Chapter Twenty Two
Dustin King
I found that the day went too quickly while the night crawled by. That's how it was, thanks to Lydia. She was the day; any moment without her was the night.
Today was a new day.
"Dustin, leave the milk out for me, would you?"
"Yes, sir." I pulled it back out of the fridge and set it on the counter. Anticipating an accusation of selfishness, I got a bowl out of the cabinet, filled it halfway with milk -- the amount he usually wanted, and poured in his Cascadian Farms cereal.
I hoped it was a "fill it halfway" morning, not a "that's all you're going to give me? How generous," kind of day.
It was neither.
"Aw, Dustin. You didn't have to make my breakfast." Dad frowned, and I didn't know what to do with that. "What's that look for?" I could have asked him the same question. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"It's nothing... Uh... I--"
"Well, you didn't have to do that for me." He shook his head and fished for a spoon in the silverware drawer. "Thank you."
I watched his back as he left for his room, the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other.
Jewel made a noise, and I wondered where she was. Until a swear was shouted, followed by, "Stupid cat."
---
"I'll catch you later, okay?"
"Yeah, of course." I turned back to my locker as Josh walked off, trying not to panic as I searched through it.
Where did I put it?
"Like this?"
A girl giggled in response to the question. "Yeah, just like that." More giggles. "Adam! We're not alone."
"So?"
I checked through my entire locker one last time. It just wasn't there, which meant...
I couldn't have left it at home.
"In public, in private... It doesn't matter, Rachel. It doesn't make a difference, not to me. I love you in both."
Frustration controlled my fingers; I closed the small, metal door like I meant it. Where could it be? Did I honestly misplace it?
"Yeah, but... Dustin."
My eyes widened.
But... she moved, didn't she? She moved due to foster care. Did she move back? What is she doing here? Who is she with, this Adam guy?
"Hi..."
"Hi, Rachel."
Adam stared at me until she touched his arm... the same way she used to touch mine. "Babe, who...?"
She didn't answer him. "Adam, can you give us a moment?"
His eyes returned to my face. His told of his displeasure. I was sure my expression wasn't helping me, but I didn't care.
"Sure, yeah." He pushed some of her auburn hair back and kissed her temple before throwing me one last look and heading off down the hallway. He stopped just at the end of it, where he apparently intended to stay, facing us.
Rachel's smile was soft, wholehearted and halfhearted at the same time. "Don't mind him. How've you been?" Patiently, she waited for an answer. But I couldn't do this with her. I wasn't ready. It had been over six months but I still wasn't ready.
I turned to leave.
"Dustin." Her hand wrapped around my elbow and held on. "Please."
It wasn't so much the fact that she wouldn't let go that stopped me from walking away. It was her voice, the audible sadness, the ache that I had been all too familiar with. The ache of losing someone.
"Does... does it hurt?" Her fingers caressed my forehead, just above my left eye. I could see it all over her face as she tried to determine where it came from -- the ring or my father. She hated both.
"It's nice of you to suddenly take an interest."
Both of her hands fell back to her sides. "Dustin, you can't say that. I've always cared. You have to know that. I know you know that. Why haven't you answered my texts?"
"Maybe I've lost interest. Have you thought about that?" I regretted those words the moment they were delivered. I regretted the tone they were packaged in. I regretted making her cry, causing tears to cover the soft brown eyes that told me she genuinely cared.
"Stop. Just..." She dragged a knuckle under her eye to catch an escaped tear. "Just stop making me feel like the bad guy. Do you know why I couldn't do it anymore? Because I cared. I cared too much. I couldn't watch, Dustin. I cared too much to keep watching you get hurt like this... and hurt right here." She tapped twice on the left side of her chest. "I just couldn't. I couldn't handle it."
A sharp sigh escaped me. I tried to keep my cool, but she knew too much. She'd seen too much. She meant too much. "That's a load of crap, and besides, I'm over it, all right? It's done. There's no need to pretend anymore, Rach." I told myself I was over it, that I was over us, over the way we ended. The slip of her nickname from my lips, however, suggested otherwise.
