Ким Карр - Mended

“Xander!” I hear Jack’s voice calling my name.

I look ahead and see his face through the crowd. My heart pounds in my chest and threatens to break in two—why is he here to pick me up? His expression looks pained, and right away I know that what these people are yelling out can be nothing but the truth. He approaches me with a team of airport security behind him. Clutching my arm, he tries to thread us through the vultures.

“Come on, follow me,” he directs, and I do, only because I need to get the hell away from the chaos that’s trailing behind me.

His car is parked out front and he opens his door. I get in, feeling numb. He stops and talks to one of the men on the security team, then climbs in the car.

“Xander . . .” Jack reaches across the car to touch my shoulder.

He pulls me out of my trance and I jerk away. “What the hell is going on?”

“I want your mother to explain this to you.”

Through gritted teeth I say, “Jack, I need you to tell me what the hell’s going on.”

He pulls out of the airport and speeds onto the highway. “Josh Wolf died today and his son Damon decided to make a public announcement.”

“I fucking gathered that. