Page 87 of Bursting With Love
The question took Jack by surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—a lecture about how everything he’d done for the past two years was bullshit or how he’d shamed the family. But, Why now? He blinked away his confusion and tried to form an answer that his father would find acceptable, but he couldn’t string together any coherent thoughts. His answer came all on its own. Honest and simple.
“It was time, Dad.”
Rush shot a look at their father. Jack knew he was weighing the narrowing of their father’s eyes and the repetitive clench of his jaw and trying to figure out his next move. A sense of empathy washed through Jack. Rush was a major competitive skier, a celebrity in his own right. Six two, strappingly handsome, well educated, and he had the world at his fingertips. Yet he was still hamstrung by their father’s rule—it was the reasons why that Jack couldn’t figure out.
His father nodded. “And what changed? What brought you to this realization that your family finally meant something to you?”
Jack took a deep breath, feeling anger swell in his chest at the jab. “My family has always been important to me. You know that. I lost someone I loved.” He fought against his raising voice but was powerless to stop it. “That’s not a glitch in a strategy or a failed mission. It was a life-changing event.” He took another deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, buying himself time while he calmed down.
“No, Jack,” his father began. “What has changed in you?”
Rush’s brows drew together, and he looked between Jack and his father. Jack rubbed the scar on the back of his arm, feeling pinned between them as Rush struggled with some internal battle.
“Everything,” Jack said through gritted teeth. He began pacing, an act that he knew his father saw as a weakness. Always face your enemies head-on. He didn’t care. He wasn’t a puppet, and goddamn it, he wished he could show his father that Rush wasn’t a puppet either. Jack was there to make amends, not have his spirit crushed by his goddamn father.
“Look, I’m not you, Dad, and I’m not Rush.” He stared at his brother until he saw a shadow of something he hoped was understanding pass through Rush’s eyes. “I might be weaker than you both, but damn it, that’s who I am. My wife died. I didn’t know how to deal with it, and I blamed myself.” He took a step forward, standing only inches from Rush. “You blamed me. You said if I hadn’t been so damn wrapped up in myself, I wouldn’t have let her go out that night.” He held his stare for a beat longer, seeing the nervous twitch in the left side of Rush’s mouth that he’d forgotten about until that moment. Then he faced his father. “You fought in battles. You led men and you led your family. You protected the citizens of this country, and you continue to protect your family every goddamn day of your life.” He felt his nostrils flare and took a moment to get a grip on his emotions again, channeling his anger to the flexed muscles in his legs and back.
“Everyone except me, Dad. Because you couldn’t protect me from Linda’s death. No one could. You were so goddamn busy demanding strong work ethics and achievements that you didn’t prepare me for tragedy within my own family.” Anger caused his voice to rise again. “When I joined the military, you said, Be proud of those you take down, Jack. You’re a good man. Always put your country first. Be proud? Do you see the irony?” He stomped a few feet away, then paced back and looked his father in the eye. “Well, guess what? My wife’s dead because I was so wrapped up in putting my country first and preparing goddamn strategies for the next mission that I couldn’t drag my ass away long enough to go out and pick up the things she needed from the store. And guess what else, Dad? I’m not proud. And why are you so goddamned mad anyway? Because you couldn’t protect me from the guilt and hate I harbored? Well, guess what? No one could protect me from myself.”
The truth of his words hit him like a punch to the gut. Did he really blame his father? He took two stumbling steps back, his arms hanging at his sides. The fight drained from his muscles like lumber turned to sawdust. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. “No one could.”
Rush took one step toward Jack before his father touched his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Jack saw the motion and was past caring. The realization that he’d turned away from everyone because he felt alone in his torment was still kicking his ass and twisting his brain into a repetitive cycle of reality slaps. No one could have protected him. His dad had prepared him for school, for the military, hell, he’d prepared him for killing human beings and getting past it.
