Page 8 of The Embers That Remain

“Time,” Soren called from outside the ring. I let out a breath; I wasn’t sure how many more rounds I could go. Soren had already sparred with me, and I had been going round after round with Jonah, waiting for him to give up. But I should have known better; he would fight me until he was in extreme pain before he stopped. That was what made him the Marine he was. He never gave up. I grabbed my water bottle and squirted a stream into my mouth as I toweled off the sweat.

“What’s up with you?” Jonah asked as he climbed out of the ring.

“I just need a good workout,” I answered, not wanting to dive deeper into some of the things I had been realizing lately. I had moved back to Kennedy a year ago after being away for fourteen years for college and playing in the MLB. There were things you noticed in your thirties that you were too self-absorbed to recognize when your prefrontal cortex was still developing.

“I noticed,” Jonah said, his perceptive eyes watching me. I suspected I had winded him a little, which had never happened. The guy missed nothing, and it was annoying as hell sometimes.

“Just working out some things,” I mumbled before taking a seat on a weight bench. We all knew we weren’t leaving until we hashed it out, and I debated how much I wanted to share. I didn’t miss the looks they exchanged.

“Like?” Soren nudged.

“Like the fact that no matter what I do, it’ll never be enough for him.” There was no point in hiding anything from these two; they knew almost everything anyway, even when I pretended they didn’t.

“What’s his issue now?” Soren asked, settling in. I wiped the towel across my brow, swiping at the sweat that had gathered there.

“I didn’t go to dinner this week, and Julia was ‘disappointed.’” I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes at the thought.

“Disappointed she’s younger than you and married to him?” Jonah said.

“Hell, does he even realize how awkward that is, considering you dated her?” Soren asked.

“He doesn't care. He never has.” The band around my chest tightened as the truth of the words sank in. Deep down, I knew the only reason he was with her was to show me he could take anything from me. But my father wasn’t someone you could ignore. You didn’t ignore Bryant Massey. I had listened to enough audiobooks about creating boundaries, but how did you set limits with someone who obliterated anything you tried to put in place? It made me feel incapable. At thirty-two years old, I couldn’t tell him no—and I didn’t just feel pathetic; maybe I really was. Perhaps I was too much like my mother. I pitied Julia, living under his control in that house—the instability, the mood swings, the endless chatter of him praising himself as if he were talking about someone else. The moments when you held your breath, unsure how he’d react, and stepped softly to avoid notice. The thing about Bryant Massey was that everyone liked him; everyone wanted to be him—everyone but me. No one realized what it was like behind closed doors with the local baseball legend. No one saw the things he didn’t want anyone to see.

I hated “family” dinners. I hated feeling trapped in that house with him. If that house could talk, the stories it could tell! The walls would weep, the door would shudder at the shouting, and the grandfather clock would just wait for his next explosion, sounding like a ticking bomb. It wasn’t a question of if, but only when. When would I disappoint him next? When would I have to remind myself I wasn’t a little boy anymore and that I didn’t have to play his games and say “yes, sir” as if I were grateful he deemed me worthy of talking to him? Bryant Massey was the man I never wanted to be, and even with all of that, I couldn’t tell Soren and Jonah the extent of it. There was a part of me that felt loyalty to him because he was my father, and I hated that part of me the most. Nausea rose in my stomach.

“Lane?” Jonah’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“Yeah?” I said, shaking my head. The door flew open, and we all turned in surprise. Landry came storming through, little Hope propped on her narrow hip.

“You won't believe who I just saw at Driscoll’s,” she said, her cheeks tinged pink with exertion.

“Who?” Jonah asked, his brow wrinkled in curiosity.

“Cali Walton,” she said. I sucked in air between my teeth, and everyone looked at me. What? Why? It had been almost fifteen years since she’d darkened the door of Kennedy—fifteen years since she’d left and given the town a proverbial middle finger. Fifteen years since she’d meticulously ripped my heart to shreds and left me wondering if it was possible ever to feel that way about someone again. Maybe I should have been heartbroken, but all I carried was anger. Resentment that she had promised me forever, then escaped in the night with my heart in her hands. A bandit. A thief. Another person who said they loved me but didn’t bother to stick around. Another person who walked away as if I were easy to leave and easier to forget. Another person who left me alone with him.

In a way, I was thankful that Landry had warned me, because I would stay away until she was gone. The last thing I wanted was the rumor mill reigniting the tales of “poor little Massey” and his broken heart. She didn’t have that power anymore; she didn’t get to hurt me. I knew her games now, understood how little I had mattered to her, so little I didn’t even deserve a simple goodbye, even though I wasn’t sure a single day had passed since then that I hadn’t thought of her.

Seven

Cali

“I’m going to make lunch,” I told Grandpa as I wiped down the counter, where he had been polishing one of his toy tractors. “Is that okay?”

“Okay,” he replied easily. “Just don't burn it like last time.”

My lips tugged at the reminder. “I won't.”

After a quick trip to the store two nights ago, I cooked a frozen pizza I’d picked up just a tad too long the next night. The edges ended up more crispy than crunchy.

The kitchen felt like it was fighting me every step of the way. The fridge hummed too loudly, half the cabinets were empty, and the stove clicked too many times before it finally caught. I washed dishes that had been sitting for too long, my hands moving on autopilot while my mind raced with worry. What doctors had he seen? What medications was he supposed to take? Who had been checking on him? How long had he been in this condition? I’d already had worries based on the times we had talked on the phone, but when his neighbor had tracked me down and called me in Austin, her voice was heavy with concern. She said she would do what she could, but she had her own health issues and was glad I was coming home.

Home.

It took two days for the reality of it to settle into my bones—not all at once, but through small moments that piled up until there was no room left to set them down. The past pressed in on the present. Grandpa paused mid-step, staring at me as if he were dusting off old memories, trying to make one match. His eyes sharpened with recognition—then slid away again. Sometimes he knew me; sometimes he didn't. The shift between those two states could happen in the space of a breath. Other times, he was like an eight-year-old boy, content to play with his miniature farm outside.

Cleaning the house took an entire day. It wasn’t quite eligible for one of those hoarder shows, but it was close enough that I didn’t want to think too hard about how long it had been slipping. I filled black trash bags until my back screamed. I burned a mountain of empty take-out containers in the barrel out back since garbage pickup this far out wasn’t in the budget, the plastic curling in on itself as if it were ashamed to be there. It was miraculous that any money was left at all, because it looked like he had eaten out for every meal. At least I was relieved he hadn’t burned down the house trying to cook. When I was a kid, eating out once a week was a luxury. Saturday nights meant burgers or pancakes, with Grandpa letting me order whatever I wanted from Ronnie’s Diner as long as I finished it. I had known—even then—that it was something he made room for in the budget. Now, the receipts were everywhere. Convenience stood in for care. When I finished scrubbing the last surface and the floors no longer stuck to my feet, the entire place smelled of disinfectant and exhaustion. Jace kept Grandpa occupied for most of the day, which I was learning was a full-time job. By nightfall, all three of us had collapsed where we stood.

Mrs. Lillis, the neighbor, stopped by that afternoon. She talked too loudly, repeated herself, and stood too close. When she left, my gratitude felt tangled with a fresh wave of regret. If she hadn’t called, how much longer would this have gone on? It seemed as if she could use some support as well.