"Dustin..."
"Do you remember the last words you said to me? In person."
"You're just like your father."
Rachel's gaze fell to the floor. She closed her eyes and nodded.
"Have I ever hurt you, Rachel?"
Her eyes filled with fresh tears. "I was scared. You know about... about my uncle and... what he did, why I couldn't stay there. I was scared." Of you.
Inside my mind, I, again, said the words she couldn't, finishing her sentence: of you. She was scared of me.
It made sense. I couldn't blame her. I hated that I couldn't blame her. It only left me as the one to be blamed. Rachel was afraid of me. I understood, but I still couldn't wrap my mind around it. I loved her. I would never lay a hand on her if it wasn't out of love. I loved her.
Not more than the ring. If you had, you would have stopped when she asked you to.
"I'm not your uncle." I hated the man. I would die before becoming anything like him. "I never was."
"But when you told me..." Her head lowered, and her voice did the same. "...every time you hit someone, in the ring, you feel... in control..." She whispered the words, hating them, hating what they meant in this context. I did, too. "...and powerful... You said you need it. You said you couldn't stop. It was -- is? -- an addiction. What was I supposed to do, Dustin? What was I supposed to think?"
"You're right."
She didn't hear me. "And the fact that you couldn't even protect your own siblings... How could I have expected you to protect me? That's what a man does."
My face flushed, stinging from the intense heat. It felt like I'd been slapped unpredictably. But it was worse, so much worse than an ordinary hit to the face, because it came from her.
I looked above her head to find that he was looking right back at me. "Well, I'm glad you've found a man."
"That's not what I--"
"I'm fine, all right? That's what you wanted to know, isn't it?"
Her man was returning to us, clearly uncomfortable with the person his girlfriend was talking to. "Rach, we've gotta go." Rachel turned away from me and met Adam halfway. "What's wrong, baby? Did he say something?" He glanced up at me. "Did he hurt you? Rachel, did he touch you?"
She shook her head. "No. No, he didn't. I'm okay. Let's just go."
Adam's eyes wouldn't leave me. I couldn't look at them. They were filled with everything I felt about myself in that moment.
Rachel tugged on his shirt.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we can go." And they did, hand in hand, down the hallway.
I looked away when Rachel glanced back.
"Whoa... Is that...? You okay, man?"
Josh got his answer as I silently left in the opposite direction.
---
I might as well have not attended any of the day's classes. My head wasn't in any of them.
I was grateful that I didn't see her in any of the classes. I held my breath for the first few minutes of each, fearing she would walk through the door. She never did. Adam never did. But it was as if they were there; I couldn't shake the emotions.
The worst part was that everything she said was true.
I felt as though I couldn't even face Lydia. Wherever she was, I wasn't. She would leave anyway once she, too, found out the truth, the real reason I boxed.
She was right. It was not, "the same as every teenage boy." She saw through the lie, but the truth was still blurry.
For now, she had no idea what she was getting with me, and that wasn't fair to her. I wanted her to have more than this, more than me. She deserved more.
I skipped lunch, knowing she would be there. Josh texted until I shut off my phone, powered it down completely. There was nothing he could say that would change reality, nothing he could do. He didn't even know what my reality was.
Between the ropes, others' pain eased my own. Their loss was my gain. Their fall was my rise. Their bruises were a painting of my power.
I was addicted, and I hated myself for it.
"Dustin!"
"Lydia... I have to get to class. I'll see you later." I kept moving, fearing that if I stopped, all resistance would die.
"Will you?"
"Lydia." I stopped and turned toward her, almost wishing I hadn't.
"No! Will you?" She wouldn't leave without an answer. I knew she wouldn't. Her persistence was something I admired but also something I didn't want to deal with right then. "I know you saw me earlier, after third period. And again after that. And you weren't at lunch."
