Badd Motherf*cker(57)

I was just standing there, in the doorway, hand over my mouth, full of so many conflicting emotions I didn’t know what to do about any of them. I wanted to smother Sebastian with kisses, wipe away the blood, take him inside and make him feel better, get him to talk about his dad, but I was a little frightened of how well he fought, how savagely. Of course, none of them were trying to really truly hurt each other, but they weren’t holding back much either. Above all, I just wanted Sebastian to…let me in, I guess.

But this scene, with his brothers…it wasn’t about me. It was about them; I was just a spectator.

I didn’t understand, honestly. I couldn’t fathom what kind of bond they had that could let them batter each other bloody like that, and then sit there sharing deeply personal thoughts, arms around each other.

“We all miss Dad,” Baxter said. “You know how much fucking tequila I’ve put away the last few months because of it? Coach Baldwin nearly benched me a few times.”

Brock spat a mouthful of blood, wincing. “None of us are really handling this very well, I guess.”

“What, you? Mister well-adjusted psychology major?” Baxter said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “I don’t believe it.”

Brock shot his brother what I thought was an uncharacteristically foul glare. “Fuck you, Bax. You think I’m unaffected?”

Baxter held up his hands, unwilling to start another brawl, apparently. “Just saying, you probably sat in on therapy sessions every week instead of drinking your feelings away like the rest of us.”

Brock reddened. “So what if I did? I don’t care to pretend I’m not feeling things, and while I may have given in to the desire to numb the pain with alcohol more than I’d like to admit, letting go completely just wasn’t an option for me. If I get in the cockpit hung over or still drunk, I’m gonna kill myself or someone else. I can’t afford to drink my feelings away.”

Baxter gripped Brock’s shoulder and squeezed, shook it. “Yeah, well, somebody in this damn family has to be an adult, huh?”

Sebastian’s shoulders shook, then, and my heart squeezed in my chest. “It’s stupid…it’s so stupid—”

“What’s stupid?” Brock asked.

“I’m angry at him,” Sebastian said, his voice breaking. “At Dad—I’m so fuckin’ pissed at him for leaving. Why’d he leave? He just fuckin’ left me here alone, left the bar on me and, just like after Mom passed, I didn’t have a choice but to fuckin’—to just do what had to be done. I didn’t want it. I was gonna see if he could hire somebody else to fill in so I could—I dunno what. Do something else for a change. But then he died, and I just—fuck. Fuck.” He shook his head, rubbed at his eyes as if he could rub away the pain. “Fuckin’ hate this bullshit.”

“When Marco died,” Zane said, his voice thoughtful, careful, “me and Cody went AWOL. We took a Humvee and a bottle of some shitty booze and went off into the middle of fuckin’ nowhere. We drank ourselves stupid and cried our eyes out like little bitches. You can’t ignore this shit, Bast. You gotta let it out. It’ll fuckin’ eat you alive if you don’t.”

“Yeah, but I’ve just—” Sebastian shoved the heels of his palms against his eyes and rubbed hard. “I’ve just been so fuckin’ alone.”

“Not anymore, brother,” Zane said, roughly grappling Sebastian into a hug against his chest, holding him there. “Not anymore.”

“All’a you just fuckin’ left me here. I know you had your lives to live, but—fuck, fuck—goddammit!” Sebastian’s shoulders heaved again, and this time they didn’t stop, and Zane just kept a harsh hold on his shoulders, refusing to let him go even though Sebastian was struggling, trying to get away, trying to deny the release of emotions.

My heart hurt, hearing the ache in his voice, the raw agony of loss and loneliness, and I understood then the reason for his walls, the reason for hiding behind the macho asshole façade. He was in pain, alone, and refusing to deal with it. Until now I think he’d refused to even acknowledge that he had a problem.

Brock and Baxter closed the circle, wrapped their arms around Sebastian, and inside the safety of that huddle, I heard him finally let go, finally allow himself to grieve for the loss of his father and the months and years of loneliness.

I just stood there in the doorway of Badd’s and watched, feeling like an outsider, but privileged to be able to witness the moment.

After several minutes, Sebastian straightened and stood up, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it off, wiping his face with it. Then he turned and helped each of his brothers to stand up.