“Dad!” Landon protests, finally finding his voice in this conversation. He places his hand on Dad’s shoulder.
“No, let him.” I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for him to continue.
“I’ve been watching you for years throw away your life. First, it was the drugs. You used and abused them behind my back and almost drowned this company with your dependence. Just now instead of drugs or drinking, you're using girls.”
“Wow! Thanks, Dad.” I slow clap. “I can always count on you to tell me how you really feel about me. Never see the fucking good and put all the blame on me. By the way, I didn’t almost drown your company; you almost did that with the state you left it in when I took over,” I growl.
“That is not true.” His chest puffs out as he rolls back his shoulders.
“Oh, it’s not?” I snap, fury boiling in my veins. “I have a paper trail. I might have been high as a kite on pain meds, but I wasn’t stupid.” I look over to Landon to back me up, but as usual, the asshole—my fucking twin—doesn’t stand up to our father for me. He never could.
"I saved your fucking company from bankruptcy even in my fucking haze. Carried your fucking legacy and gave this company a fucking name. I've tripled the income over what your little boy wonder does in California.” I point at Landon and he throws his hands up defensively.
“Hey. I’m on your side.”
“Are you?” I sneer at him. “Where the fuck were you when I needed you all those years? Where are you when Dad is always jumping down my fucking back?"
"That's not fair, dude." Landon steps back, gaping at me.
"No? I think it is."
"Liam, I am on your side," he says earnestly, and though I want to believe my brother, I just don’t give a shit right now.
"I need to get out of here." I rise to my feet and make a beeline for the door. I want to go for a run. Exercise to burn off this rage now bubbling in my veins that only my father brings out in me. He always uses my past, my addiction, my pain as a way to find fault in something I've done wrong, rather than calling a mistake what it really is, a mistake.
"We are not done talking, Liam," my dad snaps and grabs my arm.
"I think we are.” I shove his hand off me. “If she wants to sue. Fine. I'll have my lawyers handle it."
Then I’m out the door, slamming it behind me. Fuck him. I slam my fist into the wall of the hallway and feel my bones crack on impact. The pain feels good.
“Liam. Stop, man.” Landon calls after me, but I march on making it to the garden before he grabs my shoulder. "Hey, you can’t leave like this."
"If I stay, I'm going to say or do things I'll regret further.” I eye the bar ahead of us. “Because trust me, the whiskey is looking good right now.”
"You wouldn't." His eyes widen in horror. “I wouldn’t let you.” He pulls me back.
“Isn’t that why Dad has the open bar. To tempt me?”
“You know that’s not true. It’s just business and Dad thinks you can handle it.”
“He told you that?”
“No, but…”
I scoff. "What are you really doing here, Landon? You should be in California with your half of the business and your wife."
“I came to visit.”
“And?” I press.
He doesn’t say anything, and I already know. Gutless. As always. “He had you come to check up on my half, didn’t he?” Landon closes his eyes and gives me a half nod. “You find anything?”
“No, and I didn’t expect to either. Dad just gets worried, and I think he doesn’t know how to prioritize his worry.”
“Don’t defend the man for me. I’m sick of his fucking shit.”
“I get Dad is hassling you, but you know how he is. It’s just him. It comes from a good place.”
"Hassling? I get I fucked up with Angela, but he wouldn't have cared if it wasn't the daughter of someone he played golf with. He only cares about himself and his reputation, and I'm sick of it. I need to get out of here because I might be a little over two years sober..." I clutch my fist. "Forget it. You wouldn’t understand."
"That's not fair dude. I understand."
“You do? Like when you promised not to drink around me to be supportive, but you do it anyway.” It’s the least I could’ve asked from him, and it meant the most, but he can’t even do that for me.
“I didn't drink around you. I made sure you weren't around.”
“But I still smell it. It’d be nice to have one person on my side for fucking once. To not feel alone when I can’t escape being around it. Especially when I'm doing better. It's as if all of you want me to fail. Fall back down the rabbit hole of pills and alcohol. I need you more than ever while I'm doing good, more than while I was recovering.”
“I’m sorry. I needed to take the edge off.”
My eyes shut, and I have to remember even my golden boy brother has issues, but still, I need him.
“It's fine. I just need to go. I'll see you later."
I go home. Change. Then head east towards Clover City. It’s not my normal running route, but today I need a change.
My feet smack the pavement and sweat pours from my brow. I skipped the gym because I just needed to run.
My thoughts race with the echoing sound of my father’s words, of his disappointment, and my own self-doubt. I push myself faster to try and outrun them.
My father is my biggest trigger to my addictions. Especially tonight.
It’s been seven years to the day since the accident.
I’ve heard people say that when you face death you have these great epiphanies. Things are supposed to come clearer.
I think I missed the message.
Instead, I got addicted to pain pills. I enjoyed the high. I enjoyed feeling numb.
The drinking started when the pills were no longer enough to drown everything out. Something stronger on top of the pills so I could stop feeling.
I was like a small child, basically trapped in a grown man's body, begging for my dad's approval. Wanting to prove myself to him.
No matter the mountains I pushed or how I succeeded.
It wasn't good enough.
The things that never let me down were the pills and alcohol. I was on top of the world when I was high, and the sky was the limit. It wasn’t until the world crumbled under my feet, and I had almost tattooed c’est la vie in bold letters across my chest that I figured I needed a change before I fell off the cliff for good.
Even after over two years of being sober, when that man storms in, the first thing I think about is drowning, that way I no longer have to hear him.
No longer have to fucking feel.
As I round the corner, my knee is killing me with the sensation of tiny needles being stabbed into it. I stop, needing to catch my breath. A blinking light from above catches my attention. “Shit, not tonight.” I groan to myself.
Out of all the places, I let my subconscious take me here. The Tilted Keg.
My old stomping grounds. A place I haven’t let myself be outside of in over two years because the temptation is too much. It was the hardest of all my routines to break. Drinking is social. Friends wanting to grab a beer after work and hang out. I had to push back from all of those who didn’t understand the battle I was suffering through. The ones who couldn’t hang with me without drinking.