King Hunt (Boys of Brisley 1)

The picnic basket felt heavy in my hands as I carried it to the living room and set it down, but Zeppelin never once left my side. I could hear the silent sobs from Ollie almost as loudly as the ones coming from my father, and for a while, none of us spoke at all. We allowed ourselves to feel the loss, to feel the void losing our mother left behind, and when Zeppelin hooked up the Victrola so music filled that silence, I knew I had to do something.

What I wouldn’t have given for that something to be literally anything other than belting out Stevie Wonder’s “Don’t You Worry Bout a Thing,” but some chips just fell on unfavorable sides.

For a solid verse, my father and Oliver just stared at me like I was an idiot, but I had my brother’s support by the first chorus.

Zeppelin sat with her hands under her chin, watching us like we were putting on the best show she’d ever seen, and before the song was done she pulled Charlie in and started singing right along with us.

Everyone’s mood was better after that, much closer to the mood my mother would want for us in a situation like this, and for a few seconds, I swore I could feel her.

I just ... still couldn’t go anywhere near the kitchen. I couldn’t even look over there past that first initial glance, and I was struggling to make eye contact with my father. No matter how many songs we sang or finger sandwiches we ate, I wasn’t sure this was something he’d ever forgive me for.

I wasn’t sure it was something I’d ever forgive myself for, but today was a step in the right direction, for everyone. I had to believe that, because not believing that would mean the first honest attempt I’d made in years to get closer to my family backfired horribly, and that couldn’t be the case. So I sat there, eating snacks and pouring over old pictures and telling stories at my own expense until my dad was looking me in the eyes again, and then I hugged him. I let him cry on my shoulder and shake with the lingering pain of losing the love of his life until he was spent, and then I apologized to his face for keeping this from him.

For keeping her from him.

For not saving her.

And when he took my hand and forgave me right there in the house where it happened, something clicked inside of me. I realized then that my mother wasn’t the only one who had died in this house that day, but I was here. I was still breathing, and I had a second chance. I glanced from my father to my brother to the woman I loved and knew that I’d wasted years shutting myself off and believing I was alone, years I could’ve spent healing and loving and living. But that was over. They’d fixed me, she’d fixed me.

I wasn’t alone at all.