Page 19 of Rematch
“Well, I thought -”
“I took them in and played house?” He chuckled. “Is that what your mother told you?”
No, I wanted to say. My mother did her best to conceal the real reason she packed our life up and left our father in the dust. She blamed it on everything else under the sun. All his illegal affairs. The way he was never home. Her dislike for the violent code he was instilling in me. The arguments that were taken too far on more occasions than it should’ve.
“He’s not a good man,” she used to tell me. “We’re better off without him.”
As much as she tried to hide it, she couldn’t stop the truth from coming out eventually.
I remember I snuck over to his house one day for an unplanned visit and caught him with a baby in his arms and a woman who wasn’t my mother draped over him. The sight alone spoke for itself. She didn’t need to tell me anything else.
“Look,” my father said, his tone taking a serious turn. “I don’t know what your mother told you, but I didn’t trade our family for another. The night I stepped out on your mother was a mistake. I was drunk and stressed and let temptation get the better of me. That night cost me everything. Yes, I made a lot of mistakes in my marriage. No, I wasn’t the best father to you. Yes, I hurt the both of you in ways I never meant to. But the thought of replacing the two of you never crossed my mind. I’ve always been here, waiting for my chance to make things right. And we’re here now, aren’t we?”
I wanted to shrug. My father and I have completely different ideas of what it means to make amends. But, if this was his fucked up way of mending our relationship, then I guess it’d do.
“I don’t want him fighting in the rings anymore,” I said.
“Alright. Then, you enforce it. The rings are yours now, remember? Run them how you see fit. But, I must ask: why do you care so much?”
Because, regardless of the unfortunate circumstances, the little runt was my brother - my blood. I couldn’t sit around and wait until he gets an opponent who’ll actually beat the shit out of him. Some of those men who step into the rings are ruthless. The last thing I want is to haul his bloody body out - unconscious or worse.
I may not know him - hell, may not even like him - but I still had an obligation to at least look out for him.
My father let out a lifeless laugh. “The gap in those foundational years really made you soft, huh?” He said. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix that soon enough.”
I rolled my eyes. “What were you saying?” I asked to redirect the conversation.
“Nothing important. Just ending my spiel.” He paused for a moment, pondering over his next words. “I know I haven’t told you this, but you’re doing a great job so far - running the rings.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Won’t be long before I’m handing over everything else to you.”
“Hm.”
He was already losing me again. My mind was levitating back up towards the clouds, trying to get as far away from this conversation as possible.
Younger me would’ve been hooked on every word. Back then, being under my father’s wing was one of my favorite places to be. I’d sit and fantasize over the life I’d have working alongside my cousins and carrying on the legacy our fathers built. But that was before they moved to the East Coast. Before my parents split. Before life as I knew it shattered into a tiny million pieces.
Now whenever I listened to him talk, I prayed for the moment he’d shut the fuck up.
My father shook his head. “Go on,” he said, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Get out of here and enjoy the rest of your night.”
Thank God.
I didn’t hesitate to make a break for the door. I had to hold back a groan when my father called my name as I reached it. Reluctantly, I looked over my shoulder.
“Don’t worry so much about what’s-his-name,” he told me. “He’s not your responsibility.”
I gritted my teeth to stop the frown from forming on my lips and nodded.
Before he could say another word, I slipped through the doorway and hurried down the hall.
Stepping outside felt like coming up for air after being underwater. As much as I was beginning to enjoy some of the duties thrust upon me, it was a lot to take in. And being in my father’s presence didn’t help.
Unlike me, he wasn’t fazed by the time we lost. The moment I reached out, he carried on as if we hadn’t spoken for over ten years. Like I hadn’t ignored him on birthdays or holidays or graduations. At the time, I was too blinded by rage to give a damn. All I cared about was getting the tools I needed to right the wrongs I caused.
Little did I know, I was only opening the door to the throne I thought I’d left behind. And my father showed no remorse in making me work my way towards deserving it.
