Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken 4)

***

Because it stands a hundred yards away from the house, my father’s woodshop was undamaged in the fire.

This morning, I stand in the doorway, assessing it. Distracting myself from the massive hole that Nora’s absence has left.

She’s gone.

I can’t believe it, and I feel it in every part of me. Every cell in my body is in shock, every molecule screams with the pain.

Fuck it.

I take a few steps inside, picking up half finished pieces of wood. She’s gone because I’m not enough for her. I’m not good enough.

The old feelings of inadequacy slam into me, again and again and I groan, slamming the wood in my hand into a table.

Fuck her.

I begin picking up all of my father’s half-finished projects and taking them across the room, stacking them neatly in a corner. I’ll discard them later. It takes a few loads because my father had tons of projects. But anything to keep my hands busy, anything to keep me from punching a million holes into the wall.

I pause and remember my father puttering around out here for hours on end. I used to hear the saws and be thankful… because it meant he probably wouldn’t go to the bar that night. And if he didn’t go to the bar and get trashed, then I was safe from his wrath. He only beat me when he was drunk.

As I reach for another handful of wood, I catch a glimpse of a red metal box sticking out from under the workbench. Bending, I pull it out, expecting to find tools. But no.

Inside the old toolbox, is a stack of papers. Newspapers, letters from West Point, clippings. All about me. The old man had been keeping tabs on me over the years. He knew I graduated from West Point, he knew I’d made the Rangers, he knew I’d been sent to Afghanistan. He even knew I’d earned a Purple Heart. He was too proud to contact me, but he cared enough to follow my life.

For a minute, my heart softens.

Life really isn’t black or white.

Fuck life. It’s a vengeful bitch.

I drop the box, stalk to the fridge in the corner and grab a beer. My father’s got at least two cases left, chilled and ready for me. On second thought, I turn and grab two more, and then head for the chair at his desk. I put my feet up on the desk and lean my chair back, popping the top of beer number one. The other two are lined up waiting for me.

Yes, it’s not even noon yet.

No, I don’t give a flying fuck.

It’s hot as hell in here, but I don’t care about that, either. I just stare out the window as I gulp the cold brew down.

I don’t care about my father’s stash of newspaper clippings. I don’t care about his fucking box or the way he finally took ownership of his own guilt.

All I care about is Nora.

Why in the name of all that’s holy did I put myself in this position? I knew from the beginning that Nora only wanted the summer. That she only wanted me to fulfill some stupid fucking high school fantasy. I knew that.

Yet I got sucked in anyway.

Because I’m a stupid fuck and everything about her made me feel good.

Well, fuck that. I’m not feeling too good right now.

I crush the can and toss it to the side, picking up beer number two.

I crack the top.

“You gonna sit out here and drink all day?”

Jacey’s voice comes from behind me. I take a gulp.