"I didn't feel like eating." I didn't. "Wasn't hungry."
"I texted you around nine-thirty."
"I didn't see that." I did.
"Dustin, did I say something?" Lydia picked up my hands, holding them above hers. Her touch was gentle, disarming, but it hurt. Knowing I would have to let go hurt. "Did I do something? You can tell me."
No, you didn't. I did. Over and over again, I did.
"Please tell me. What's up?" She tilted her head to see my face, but I turned away, freeing her of my undeserving hands.
"Just..." I took a deep breath, releasing it with the rest of my words. "Just stay away from me, all right? I'm not..."
I couldn't say it, not out loud. It was enough to know the truth. It was too much to admit it.
"Not what?" She wanted to understand, but I had no intention of letting her. If I tried, would she? I, myself, didn't understand most of the time. How could anyone else? "Not what, Dustin?"
I'm not what you need me to be.
And just as I ran from my problems, I walked away from Lydia. Just as I pretended they weren't there, that they didn't exist, I didn't stop at the sound of my name as she called it. Once... Twice... Three times.
I felt like I was in the ring, flat on my back, with all the air ripped straight from my lungs. I ached. I was breathless. I'd fallen.
Only, this time, I wouldn't be getting up.
---
"Two!"
I gave Coach Dunst a jab, a cross, a hook, and another cross.
"Five!"
Jab. Cross. Left hook--
"Agh!"
The focus mitt connected with the side of my head, telling me I should have ducked, not thrown a hook.
Did he say four, or five?
He lowered the mitts, and I expected to find disappointment on his face. All I saw was concern. "Dustin... Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"
I shook my head.
"You sure? You're good?"
I nodded. "Yeah." No.
"All right." His mitts went back up, and he ordered the same combination I'd just botched. "Five."
Jab. Cross. Duck. Body.
I turned away, sighing as I ran five gloved fingers through my hair. I couldn't focus. I tried, but I couldn't focus.
"I'm right here, Dustin."
I couldn't bring myself to face him, wondering if he knew about the breakup. I'd promised I would never leave her, that time would show I was telling the truth, that I was innocent.
Instead, it proved me guilty.
"Lydia's seemed... distracted, too, lately," he said. "And I hadn't seen her cry in a very long time."
I swallowed hard. The thought of tears coming from those beautiful brown eyes and knowing that I caused them was sickening.
"As her father, I only want happiness for her. She's always been a happy girl, but..."
I turned back to him then as he paused, pursing his lips. He'd taken off the mitts, and his arms were crossed.
I looked away. He knows.
The silence lasted for a while, uncomfortable and heavy like the pounding of my heart. I was exhausted, worn out in every way, but my heart wouldn't rest. My mind wouldn't rest. I couldn't rest, and sleep had been the last thing on my mind for days. It wasn't the same without her wishing me a goodnight, sweet dreams every night.
I lost good nights when I left her. Sweet dreams abandoned me when I abandoned her. I thought that, maybe, sleeping would be a way to escape reality, but it was a challenge to come by. When I could sleep, I found that it was no better because I always dreamt of her. I always woke, forced to face reality right away.
For her sake... if I really felt the way I knew I felt about her, there could be no us. There could be no Lydia and Dustin, no you and I. Just a girl who would someday love someone else, and a boy who could never.
"I couldn't help noticing that extra spring in her step, those pretty smiles becoming more frequent... random, even, or so I thought..."
My eyes met his, and I waited for him to continue.
"Dustin, you made her happier."
The past tense wasn't missed.
She made me happy. She brought me joy. I'd only hoped I could do the same for her, but hearing that I had didn't matter anymore, even coming from her dad, because I knew what was coming next. Yes, I took it away.
"Now, I just want to know... Whatever the reason, was it worth breaking my daughter's heart?"
I struggled and failed to meet his gaze, although I knew it was worth every shattered piece of me if it meant she had a better chance at the life she deserved. "I don't feel like..." I pressed my fingers into my temples and started over. "I'm not enough for her. I'm just... I'm not what she needs me to be."
