Did I exist?
I dreamt about this moment so many fuckin’ times, I’d lost count. Silently hoping my parents would welcome me home with open arms.
Excited to see me.
Hug me.
Be near me.
Especially my old man.
I received none of that. The house was empty exactly like me.
Something I learned to embrace.
Over the years, I discovered a lot about myself. There were tons of hours on a tour bus for self-discovery. Then you’d add all the booze, drugs, and women, and it was a repetitive cycle I got lost in. One thing would lead to another, and I’d find myself in a reflective mood. Most people used substances to forget, but it had the opposite effect on me.
At first, it was a carnival ride I never wanted to get off of. The ups and downs, the ins and outs. The peak. However, what goes up, must come down. I rode the high for as long as I could, until I’d open up my eyes and my past would play out like a movie right in front of me.
From the boy I was, to the man I’d become.
They weren’t so different. I’d never admit it out loud, but I was very much my father’s son in every way that mattered. I was the spitting image of him.
My stubbornness.
My pride.
My controlling and possessive nature.
It was all him. I was my old man to a fuckin’ fault. I’d spent most of my teenage years resenting him and wanting to be nothing like him, only to be slapped in the fuckin’ face with the reality of who I was, and who I inherited it from.
Right the fuck down to abandoning my own child, like my old man did with me after I’d left Oak Island. ’Cuz she didn’t fit in the world that I thought was right or wrong.
Do you see it?
The irony was not lost on me.
Round and round I went as if I was a hamster on a spinning wheel. Faster and faster I ran with nowhere to go. The higher I climbed, the further I fell. Sometimes it seemed as though I lived down the goddamn rabbit hole.
The expression on my father’s face the last time I saw him was another memory that followed me wherever I went. My past was relentlessly chasing me ’til the end. Yet there I was, willingly allowing my demons to hold me down in front of my childhood home.
I was my own worst enemy.
Then.
Now.
Infinitely.
“Sir, we’re here,” the driver announced. “Do you need—”
“No.” I opened the door and stumbled out, trying to govern my footing and remain upright. “Fuck.” I held my hands out at my sides until I found my balance.
Slightly swaying to the left and then right, and back again, I caught myself on the trunk of the limo. Mindlessly snickering, unsure of what I was truly laughing about. My legs finally steadied themselves, and I was able to semi-concentrate on the task at hand, whatever that was. Tugging my hair away from my face, I pulled it behind my ears and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
I could do this.
I walked the line to the front door of my family’s home, deciding at the last second it was wise to just sneak in.
I mean, why not?
I’d made it this fuckin’ far. Let me add breaking and entering to my rap sheet. Triggering me to laugh my ass off at the thought. Drunk people really shouldn’t be held responsible for themselves. We tended to ignore the little voice in the back of our minds. It was how we lived most of our lives. This was just another bad decision brought on by the demon taking up residence on my back.
Before I knew it, my mind randomly shifted to questions I desperately needed answers to.
Did my parents know the truth about Bailey like Journey? Could they feel the connection to their granddaughter the first time they held her in their arms, like she had? Did my sisters know the truth? Did the rest of our extended family?
Questions tore through my mind at warp speed. Each one more crucial than the last. I wondered how much they knew or felt in the presence of my baby girl, hurting and healing me all at once. It was a clusterfuck of emotions with each step that brought me closer to the house I grew up in.
With one foot in front of the other, I made my way toward the tree I used to use to sneak outta my bedroom for gigs. Hoping I’d still be able to climb the damn thing after all these years. I swear it looked bigger than it used to be.
Grabbing ahold of the branch lowest to the grass, I dug my fingers into the wood and lifted myself up. My muscle memory kicked in despite the fact I was drunk as shit. The pointy twigs scratched my skin and ripped my clothes with every inch I climbed.
I felt no pain.
When I quickly opened the window, I realized I was stuck on a fuckin’ branch.
“Motherfucker,” I griped, kicking my foot. “Come on!” Yanking my leg a little too hard, I lost my balance and fell face-first into my bedroom onto the wood floor. “Goddamn it!” I tumbled until I halted flat on my back.
Wheezing out air from my lungs, I grabbed onto my chest. “The fuck?” I chuckled, blankly staring up at the ceiling.
Immediately, I found Harley’s bunny in the texture of the ceiling. The noose around my neck grew tighter, strangling me the longer I stayed on the floor.
“I see a bunny,” Harley stated, laying on the ground next to me in my bedroom.
“Where?”
She pointed to the middle of the ceiling. “There.”
“That ain’t a bunny.”
“What? It’s right there. It’s ears, whiskers, and tail.”
I cocked my head to the side. “No, that ain’t a bunny.”
“Cash!” she screamed into my ear. “Are you blind?!”
“No, but now I’m deaf.”
She giggled. “Serves you right for makin’ fun of my bunny.”
“There ain’t no bunny.”
“Then what do you see?”
“I see your face.”
“What? Where?”
“Right in front of me. I’m lookin’ at you.”
“Ugh! You’re such a smartass, Cash McGraw.”
“I’m your smartass best friend, Harley Jameson.”
She smirked, smacking my chest. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Do you see my bunny, though?”
I smiled, reminiscing about all the things that hurt my heart before inhaling a deep breath. The years flew by, and yet sometimes it felt as though I was stuck in this place in time where I lived and breathed the past I wanted to forget. Everything in my life moved forward, but my mind stayed rooted to the things I couldn’t change.
It didn’t matter how much I hoped, wished, and prayed ...
I was good for no one.
Proving it time and time again.
What are you doin’, Cash? Why are you here?
I willed my body to turn over onto my hands and knees to get up and leave, needing to get the fuck outta there. As soon as I was about to stand, the door to the bedroom slammed open. Out of nowhere, the person I least expected to see was standing in front of me. Bringing me face-to-face.
With my old man.
Except, it was the receiving end of his gun...
I was staring at.
Chapter 11
“Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts.”
-Jimi Hendrix
<>Cash<>
My father instantly jerked back. The expression on his face was identical to the one that still haunted me from the last time we were glaring at each other.