Page 164 of Soul So Dark
And, like Colson, his knee-jerk reactions also make him easy to mess with.
Dad squints down at me, connecting the dots before letting out a sigh. Meanwhile, Colson is shaking with laughter behind him.
“What were you going to do,” he snickers as our dad steps past him, “drive to Montrose and beat some ass at the ticket counter?”
Dad swings his arm out and hooks Colson around the neck, jerking him down to his waist. Gripping him in a headlock, he continues to the kitchen while Colson tries to pry himself free, but he’s laughing so hard that he can only stumble along next to him. Our dad’s probably the only one who can toss Colson around; he’s the same size and spends all day with 40 head of cattle.
“Dinner in an hour,” Mary calls as she scrolls through the music on her phone. Finally, she settles on some Bone Thugs and connects her phone to the speakers mounted on the sideboard.
“Do you need any help?” I ask.
“No way, that’s their job,” she nods to the kitchen. “Steak frites. Take your stuff up to your room and I’ll get the wine.”
I don’t argue. This is the only place I’ll eat a plate of steak and potatoes because I’ve never found anywhere else that measures up. When I step into my room, it looks exactly like it did in high school.It didn’t matter that I spent one week max here each year, the deep purple paint and strings of lights cascading down the wall above the headboard were an absolute must in order to maintain the same vibe I had at my mom’s house. But unlike my mom’s house, there’s no baggage and no drama tangled in the good memories like brambles and briars. It feels like home, but also an escape.
After taking my time and savoring the calm, I step back out into the hallway, where the savory aroma of skirt steak searing in cast iron hits my nostrils. As I approach the stairs, I catch sight of Colson’s reflection in the bathroom mirror through the open door. He takes a drink out of the faucet before straightening up and throwing his head back, swallowing hard. He tosses a pill bottle back into the open toiletry bag on the sink before flipping the light off and I quickly turn my back before he can see me.
I’m instantly reminded of how much better I eat when I come here, especially now that I live in a decrepit slum with three other people with varying degrees of culinary skill. I should be basking in the abundance of red meat and starch, but for some reason I can’t get the image out of my head of Colson right after he downed whatever pill he took in the bathroom.
He swallowed, paused, and looked straight in the mirror with a look I can only describe as…
Bothered.
I know Colson’s face. And I haven’t seen him look like that for a long time. Not since he left our house one morning, walked into the woods, and came back a different person. But that happened six years ago, long before he decided to disappear only two years ago.
Dad and Mary go to bed early because they get up at the ass crack of dawn every day to start chores on the ranch. This is a beautiful place, but I remember why I chose to go to school in the city rather than live here; there’s no chance I’ll get ambushed by a mountain lion or trampled in a stampede.
Colson and I remain in the living room while I show him pictures from the last couple of years, including the one from my 21stbirthday months ago.
He pauses on a picture of Austin and me. “God, that kid’s still around?”
“Sometimes,” I shrug, “when he’s not travelling for games or doing rich people things.”
“But Bostwick’s such atool…” Colson whines.
He’s not wrong, and I wish Austin was a better friend, but the night of my birthday was a really good one. It’s the closest it’s ever been to the way things used to be without being trapped in the confines of high school. It was the night I decided that I wouldn’t ice Austin out just yet. He knew me before the day my life divided itself into “before” and “after.” Maybe I want to hold onto that.
“Yeah, well, he still showed up,” I snip. “That’s what matters.”
I don’t intend for it to come out like it does, but it’s pretty fucking rich that Colson’s taking jabs at Austin for showing up at my birthday while he was MIA without so much as a text. Colson always used to be at my birthday, and then he just disappeared.
Without another word, I snatch my phone from Colson and toss it onto the cushion next to me.
There’s a long pause before he speaks. “I should’ve been there, Dallas, but I couldn’t. Not after what happened.”
“It wasn’t because of Evie, so don’t do that,” I snap. “Does it have anything to do with those pills you take?”
A spark ignites behind his radioactive eyes and, this time, I stare right back because I don’t care what he thinks, especially if he’s just going to disappear back into the tundra once I get back on an airplane.
The sofa cushion gives as Colson rises from his seat and brushes past my knees. He strides into the dining room, opens the sideboard cupboard, and retrieves a bottle of whiskey. In three more strides, he’s in the kitchen pulling two juice glasses off the shelf.
“One or two fingers?” he asks as he gives himself a heavy pour.
I don’t even like whiskey, but I hear myself answering, “One.”
He pours mine and then proceeds to pour a double for himself and throw it back in one gulp. Then he immediately refills it and downs that one, too. He pours a third and returns to the living room, handing me the glass as he passes. I tip it back, holding the amber liquid in my mouth for a moment while I run my eyes along the walls, covered in framed photos that span generations of Lutzes, most of which include men and women mounted on horseback and majestic views from mountainsides. And cattle. Lots of cattle.
“I used to miss the way things used to be when it was just Mason, Aiden, Alex, and me,” Colson begins, “before shit hit the fan.”