Curious, he tilted his head. "Why do you say that?"
Because I'm not. "I don't..." I didn't want to explain. "I don't know what to do." I hoped he wouldn't make me.
He didn't. Instead, he asked, "Do you love her?"
I hesitated, even though I knew the answer by heart, then admitted it. "Yes." It was part of the truth. The other part left my mouth in a sigh. "Very much."
"Well, Dustin, you can do one of two things," Coach said, taking a seat on the bench. I stayed standing. "Continue speaking for her and telling yourself what she needs, or let her speak for herself. Life is full of risks, such as loving someone and being loved. It's kind of like boxing, in a way. You risk a lot by getting into the ring with an opponent, but you'll never know victory if you never try."
---
I awoke with a start. Straight away, I was holding my breath, and my heart threatened to run right out of my chest. The sound of a hard blow to furniture, followed by shattering objects -- at least two, bounced off the walls of my mind.
The first thing I saw was my father from the waist down, until he knelt on the floor in front of my desk to pick up what had been broken.
An old baseball trophy. A glass that had been full of water. A framed photograph of the happy family we once were.
Dad took the picture out of the broken glass and lifted it up. Water dripped from its edges. "Look what you've caused. You made me do this. Now it's ruined."
I was too tired for this.
"This was my favorite picture of the five of us, Dustin. We were so happy. Look at those smiles on all our faces." He turned the photograph around for me to see, and my eyes landed on Mom.
I wish she were here. So much had changed without her. He'd changed. We all wanted Mom and had different ways of showing it.
"It's ruined," he said again. "It's all ruined. The happiness, and now the memory of it, thanks to you. Should I take this as a threat?"
What is he talking about?
"The coincidence has not been lost on me, Dustin. You've been trying to tear our happiness apart -- what's left of our family apart -- since that time you called the police. Why? I've been trying to hold us together. Can't you be grateful for once?" He looked down at the picture one last time before rising to his feet.
I thought about getting up, assuming a less vulnerable position, but I didn't. Since the day Rachel returned, since I left Lydia, I'd felt myself being carved out... slowly becoming hollow, and as much as I told myself that his words were simply lies, they took the last bit out of me.
"I'm tired," I said.
Dad crossed his arms. "Well, I'm tired, too. Welcome to the club. I'm tired of you thinking I'm so stupid and you're so damn smart that you can lie to me about where it is you go to in the middle of the night. I don't imagine you would be with that girl I met here recently. She seemed smart enough to be a little more frugal with her time than that."
A flood of the same old bitter thoughts and feelings plagued my already exhausted mind.
I wanted to shut him up.
I wanted to render him unable to lift a hand, a foot, his voice.
There would be no turning back if I did.
"Have you been boxing behind my back?"
All at once, it felt as if every drop of blood had drained from my face. It felt as if they filled my stomach instead. I was nauseous.
I sat up.
"Have you, Dustin? Are you a boxer?"
"No. No, I'm not." But my hesitation was undoubtedly enough evidence to satisfy him.
"All right, then I'll be sure to tell David Hauser, let him know that whoever printed the card he signed -- that clearly states you are a boxer -- got it wrong."
David Hauser... the boxing promoter? The card he signed?
My identification card.
Dad has the card. That's where it was. It wasn't in my locker where I always hid it after bouts at The Kastle. So I left it here at home somewhere.
My next question -- does he still have it? -- was answered when he pulled it out of his pocket and threw it on my bed.
"Your mother would be so disappointed in you."
I knew that was coming.
It didn't lessen the pain of the verbal blow.
He's right. She would be. But she would have loved me anyway. Love is why she would have been disappointed, why she would have wanted me to stop. I knew that love, though, had nothing to do with his hatred of my boxing, nothing to do with the reason he banned it. Whatever that reason was. I had no idea because he seemed to love it on the television.
