Page 74 of Leave Me Broken

“Grandpa?” I pull my attention from Mr. Gilbert’s demanding stare to take refuge in the comforting face of my grandpa. Even if his old eyes are still swollen from him . . . crying.

Then it hits me. He’s crying because he didn’t know Mr. Gilbert was his son. That would for sure make Grandpa cry. He would hate not being in his child’s life, but that would mean Grandpa had an affair on my nana because Mr. Gilbert has to be close to my mother’s age and that doesn’t make sense.

“I am your father’s brother. Half brother,” he adds like that makes any difference.

Grandpa nods, as if I need help believing what is coming out of his mouth.

Ash is still standing in the kitchen, a perplexed look tugging his face into a frown. He holds my eyes until I find Mr. Gilbert’s eyes again. They’re Green.

He has the same eyes as me, a shade or two darker. No one in my family has green eyes. I knew I got them from my dad based on a few old photos I found at the bottom of Mom’s photo tote. The photos she didn’t throw away or cut my dad from like all the others.

“Like, uh, my bio dad?”

A curt nod later my knees are threatening to buckle. Mr. Gilbert’s hands twitch from his side like he might grab me, but he doesn’t, and I’m glad he doesn’t. I don’t want him touching me.

It’s shouldn’t be a big deal finding out this is my bio dad’s brother. I know nothing about him, so what difference does it make meeting his brother? Except all the difference—this whole time I’ve had a piece of my dad around and I never knew it.

“My mother married Hunter’s dad after my dad died. They had Hunter a year later.” Hunter. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while too. My dad. It was like a sin saying his name in the house growing up. If it wasn’t my mother freaking out hearing it—it was Fred. He hated hearing me ask about my dad. Said he was my dad and there was no reason to bring up that “piece of shit,” his words, and I remember the first time he said that to me. I was six, maybe seven, and I cried. Jason took me to get ice cream down the road to cheer me up.

“Oookay.” I shift and squeeze my body into a self-hug. “Why are you here, though? Why is my grandpa crying?”

His hard exterior breaks. For the first time, he drops his gaze to the ground. “It’s a long story, but I’m here tonight because—”

“Payson.” Grandpa’s cracked voice catches me off guard. He walks to my side and wraps an arm around my back. He squeezes me tightly and his blue eyes fill with tears once again. “Jethro”—Jethro? That must be Mr. Gilbert—“is here—” His voice breaks but I watch him swallow his emotions. He leans in and kisses my forehead and usually that might comfort me, but it does the opposite this time. I wish he would just spit it out.

Mr. Gilbert must grow impatient because his rough voice cuts my grandpa off. “Your mother died this morning, Payson.”

Everything moves in slow motion. Me looking at Mr. Gilbert and waiting for him to say he’s joking and only finding a blank face in place. Me watching my grandpa breakdown in tears like when we first walked in the room. Finding Ash’s stormy eyes and craving the comfort he brings but not even finding comfort in him right now. And me falling to my knees because the weight of the world has finally caught up with me.

25

Payson

“My baby sister.” My aunt’s cries carry down the hallway, and I nearly drop the razor blade from the sudden noise.

Grandpa made all the phone calls this morning, and I couldn’t sit around and listen to him explain over and over that “Anne has passed.” Not because it’s too hard to hear—I feel nothing about her death—but because hearing the hurt in my grandpa’s voice . . . well, it is enough to drag a blade over my arm three times.

Three more cuts to add to the collection. Three more scars that will forever haunt my body.

Kind of like the thought I will never see my mother alive again and how the last time I saw her I basically told her I was too busy for her.

I don’t regret it, not really. I was too busy for her. I was too busy, like she was too busy to ever listen when I needed her.

My phone goes off with yet another text because word has gotten out now that Grandpa called the prayer service at church, only after calling every family member in his address book.

My heart pings seeing Jason’s name on the top of my phone. I’d rather ignore it, but I grab it and hold it to my ear anyway.

“Hey.”

I say nothing.

“We are on our way north . . . just making sure you’re, uh, hanging in there.”

Yep. Totally hanging in there after our mom died yesterday, bro. Totally chill.

“I’m fine.”

There’s a long silence on the phone. Aunt Vicky cries louder, I cringe.

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