Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I bit the inside of my cheek before asking, “How’s your dad doing?”
“Okay, I guess. Karly’s been visiting him. She says he’s doing really well. Not sure what that means, but she seems to like hangin’ out with him. I don’t fuckin’ get it.” He let go of my shoulder to adjust his glasses, then tossed his board in front of him and rode away.
I watched him weave through traffic with practiced ease until he disappeared. He was back a couple of minutes later, dismounting from his board with some fancy trick that had a few bystanders cheering for him.
I lowered my sunglasses and gave him a thorough once-over. “Better now?”
“Much,” he grinned. “Gotta get that negativity out. You know that’s probably why I love the beach. I have years of pent-up negative BS coursing through my veins. I need an outlet that’s not gonna put me in rehab to stay sane.”
“From a purely observational standpoint, I think you need to talk about it,” I said gently.
“Dude, I’ve done my time in therapy too. I’m good.”
“I mean…maybe you should talk to your dad. For you, not for him.”
“No.”
I studied the hard line of his mouth and nodded. “Okay. I get it. I—”
“No, you don’t.” He stopped abruptly and leveled me with a harsh scowl. “You have two dads who fucking worship you. So what if their era kept them from publicly acknowledging their relationship? So what if they split up? I’m not saying it doesn’t suck ’cause it does. But they never stopped loving you. They never gave up on you. They never walked away or let you doubt for one second that you mattered. I see it every damn day. You have so much love in your life. Sometimes I don’t think you realize how lucky you are.”
I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head and gaped. “We weren’t talking about me. We were talking about you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t bring anything to this conversation ’cause unlike you, I didn’t win the parent lottery. My mom’s gone and she wasn’t here when she was here…if that makes sense. And my dad hates me. End of story.”
“But that’s not the way it has to end,” I said in a calm, neutral tone to offset his growing agitation. “Why don’t you take control?”
He let out a humorless huff. “This isn’t like Zero finding the right label, Char. This is a little more personal and it goes a little deeper.”
I waited a beat, then let out a rush of air. “Okay, but I understand better than you think I do. Everyone’s story is different, Ky. You can’t judge mine based on yours. It’s not fair. Yeah, I have a lot to be grateful for and I am. But I’ve had my own battles to fight and that’s what…”
“What?” he prodded. When I didn’t reply right away, he walked to a bench facing a tattoo parlor and flipped his board in the air and caught it by the nose before sitting, patting the empty space beside him. “C’mere and talk to me. I’m only charging five cents for this session.”
I quirked my lips in a lopsided smile and complied. “I’m not talking to you if you’re going to get mad.”
“I’m not gonna get mad. But since when do you care if you rock the boat?”
“You’re right. Check your preserver, then, I’m moving in,” I joked, setting the thermos between us. “You have to fight, Ky. You can’t keep ignoring him. It’s making you miserable.”
He opened his mouth like a fish out of water. “Are you kidding me? I fucking love my life right now. I have Zero and you and…I don’t need him. Geez, just talking about him makes me miserable. Did I tell you he was in a band?”
“No. Really?”
“Yeah. He played guitar in a bluegrass folk group. They weren’t famous, but they were popular enough that they could make a living, I guess.”
“He must like that you’re a musician too,” I said feebly.
“No. I don’t think he wanted me to play at all. He never encouraged music. He was slow to praise, but very quick to criticize. And quick to anger too. The broken arm I told you about? That was ’cause I touched his guitar.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Yeah. Real fuckin’ quality guy. But hey, he went away, found Jesus and a rich divorcée, and decided he was a changed man. He wasn’t. He hated when I joined a band in high school, and when I told him that I’d switched directions and decided to skateboard professionally, he flipped. At my mother’s fucking funeral, no less,” he growled. “She used to say we were so alike. Maybe that’s what he hated. Maybe he hates himself and I remind him of everything he got wrong. Who knows? We almost came to blows at her service. We agreed not to see each other again and…I think it’s for the best.”