He loved it as long as it was him throwing the punches, not me.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
I looked down at my hands resting in my lap. They were guilty, very guilty. But so were his. "You say she would be disappointed in me."
"Yeah? That is what I said."
I huffed and gave a tiny, bitter smile. "McKenna, Bishop, and I... We miss our mother, too, you know, but we've been there for each other ever since. That's more than you can say."
"Dustin, I urge you to be careful." He said it through his teeth.
Whether it was due to exhaustion or anger, self-control was quickly slipping out of my grasp; I couldn't stop my thoughts from escaping my mouth. "You don't wipe our tears; you put them there. You don't love the pain away; you love the pain you cause. You don't hold us when we need that type of comfort... You only care to hold your damn bottles! Who would she be disappointed in?" I looked up at him then. That's when I saw it.
I hadn't seen the bat before. Why didn't I see the bat before?
Where did he get it from?
How the hell did I not see the bat before?
"Was your mom's idea to get this for your fifteenth birthday." Between his feet, he spun the baseball bat in place upside down, on its head. His eyes, as he looked into mine, were filled with sarcastic amusement. "Just never got around to giving it to you. Guess she knew you'd need a good beating someday."
"Dad..."
My father picked up the bat and took several steps closer while I struggled to stay put. "That's right. I am the dad. I am the one in authority, and you did not have my permission to box. You may be eighteen now, but I am still your father, and this is the consequence of your disobedience."
He stepped even closer.
My hand shot up when the bat was lifted even higher, but he placed it against my neck, closest to the door of my room... the way out. I couldn't move, not yet. "I know, but--"
"As a man, you should be willing to accept the consequences of your actions, without buts. Now I'll make sure you won't be able to box for a very long time."
Now.
The second it was raised, I ducked forward. It flew over my head, above my back, and I got up and left them room before he could swing a second time.
"You'll never be a man! That's why Rachel left you, pregnant or not! Do you hear me, Dustin?!"
"McKenna, we have to go." I shook my little sister until her eyes opened.
"Dustin?"
"We have to leave."
McKenna got up quickly and scooped up Jewel. Together, we went to wake Bishop. But he was already awake.
He sat against his headboard, hugging himself, his eyes shiny. "What was that noise?"
"Let's go, bud." I dug through his bottom drawer, searching for his inhaler. "We need to get out of here."
"Bishop, come on," McKenna said. "We need to go."
Still, he was frozen. And it wasn't us he was looking at.
I turned around.
"Now, just where the hell do you think you're going with my kids?"
I pushed McKenna back with my arm, silently telling her to get behind me. But she was determined not to hide and, instead, stayed at my side.
Bishop began sobbing. "Let's stay here. Please. I'll stay. I won't go. Daddy, I'll stay."
I held my other hand out toward Dad. "Can I have the bat?"
"Ever the diplomat." He chuckled. "You're a fighter, aren't you? You should be able to fight me for it. To the death, right? That's what they do underground, isn't it? But I know you won't... so here."
I ignored my instincts, which told me to pull my hand back. I was surprised to find that, this time, they were wrong.
I wrapped my hand around the heavy bat and took it from his. "We're going now."
Right then, in that moment, I was fully aware of his vulnerability. I was fully aware of the power I possessed, not in my fists but in the form of a long, wooden object. I could kill him.
But I wouldn't. That's not who I am.
Our father stepped out of the way. McKenna grabbed Bishop's hand and pulled him out of his bed, all while holding our kitten in her other arm. I stayed close to Dad, not turning my back until McKenna, Bishop, Jewel, and I had made it out of the room.
"Bishop, Kenna... Your brother's a dangerous criminal. Do you want to go with him?"
We kept walking until McKenna stopped suddenly.
She turned back to Bishop's room, where our father stood in the doorway with crossed arms. Firmly, passionately, she said, "He would never hurt anyone."
Then we left, heading out into the night and to the Porter house.
It was time.