They wheeled me out. I hugged the bag with the pills the pharmacy had sent over as if they were my lifeline to a better world. Dad grabbed them out of my hand before I could even settle in the seat. He reached in and pulled out the bottle. "This weak shit? I was hoping for something stronger. My back's killing me." He jammed the bag into his coat pocket.
"Yeah, well, help yourself, I guess."
Those were the last words exchanged. The heater on his truck was blasting hot air, but the angry chill around me made myhead throb again, and it seemed I wasn't going to have anything to dull the pain.
Dad made sure to hit every divot in the gravel road up to the ranch house. Every bounce caused my brain to jar painfully against my split skull. I breathed a sigh of relief when he stopped the car. The house, a massive log cabin complete with green shutters and a wrap-around porch, looked like an idyllic place to grow up. And, in a way, it had been. We had horses and dogs and dirt bikes. There was even a pond for swimming in the summer. Dad could be fun, almost enjoyable sometimes, but you always knew the vicious bear would come out of hibernation if one of his shady business deals went the wrong way or if one of his many wives decided to throw in the towel and leave. Colin and I were twins, and our mom, Rory, had stayed only long enough to see us out of diapers before escaping back to her home country of Ireland. We visited her once a year, but she never came here. Sometimes, I missed her a lot, and other times, I was pissed that she didn't take us with her.
The crisp night air felt good in my lungs as I dropped down from the truck and took a deep, steadying breath. The first round of painkillers was wearing off.
"Think I could get one of those pills?" I asked Dad. He was already halfway to the house. His once broad shoulders grew more rounded and hunched each day. He wasn't old by modern standards, only in his early seventies, but a hard, extreme life had aged him fast.
He ignored my request for a pill. I walked up the steps. He left the front door open, which I considered the first nice thing he'd done since arriving at the hospital. He asked no questions and didn't seem the least bit interested in the extent of my injuries.
"Thanks for the ride home," I said.
He spun around, and that harsh, icy glare, the one that used to let you know you were about to get a black eye or a whipping, showed up on his craggy face. "I told you to straighten up, Ro. Instead, you keep digging yourself deeper. You smell like shit, by the way, like you've been laying in vomit and stale beer."
I walked to the kitchen hoping his lecture was done. He'd been so quiet in the truck I was lulled into letting down my guard. My head felt as if it might split wide open. "Sure could use one of those pills." I reached up and grabbed down a glass.
"Told you my back hurts. The pills are my payment for picking you up. Now, pack your things. I want you out tonight."
I turned around too fast and had to lean against the counter for support. "What?"
He didn't look at me. "You heard me. Pack up your shit. You're never going to get out of this hole you've dug for yourself." He finally skewered me with his sharp gaze. "They call it tough love."
A short dry laugh shot out of me. "Oh, is that what they call it? Not sure where the love part comes in."
"Fuck off. I was in bed, asleep, when I got the call to pick your sorry ass up from the ER. I'm going back to bed. Make sure you're not here when I wake up." He walked out of the kitchen.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Zander. He and his girlfriend, Nev, lived in the smaller, original cabin on the property.
Need a place to crash. Dad just kicked me out.
I made myself a piece of toast, but it tasted like cardboard in my dry mouth. I gulped down the water and went upstairs to stuff some things into a backpack. One nice thing about always being deadass broke was that you never had much to carry around when you moved.
I stuffed the backpack to capacity and glanced at my phone. Still no text from Zander. I wasn't too surprised. I walked to my window. I had a partial view of Zander's cabin. A light was on. Zander and Jameson, my two older brothers, had taken over Dad's excavation company right after high school. When Dad ran it, it was mostly a front for money laundering and all of the shady shit our old man was up to. Zander and Jameson had turned it into a legitimate company, and they were doing really well. I worked for them for about three months, but it turned out taking orders from your big brothers was not fun. I argued back too often, and we all decided mutually that working together sucked. I regretted acting like an asshole because it was a job I would kill for now.
Zander got extra lucky when Dad handed him the keys to the original ranch house. He knew he'd have to split the ranch up when Dad died, but in the meantime, Zander had a free place to live.
Jameson, on the other hand, learned to invest his money from the company well, and he was living in a cool house overlooking the cove. His one true love, Indi, lived with him along with his daughter, Rio. It was hard not to feel jealous as hell of both of them. Colin, my twin, was killing it as a professional snowboarder, and in between contests he worked with a sports gear company. And my younger brother, Nate, was a singer in a very successful band. He was making big money playing gigs across the country. This summer they'd landed a European tour. Last I heard from him, he was in Italy. So, it was just me. I was the loser, the disappointment of the family. We'd had a rough, treacherous childhood with little supervision and minimal guidance, but all my brothers had somehow managed to skip past those obstacles and tamp down all the unpleasant shit to line up for good futures. No wonder Dad was always sodisgusted to see me. As far as he was concerned, I was a fucking shit stain. I had to agree.
I glanced at my phone again. No text. I sat on the edge of the bed, mostly to stop the room from spinning. It felt as if someone was drumming on my skull, and the numbing agent they'd used for the stitches had worn off. I wasn't sure which hurt worse, my skull or the deep cut held together by surgical thread. The pain pills would have been nice. I scrolled through my phone to figure out a different place to stay. I could probably crash at my old apartment. Denny and Vick were cool guys. They'd understand, but it meant a thirty-minute Uber drive, and I didn't have that much money.
Dad's bedroom television was blaring as I stepped into the hallway. His hearing was shit now, and he kept turning the thing louder. I headed down the stairs and out the front door. I considered sleeping in the barn's hayloft. The light was still on at Zander's. I took a chance and walked across to his front porch.
I glanced in the small window on the door and spotted Nev leaning over some paperwork on the kitchen table. It seemed luck was with me for the first time tonight. I knocked lightly. She looked up quickly.
I pressed my face into the small square of glass. She smiled and hurried across in her flannel pajamas and fluffy slippers. Nev was never into glam and trendy fashion or heavy makeup. She didn't need to be. She was top to bottom fucking gorgeous, only she was far too smart and humble to notice.
The door swung open and a warm aroma, cinnamon, possibly, surrounded me like a comfortable blanket. "God, please tell me you baked oatmeal cookies," I said.
Nev reached out and took my hand. "No cookies but I've got some cinnamon tea if you're interested." She pulled me playfully inside, then smiled up at me. The light in the entryway wasfar more revealing than the dim porch light. Her lips parted in shock. "What the hell happened, Ronan? You look terrible."
"That's good cuz it'd be weird if I looked good when I'm feeling like someone chewed me up and spit me out."
"Come to the kitchen. I'll make you hot cocoa."
I followed her to the kitchen and dropped my heavy backpack on the ground. The sound made her turn and look pointedly down at the pack. She scrunched up her face in comprehension. "He kicked you out?"