When I can't drive anymore, I pull over along the side of the highway. Turning off my Harley, I slide off the seat and walk to the edge of the lookout. Lying flat on my back on the ground, I stare up at the deep blue night sky. The stars stare back, blinking.
And I just cry.
Sputtering,
trembling,
gasping,
sobbing,
screaming,
cursing.
This was never who I was supposed to be. How did I end up here? Confusion clouds my mind as I think about Bill Everett's words. They're poison, I know. But what if they ring true? What if, somewhere deep inside of me, I'm not angry at Bill. I'm angry at myself. Maybe I let it happen. Maybe I could've fought back harder.
Beneath all the shame, I know that's not true; Bill Everett doesn't get to decide who I am or what I want. But it's hard to tell yourself that you're strong, that you're brave when the whole world seems to scream at you that you're not. I hate myself. For being so confused. For not knowing what to think or feel. For not knowing who I am anymore. For falling apart like this. I even hate that I'm here, alone, crying like a pathetic loser.
And I hate Bill Everett too. I hope he dies the cruelest, most painful death imaginable. I hate him for the power that he has over my life. He's destroyed me. He's destroyed every good thing I had. He destroyed the bond between Lincoln and I because I can't even look at Lincoln without remembering what his father did. And I hate that. I hate that I blame Lincoln too. It isn't right, but I don't know how to stop.
The cold night wind bites into the exposed skin of my face, freezing the tears in place. I stay here long enough for my entire body to become numb to the cold.
Numb.
The word echoes inside of me, bouncing around the walls of this empty shell I used to consider self. Now, all that's left is a cage made of shame and fear and rage and weakness.
I might as well stay here and let myself die here, let myself become a part of this mountain because, at least here, I'm close to the sky and the stars. At least here, I'm not afraid of what the universe thinks of me. At least here, the light is watching me and warming me. At least here, I'm alone and no one can touch me ever again.
It's long past midnight by the time I get home. And the tears dried out a long time ago, leaving me hollow and empty. Slipping through the side door, I start for the stairs. Before I reach them, the living room lamp flicks on and I'm face to face with Dad, who sits on the sofa. His face, long and tired, just stares at me for the longest time before he speaks.
"Where have you been, Liam?" he asks, tone heavy. Not the angry kind of heavy; the tired kind.
"I told you. I was hanging out with some friends."
"No. You weren't. Theo came by this afternoon. He was looking for you."
Standing in the archway between the living room and dining room, I shift on my feet and shove my hands into my jacket pockets. "I never said I was with Theo."
"You weren't with any of your bandmates either." He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and massages his temples. "Were you with Stacy?"
"No, Dad. Stacy and I aren't together anymore."
He seems surprised. "When did that happen?"
"A while ago."
Letting out a long sigh, he shakes his head. "Son, I need you to talk to me."
"About what?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it.
"I'm sorry," I choke. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not upset, Liam. I'm concerned. Imagine you were me, watching your sons slip further and further away from you."
Sons? Plural? What does Ezra have to do with this?
"Imagine what it would be like to watch them struggle, but you not know what's going on, or what you could possibly do to help." Dad stands, face red, eyes brimming with tears. He looks me straight on. I see the grief in the way his chest heaves with every breath, the way his hands shake at his sides. I see his grief because I feel it too.
But I don't know what to do. And it kills me because all I want is to be able to tell him what's going on, but I can't. He could leave just like Stacy. It could scare him off. I could lose him too. Worse, he could think I'm lying.
"I'm fine, Dad. Really. I've just been going through... a bit of a rough patch." Understatement of the century.
"So, let me help you. I want to help you, son. We can pray together. We can fight whatever it is... together."
I want that so bad.
"Look, I should get to bed. I have school tomorrow and it's really late."
"Liam–"
Before he can finish, I turn and climb the stairs. With a glance over my shoulder, I see him from the corner of my eye, arms at his sides, head down as he collapses back onto the sofa.
In my room, the door closed behind me, I collapse onto my bed and bury my face in my pillow. I fall asleep wondering why everything had to be this way. And I dream of what happened that night two years ago with Bill Everett. I dream that the coal in his eyes sparks into a raging wildfire and burns all of Summit, Colorado to the ground.