Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) (28 page)

I know she’s right, but her answer unsettles me. Sitting back and hoping things fall in to place has never been my strong point; uncertainty unnerves me. It always has—no doubt a consequence of having an abusive father. Ever since I was a kid I’ve always been one for wanting to know where everyone is and what they’re doing. That way I knew when to keep out of the way.

“I let you down, Ethan,” Mom says, breaking through my thoughts. This whole situation—you wanting to get closure—it’s all wrong. We should be sitting here worrying about your dad and we’re not. You’re worrying about him pulling through, I can tell.”

“Can you blame me?” I almost spit.

“Not at all; that’s the saddest part, honey. I don’t blame you at all—how could I? It’s my fault. I’ve sat by and watched for years and done nothing. Just when I thought we may finally be able to escape him, this happens and he’s trapping us all over again,” she chokes out and lowers herself into the chair opposite me. Her whole body is shuddering with sobs yet she’s not making even the slightest sound. The thought that she’s had to adapt to crying silently leaves a pretty stale taste in my mouth and a heavy feeling in my chest.

“You were going to go off to school, I was going to finally leave him and now…God, Ethan, I can’t leave him now. Not like this. He has nobody but us.”

She looks utterly wrecked, and for the first time in so long, too long, I move over to her and place my arms around her shoulders and I let her cry. I’ve been consumed with feelings of animosity towards her, and even though we’ll never have the kind of closeness that other families have, I do believe she’s done her best. She’s been trapped in a situation she didn’t ask for, with an abusive husband and no parental rights to her son. I know that the only reason she’s here with us now is because of her love for me.

She twists and clings to my chest as the noiseless sobs wrack though her body and her tears soak through the shoulder of my t-shirt. My head is thumping and an intense pressure is building behind my eyes. I’m not sure if it’s the headache that I’ve been plagued with since waking up from the accident, or if this one is because I’m trying my damnedest not to cry too.

The nurse startles Mom as she lets the door to the family room bang shut when she enters. I sit up and lower my legs from the coffee table. Pulling out one of the buds of my headphones, I wait for her news.

“I just wanted to let you know that visiting hours will be over in ten minutes, but Mr. Jamison is awake again now if you want to say goodbye for the night.”

“Thanks, we’ll be right in,” I answer and Mom smiles sympathetically at me.

We gather up our things, my hoody and Mom’s purse, place the plastic coffee cups we’ve collected in the trash and follow the nurse out of the room. My mom enters first and sits in the chair at the end of his bed; I follow and stay standing behind her.

“You’re still here?” he says, the surprise is evident in his week quiet tone.

“So are you?” I reply, the disappointment evident in mine. Mom shoots me a quick pleading look, as if asking me to be civil with her eyes. I take a deep breath and try muster up some strength to stand in here and not get into an argument.

“How are you feeling?” she asks Dad, and he lets out a small huff.

“Like I’ve been in a crash.” He may have lost the use of his body, but his sarcastic nasty streak seems to have survived unscathed.

I stiffen as Mom barks out his name in warning. I can’t help but feel a little pissed. I’ve never heard her once raise her voice to him, and I just assumed she was incapable. His eyes narrow marginally and I can tell he’s thrown just as much as me by the bite to her voice.

“We were told to come and say goodnight. Visiting’s over,” I say and make to leave. I don’t want to be in here a second longer than is necessary.

“Sit down, Ethan,” Mom orders again, and now I’m really aggravated. Where the fuck was this assertiveness the rest of my life? I do as she says out of curiosity for her newfound boldness rather than anything else, and wonder what she’s up to.

“Ethan will be leaving to go back home in the morning,” she announces to my dad, and it’s the first I’ve heard of it too. “He has lots to catch up on before graduation and he has hospital appointments he shouldn’t miss.”

“What hospital appointments?” Dad asks, his eyes skimming me for signs of injury.

“I have physiotherapy for my wrist, and I need to see the neuropsychologist about my memory,” I offer, shortly.

“What’s wrong with your memory?”

“I told you this already, Frank. He was in a coma after the accident. He hurt his head...remember?”

I’m not sure if it’s annoyance that Mom’s answered his question, or if its concern I detect in his expression.

“Are you okay?” he asks and I let out a disbelieving laugh.

“What does it matter to you? You’ve never once given me a second thought when you’ve beat me unconscious; why’s this any different? You hate me.”

“Mom spins again, regarding me with a horrified look and I shrug. “What, it’s the truth!” I state indignantly.

“Stop saying that. I do not hate you!” Dad raises his voice shakily, and we both turn to look at him.

“I’ve never hated you,” he says evenly. “I told you earlier, I can’t control my anger with you. You ignite memories and feelings that I spend every damn day trying to bury, and it’s relentless. I know what I put you through isn’t right. I just can’t help it and I…I can’t control it. I can’t stop myself. I’m sorry, Ethan. God, you’ll never understand how sorry I truly am.”

