are you even talking about?”
“Get me another beer.”
“No.”
I groan, banging the back of my head against the cabinet. “Don’t you get it? Not only can I not even keep this fucking family on track, but I just broke Lydia’s goddamn heart. And that woman, bitchy as she may be, is so pure, so—so—sogood, and I just… ripped her to shreds, and I didn’t even mean to. I was tryingnotto. Dad was right.”
Zeke’s quiet a moment, sipping his beer. “Did Dad say you were like him?”
I don’t answer, which is clear enough.
“Dude,” Zeke says. “You arenothinglike Dad. I haven’t seen him since I was, like, seven, and even I know he’s a complete douchebag. You aregood, Will. You’re my brother, but you’re ten times the father Dad was. Hell, probably a hundred times. And the fact that I make shit decisions sometimes isn’t on you.”
I still don’t say anything. Zeke’s words are swirling into the alcoholic fog that’s making a fuzzy mess of my brain. I barely ever drink, and pounding three beers in a row is proving to be a lot for my bloodstream, although it’s certainly starting to numb me, which is what I wanted.
Zeke gives my shoulder a friendly pinch. “Come on, man. Let’s get you to bed. You’ll feel better when you can think straight.”
He grips my biceps and starts to lift me up. I let him, using the cabinets for leverage as I struggle to stand, sliding on the broken glass that litters the floor.
And then I hiss. Suck in a sharp breath. From the corner of my eye, there’s a flash of light that almost blinds me, but it’s gone before I can turn my gaze.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask, my voice suddenly sharp.
Zeke looks alarmed. “What the fuck was what?”
I’m about to answer him, but the flash of light comes again. When I turn to look for it, it’s gone, but a cold is creeping down my spine, washing through my hands and feet and ribcage, and I know exactly what it is. I’ve been here before. Just not for nineteen years.
“Fuuuuuck,” I yell, shrugging free of Zeke’s grasp.
“Holy shit, Will! You need to get a grip on yourself.”
I hurl myself forward, gripping the counter, trying desperately to pull myself away from the cold that’s now seeping into every inch of my body. The flickering light is back again, hanging out at the corner of my field of vision. The more the alcohol warms my blood, the sharper the light gets, the colder my body feels.
I know exactly what’s happening, but I’m powerless to stop it. The grief. The anger. The alcohol. The heartbreak. They’ve all converged into one, and they’re too strong for my grip. The energetic wall I’ve spent so many years holding up with every ounce of mental strength I can find is dissolving.
