Page 68 of Indigo

She laughs into my hair and hugs me back. “Mmmm,” she replies. “You have no idea, kid.”

Pulling me back, she holds onto my shoulders and winks. “It would have been Mr Neils’ birthday today. Pax may need to lean on you a little. He loved that man.”

???

PAX

I know the moment she sets foot on the jetty. I can fucking feel her as she approaches, uneasiness pouring from her in waves as the clouds swirl around in the dark sky above us.

Downing the rest of the coffee I brought with me from home, I place the empty thermos beside me and look out at the ocean as Indie sits down.

Allowing her legs to dangle from the edge of the jetty with mine, she leans forward and says, “You okay?”

I nod, not knowing what else to say right now. I allow myself one day a year, this day, to feel sorry for myself and go to that dark place in my head. Does it do me any good? No. But sometimes, I just need to wallow in my feelings. It feels a whole lot better than trying to bury them down.

“Mum told me that today was his birthday,” Indie says, joining me in staring out into the distance, only the sound of the waves hitting the shore filling the surrounding silence. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. Almost five years ago now, the man who gave me my first job, who made it possible for me to pay the bills, to put food on the table, died. The man who sold me his business for way less than it was worth without even blinking, because he knew the offer I made was all I could fucking afford, was killed. By my father.

“Yep.”

“She also said she thinks you’re holding onto a lot of guilt. That you blame yourself for what happened to him?” When she speaks this time, her tone is hesitant, as if she doesn’t know how I’ll react.

I nod and turn my head to look into her eyes. Instantly, my body loses a little of the tension I’ve been holding onto for the past few hours. “I did, for sure,” I explain. “Now? I just fucking miss the old bastard, you know?”

She smiles sadly, and slides herself closer, ensuring her arm is pressed firmly against mine, and we both turn back to the stormy ocean. “I get that,” she whispers, slowly letting her head fall to the side so it rests against my upper arm. “You know, you don’t have to tell me about what happened, or why you harboured so much guilt, but I’ll listen if you want to talk about it…”

Indie doesn’t know the full story of what happened the night Mr Neil was killed. She had her wisdom teeth removed earlier that day and was passed out at home when he died. Lana only told her what she needed to know, and Indie and I were too close for anyone around town to whisper things in her ear.

Do I want to talk about it? Fuck no. But she deserves this last piece of the puzzle.

So, instead of shutting down and letting my emotions fester, I take a deep breath and I tell my girl about the night that awarded me the scar her eyes so often wander to when she thinks I’m not looking.

“When I got bigger, stronger than him, my dad kind of gave up on picking fights. He left Jag alone, didn’t speak to us whenever he was home, just drank himself stupid ‘til he passed out on the couch.” I swallow the lump in my throat as memories from that night reappear in my mind. “One night, he rocked up in a drunken rage. Jag and I were in the kitchen, reheating the shepherd’s pie Lana dropped off earlier that day. He went for Jag the second he walked through that door, but I grabbed him and dragged him outside before any damage was done. I locked him out, and he started throwing rocks and shit through the windows, carrying on like a madman, smashing beer bottles on the porch, banging so loud on the front door all the neighbours came outside to see what the hell was going on. Jagger was almost my size by this point. Had to hold him down to stop him from going out the front and taking the old man on. Strong little fuck.” I pause and bark out a laugh at the memory. “I didn’t want him to have that shit on his conscience. He gets that now. He was always softer than I was. Am. I wanted that for him. To not be so angry. Resentful.”

“He was lucky to have you, sweetie. Heislucky to have you.”

The term of endearment pushes me forward even though every fibre of my being is revolting against it. “I went outside to stop him after I’d calmed Jagger down. He came at me with a baseball bat and hit me straight in the face. Didn’t even see that shit coming. Hurt like a motherfucker. Split my lip and my chin open in one clean motion.”

“Scar number two,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

I nod sadly, looking down at the beer bottle in my hands. “Yep. The hit stunned me for a minute, knocked me off my feet, but when I looked up and saw him clutching that bat, heading for Jagger who was already coming down the porch steps with the crowbar I kept under my bed, I just, fuck, Blue. I lost it.”

“Pax,” she says, placing her hand on my forearm, her delicate fingers digging into the muscle. “It’s okay.”

I shake my head because it wasn’t. It isn’t. What he did. What I did…

“By the time I heard Jagger screaming at me, I was on top of him, pushing him into the ground with my knee on his chest. I was covered in blood, his blood. My knuckles were busted, and I was mid swing when I realised how badly I’d fucked him up.” I let out a sad laugh. “I left him there, bleeding and broken on the grass, and went inside. The bastard got up eventually and got in his fucking car. He was still drunk as hell and probably had more than a concussion going on. He must have been heading back to the pub, I don’t know. I’m surprised he even managed to drive down the road, but he did. And well, you know what happened after that.”

Everyone did. The beloved Scott Neil was killed by my father. It would have been a hit and run if dad’s car didn’t break down a hundred metres up the road. Cops got him, took him to jail, and the man I’d looked up to since I was a boy, died, right there, on the side of the road.

“He was walking to my place to check on me,” I whisper, hating how this memory fucks with my head.

I glance up at Indie and she furrows her brows. “Mr Neil?”

I nod. “One of the neighbours called him and told him about my dad causing a scene. He was out the door before Mrs Neil could get a word in.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she snaps, not one hint of uncertainty in her voice.

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