I squeeze my eyes shut tight and shake my head; I don’t want to hear that he’s sorry, sorry doesn’t cut it.

“I should never have let it get to this either. I should have protected you and I didn’t.” I open my eyes and even though she’s speaking to me, she’s staring at Dad.

“I shouldn’t have put him or you in a situation that needed protecting from me,” he tells her.

“Two minutes please, and then I‘ll have to ask you to leave,” the nurse from earlier says as she pops her head around the door smiling kindly. She takes in the look of anger on my face and the tears staining my mom’s and pauses for a second before thinking better of it and her head disappears out of the room again.

“This is all bullshit. I’m not standing in here and having some pity party where you both say sorry for failing me!” I yell. “I’m not forgiving you, if that’s what you’re asking for!” I shout at my dad. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I can’t help reminding you of someone I never even got to meet. It’s not my fault if I look or act like her. You’ve punished me my whole fucking life for something that I have no way of controlling, All I ever wanted when I was younger was for you to be proud of me. I never stood a chance though, did I? You were too busy trying to pretend I didn’t exist until I annoyed you enough to beat me and make yourself feel better.”

My voice cracks and I feel hot tears spill across my cheeks. I hate it. I hate that he’s seeing me cry. I always promised myself that I wouldn’t let him see me cry.

I want to rip this whole damn room apart and smash something. I want someone else to hurt as much as I am right now.

I want Blair.

Mom’s standing now, too. She attempts to hug me but I shrug away from her.

“You know why I’m here? I didn’t even want to come,” I say spitefully. “I’m here because she,” I point at Mom, “and my girlfriend persuaded me that I needed to gain some closure in case you died,” I bellow at my dad. “Well here it is—here’s my parting speech. Honestly, I hope it’s the last thing I ever have to say to you: NO, I DO NOT FORGIVE YOU!

“I never will. You treated me like your worst enemy and I was a kid, just a kid. I always thought it was my fault, and you let me. The only reason you’re saying sorry now is because you’re scared that you’re going to die and want to make peace. Well, screw you! I hope you go to hell where you belong,” I sob, then turn and head to the door. I turn around to see that his eyes are red and welled up.

Good.

“I’ll see you back at the hotel,” I manage to say to Mom, and she nods, looking downright shattered as I walk out of the room. I brace myself on the wall and try to catch my breath. I’m crying and can’t seem to get enough oxygen. I think maybe I’m having a panic attack. I crouch down and place my head between my knees and try to calm down but it’s not working.

“Ethan!” Dad shouts as the door falls closed slowly. There’s alarm in his voice.

“Are you okay, there?” a male doctor in a pair of blue scrubs asks, kneeling next to me. I look at him in fear. I can only see his furrowed brow and a pair of concerned brown eyes until he pulls his mask from his mouth. I can’t speak through the gasping and my vision begins to swim, causing his features to blur together into one dark tan mass.

The pressure behind my eyes feels like it’s reached breaking point, and my head is about to explode. I fall onto my ass and my chest begins to burn. I wonder if I’m about pass out, or maybe suffocate and die right here. I stop trying to fight for more air as I realize death would be welcomed. The blue figure next to me is laying me down onto the floor and shouting something but I can’t tell what through the ringing in my ears. My head hurts too much and I close my eyes and wish for everything to just stop.

Please stop.

I’m too tired. I don’t want to live like this anymore. Suddenly Blair is standing above me, smiling. She looks so beautiful as she reaches down and touches my face and then everything is still.

The noise disappears, my chest stops burning and the pressure dissipates… and then so does she.

THE BUZZ IN Joe’s is lightening my mood, it always does. Dad used to bring Em and me here sometimes after school if he was home from the office early enough. He’d show up outside school and announce that it was an ice cream kind of day, then we’d jump in the car and head to Joe’s. Our orders were always the same. Dad would get a ridiculously large banana split with extra whip, even though he didn’t particularly like cream, and then when it came, complain that there was too much and give it to me. He knew I loved it. Em would order a chocolate sundae every time without fail, and I would order a strawberry sundae with extra chocolate sauce and cherries.

“Seriously guys, if I eat any more I think I’m going to be sick,” Casey says, pushing her dish aside. She wriggles in her seat and pulls at her waistband, stretching it out and making a show of trying to create more room.

“You cannot be passing up perfectly good ice cream?” Brie says skeptically, before leaning over and scooping the remainder into her bowl. I have no idea how someone so thin can eat the way that she does and not gain weight. She’s tiny but she eats like a dude.

Casey pulls up her hot pink tank and rubs at her washboard stomach.

“Ugh…sorry guys but it’s gotta happen,” she says popping the button on her skinny jeans and letting out an embarrassingly loud groan.

“Oh my god, that feels so good.”

I laugh as Brie rolls her eyes and says, “Casey, you sound like you’re about to have an orgasm.”

My eyes widen at Brie’s comment. This place is heaving with families and little kids.