Relentless (Mason Family 4)

“It started with alcohol …” His shoulders slump. “Around the time of my retirement.”

Oh, fuck.

“I wasn’t ready to quit. Or maybe I was and hadn’t made peace with it. Hell if I know now.” His voice is broken. Weak. It ripples with anxiety and mortification at his confession. “But it was a drink at night, then two, then six or eight with the guys at poker. Then Jim and Jack and then I was telling your mom I was going golfing just to go to distilleries.”

“Dad.”

He shakes his head, still unable to look me in the eye. “It’s not just alcohol now.”

I want to ask him what all he’s into, what pills or substances he’s abusing. That’s obviously what he means. But I’m not sure if it will help … or if it matters.

“I’ve hid it from your mother,” he says. “I don’t have the heart to tell her.”

He raises his head for the first time and looks me in the eye. Tears stream down his cheeks.

“I’ve tried to push her away,” he says, his voice cracking. “In the few moments in the day when I’m not high or out of it, I know what I’m doing to her. I know the things I’ve said—you don’t forget. And the way she looks at me now … I can’t, Ollie. I can’t do it.”

Dammit.

I get to my feet and walk around my desk. My heart fractures as I pull the man who pulled me out of a plethora of situations in my life into a deep hug.

He grips me tight, his body shaking as I hold on to him.

“We can fix this,” I tell him. “We can get you help.”

“You were right the other day. I’m going to hell.”

I look at the ceiling and grimace. “I was just pissed.”

He pulls away from me and wipes his face with the back of his hand. I find a box of tissues on the bar and hand it to him.

Instead of sitting across from him, I sit next to him. It feels like it makes more sense. Like maybe it will help. I don’t fucking know.

No, that’s not right. I have countless memories of my parents sitting beside me during my hardest moments. Like when my best friend in college fucked me over. My dad’s comment stayed with me for years. Your friends might disappoint you, Ollie. They might even walk away. But your family will always be beside you—no matter what.

Maybe Dad’s forgotten that lately.

“I’m here, Dad. You’re not alone.”

He looks up at me, shocked.

“Family will always stand beside you—no matter what,” I say.

He wipes a tear away and nods. He remembers. “I should’ve been there for Boone lately,” he says, wiping his nose. “Thank God he had you.”

“He’s had all of us, Dad. Not just me.” I sit back in my seat and try to wrap my head around this reality. “And that is because of you.”

His eyes snap to mine as if he needs to hear this. It’s like it’s his only life preserver at the moment. So I throw it to him.

“Why do you think we’re all so close?” I ask him. “Why do you think that we rally around each other? Why do you think we’ve all been so angry that you haven’t been there for Boone? For us?”

He holds his breath.

“Because you taught us that.”

Tears swell in his eyes again.

“It’s what a family does,” I say. “We pick up the pieces for each other. You’re lucky that you have five sons. That’s a lot of hands to clean up messes.”

He grins sadly. “And my five sons are lucky to have their mother.”

We exchange a look that requires no words. A fool could read the room.

“She loves you, you know,” I say softly.

“That just makes it worse. I don’t deserve her.”

My initial reaction is that he’s right. He doesn’t. He’s hurt my mother, and I’ll go to my grave knowing that she didn’t deserve it. But there’s a wiggle of uncertainty that snakes its way through my heart.

Maybe he does.

My father has been an excellent father until recently. He provided, cared, and pushed his sons to achieve things that people only dream of. He loved us too. That was never a question.

He was at our games. Watched practices. Threw the ball with us after games and helped us with our math homework on the weekends. He learned about architecture when Wade became fascinated in middle school and took guitar lessons alongside Coy.

Does the last year or two erase years’ worth of love? Isn’t he a human too?

I look at the man who raised me and watch him gather himself. He’s struggling right now, just like I’ve struggled before. Why do I expect more from him just because he’s my father?

Do I think I’ll have it all figured out at his age?