Though I’m seeing red, I glance at Amber, my eyes flashing an apology as I wrap my hand around hers. She tosses me a tight smile, which only further ignites my anger.
I turn to my mother, making a point to look at her wineglass before speaking, my tone a harsh slap. “We all have different definitions of who’s considered white trash. In my book, a lush, such as yourself, is right up there in my top three.”
“I can smell a tramp a mile away,” my mother huffs, glaring pointedly at Amber. “Lush or not, that takes the cake in my book.”
“Excuse me?” Cathy’s jaw nearly drops into her plate of shrimp scampi. “Who the hell do you think you are calling my daughter a tramp?”
Brittany pushes back in her seat, a mix of anger and embarrassment thick on her tongue as she rises. “That was uncalled for. I don’t care how much you’ve drunk, this is completely out of line. I’m taking you home before you make a fool of yourself.”
“She’s already made a fool of herself,” I bite out, tossing my linen napkin into the middle of the table.
“Don’t, Brock,” Amber whispers, gripping my hand tighter. I know she’s trying to protect me, trying to downplay what happened to save me from saying some shit I can’t take back. I shake my head at her, silently telling her it’s too late. I can’t back down, can’t let this slide. I refuse.
With an aggravated sigh, my father intervenes. “All your mother’s trying to say is that you need to make all your practices. There’s no reason to miss any.”
“Your wife just called my daughter a tramp, and you’re still talking about football?” Mark stands, his eyes fierce as he jabs a finger into my father’s chest. “I’m not about to sit here and listen to you put down my child or yours! I don’t know who you people think you’re messing with, but this shit’s about to get real ugly if you say another word about my kid!”
“That’s not what she’s trying to say,” I tell my father, barely picking up on Mark’s comment. I shove to my feet, my fists clenched at my sides, itching to blast something before I blast someone. “We all know what’s really going on. She’s a goddamn alcoholic, but that’s still no excuse for her fucking mouth.”
“Watch your language,” my father says, his tone a resounding warning. “She’s still your mother.”
“Right,” I spit, losing every shred of sanity I own. “I’ll watch my fucking mouth when you get your wife under control!”
Everyone in the room stills as our heated stares stay deadlocked. I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I knew nothing with them would ever be easy after Brandon was taken, but the last couple of years it’s been nothing but a clusterfuck of vile comments that have compiled into a storm of hurt and anger. Before Amber, I was able to bury my feelings in selling blow, my choice of employment providing me with a sense of purpose. I couldn’t do that in my personal life. There’s nothing my parents want from me other than a son who plays football and provides them with some form of status in their elite circle. It ends tonight. They’ve crossed a line, a major fucking line. There’s one thing I won’t condone and that’s hurtful comments aimed at my girl. You wanna rip me apart, fine, go ahead. But Amber? I’ll fucking hunt you down, dismantle you limb to limb, not giving a shit who you are to me while I watch you suffer.
“Take her home,” I continue, rage blistering my lungs. “Get her out of my fucking sight. She needs help, but you’ve turned a blind eye to her problem because you get away with more shit while she’s lit up. I’m done with it. She can’t keep going on like this. It’s gonna kill her.”
My father stands, his shoulders straightening to full height as fury whips across his face. “Your mother’s fine, Brock. The only problem in this family is you.”
“That’s not true,” Brittany states, her voice forceful. “She has to stop blaming Brock for what happened to Brandon. It’s unfair to not only him, but me as well. He’s my remaining brother and it kills me to see the way the both of you treat him.”
My stare switches from Brit to my mother, who’s swaying back and forth, tears dribbling down her cheeks as she lifts her green eyes to mine.
“You’re the reason he was stolen from me,” she whispers, slashing the knife of guilt—already buried deep within my gut—deeper. “Because of you, I don’t have Brandon anymore. I think it’s sick that I have to suffer while you get to go on with your life as if nothing’s . . . happened.”
I hear Cathy and Amber gasp, my breath fucking off at the trail of sheer agony streaming across my mother’s face. The agony I caused her.
“You think I don’t think about him?” I snarl, pounding my fists against my chest. “That he’s just some memory that occasionally pops into my mind?” I drop my head, my fists deciding to connect with the table this time around. “If so, then you’re wrong. There’s not a minute that goes by that I don’t think about that kid. He was my baby brother, for fuck’s sake! I might be the reason he’s gone, but you’re not the only one who loved him! Not the only one suffering over his loss!”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she continues, sniffling as though I didn’t just bleed my heart out in front of an entire restaurant filled with mortified onlookers. “The only thing I know for sure, Brock, is you’re a filthy reminder of what I’ll never have ever again. One I can’t stand to look at.” The last part’s whispered as she picks up the bottle of wine, tossing back what remains of it.