Broken Promises

58 | noah

It's dark by the time I get home. I enter the house quietly in case my dad or Caroline is asleep, slipping into the kitchen after closing the door behind me. I'm not surprised to find my father already in the kitchen, sipping from a mug and sitting at the table. It's only ten, so I hadn't expected him to be turned in for the night. Plus, I've noticed my father has picked up a habit of staying up until he sees that I have returned home for the night. I've never said anything about it to him—and I won't—but I almost find the gesture heartwarming.

"What's wrong?" Dad asks after a beat of silence that comes after I heave a sigh absentmindedly.

My first instinct is to snap in response to my father's question; I'm not used to letting people in, especially when I'm upset or when it's my father. It's practically instinct now for me to ignore and deflect, to only depend on myself.

Yet there's a part of me that wants to open up to Dad in this moment all the same. I'm finally learning that holding on to all of the pain and anger and sadness that has consumed me for the past four years is getting me nowhere. What am I getting out of pushing others away, out of forcing myself into isolation that makes me feel nothing but alone and empty? What do I gain out of trying to punish my father for the past, when I can clearly see that he's trying to make up for his mistakes?

The answer to those questions is that it's not helping me at all. I think it's time I step up and become a bigger man, to try to allow myself to grow for the better. I need to stop believing I will be better off alone and learn that even the strongest people need someone to lean on from time to time. If I'm being rational, I know I should make amends with my father before it's too late. There's really no use in holding such a long grudge.

With this in mind, I open my mouth to respond to my father, deciding I might as well get my thoughts off of my chest.

"It's Blake," I admit, my voice oddly strained. "She's really struggling right now, Dad. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help her. It's driving me crazy."

Once Blake's name has been spoken, my dad's demeanor shifts. I watch as his eyes darken slightly, expression hardening. He looks caught somewhere between angry and sad, as if unsure of how to feel.

His reaction gives way to a sinking suspicion in my chest. "You've heard the rumors, haven't you?"

Dad doesn't meet my gaze as he nods. What Blake is going through is something no one deserves to experience, and I know she's having a hard time. I can't imagine how it must feel to have someone you trusted—someone you loved—invade your mind and body in the way Mason did to Blake. It's a whole mess of pain and struggle and confusion for her, the kind of journey that changes a person once they finally make it to the other side.

"Well, the rumors are true," I admit. "That Mason dick really . . ." I trail off, unable to finish my sentence. "I don't know what to do, Dad." Embarrassingly enough, my voice cracks on the word Dad.

Right now, I need my father more than I've ever needed him before. For the first time since I was sent to live here, I'm finally willing to accept the fact that my father is . . . my father. We can't pick and choose our family, but we can choose how we get along with them. And ever since I was a kid, all I've ever wanted was to be close to my father.

Maybe it's not too late to make that happen.

"Honestly, Noah," Dad starts, frowning slightly, "there's not much you can do when it comes to the situation. The only thing there is for you to do is to be by her side, to help her through this. Sometimes the only way we can help people is by loving them."

As simple as my father's advice is, it's also helpful. I've always been a guy who needs to do something, who struggles with sitting back and allowing fate to unfold. Every once in a while I need to be reminded that sometimes all I can do is sit back. Sometimes taking the wheel isn't the best decision. As much as I wish there were something I could physically do to make what Blake is going through easier on her, there is nothing tangible I can do to make anything better for her. Just as my father says, really the only helpful thing I can do for Blake right now is to stick by her side and remind her that she is loved and that she's not alone.

"You're right," I agree. "Thanks, Dad."

I meet his gaze, and an understanding seems to pass between us. It's as if we both realize that our relationship isn't perfect—and maybe it never will be—but it's not too late to make things better.

I offer my father one last smile before I turn to the staircase and head to my room, feeling the most at ease I have in a while.

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a/n: my jaw hurts so bad wtf