Order (Tattoos and Ties Duet #2)(49)
Saturday night
Keyes rolled his bike to a stop in the middle of his old man’s empty driveway. He stared at the dilapidated house he’d grown up in, and his gut twisted. Everything inside him screamed to turn around and leave this place. He was a fundamentally different man than everything this house represented. Instead, he lifted his foot, easily finding the kickstand to his Harley and let the bike rest as he hiked a leg over the seat.
“You’re a pussy,” he hissed to himself as he continued to hesitate before finally starting for the front door. He took each porch step, remembering how many times in his life he’d been banished to this front porch. He had spent countless nights cowering in a corner, locked out of his house, scared out of his wits at every sound or small rush of wind that rustled the leaves on the large oak trees. He got through those scary nights with a promise to himself: once he got out, he would never come back. Those bad memories had him pausing with his hand on the front doorknob. Maybe he should leave, but in the end, he didn’t and pushed open the door to walk inside his father’s house for what he prayed was the very last time.
A prospect was kicked back on their old blue tweed sofa with a television remote in hand. The guy lifted his gaze to Keyes when he entered. He stared at Keyes, looked him up and down before slowly getting to his feet. Contempt shone in the young man’s eyes, most likely poisoned by his old man. But the kid kept his mouth shut, smart enough to know one negative vote by Keyes and he’d never become a full patched brother of the club.
Keyes wasn’t going to miss all the subtle disrespect he got from this pack of lousy prospects scouted by his old man. For the first time, the idea of a future where he was judged on his own merit, not from the vitriol that rolled so easily from his father’s evil tongue seemed achievable.
“He back there?” he asked the prospect, skirting the coffee table, going toward the bedrooms.
“He doesn’t want you here,” the prospect said, the contempt in his eyes coming through in his voice. Keyes glanced over his shoulder. The prospect stayed rooted in his spot, confirming Keyes’s initial thought that the kid wasn’t stupid. While that gaze tracked him, Keyes ignored his warning completely. He passed his old bedroom and the numb feeling from days ago washed back over him. Rage, hate, or joy were all emotions he thought he’d feel during the many times throughout his life he had envisioned his old man’s death. Never once did he see himself devoid of all feeling. That shit wasn’t good.
He pushed open the master bedroom door to see his father lying in bed, his bedroom cleaner than Keyes ever remembered seeing it before. There was an older woman in scrubs sitting in a chair close to the bed. Her gaze lifted to him, otherwise she stayed quiet as he walked straight to the edge of the mattress.
His old man was an emaciated shell of the person he’d once been. The apologetic looks each of his brothers had given this evening when updating him on his old man’s condition seemed a bit of an understatement. Now he got why gulps of beer and liquor were slammed after talking about their brother’s condition. Smoke’s breathing was shallow and labored, his skin a grayish, sickly color, and he looked much older than his late fifties.
Keyes let out a sigh, committing this moment to memory. He didn’t know what he had hoped to accomplish by coming there this evening. In hindsight, he should have just stayed at the barbecue. It was this numbness that freaked him out the most. Honestly, the lack of emotion was with everything in his life. Well, everything except Alec.
He should be with Alec right now. Alec hadn’t shaken that funky attitude of sadness since the other morning. Instead of ditching the barbecue to come see his old man, he should have met up with Alec. What had he been thinking? Why had that never occurred to him before right now? Keyes reached for his phone as movement caught his eye. The woman in the chair rose, going for the bed.
“Mr. Dixon, it’s all right. Your son’s here. You’re his son, right?”
He had no idea how she would know such a thing, and Keyes swung his gaze to his father who was staring straight at him. For as frail as he was and the sheer volume of morphine he was no doubt on, there was still no mistaking the magnitude of hate in the old man’s eyes, and it was all directed at Keyes.
Keyes met his father’s glare. “I came to say goodbye.”
His father moved, not much more than a twitch, but the old man tried. Keyes could see the agitation building in the movements before he began coughing.
“Mr. Dixon, calm down.” The nurse grabbed his father’s shoulders as the prospect launched himself through the bedroom door.
“I told you he didn’t fuckin’ want you here. Why couldn’t you honor his last fuckin’ wish, man?”
Keyes stepped back as the prospect rushed to the bed. He watched the two try to calm his ailing father. It took less than a minute more for Keyes to decide to leave. He was through the house and out the front door, dragging in gulps of fresh air as the boulders on his shoulder, weight he didn’t even know he carried, lifted off him. He gripped the railing, closing his eyes as flashes of his life played out like a full-length feature film behind his closed lids. Images of his mother—the good memories, her laughing happily with him while watching cartoons, Samurai Jack to be specific. His father taking the seat next to her on the sofa, his arm coming around her, his hand landing on top of Keyes’s head. His mother made a badass spaghetti dinner that he would eat platefuls of in one sitting, a recipe she had learned from her mother.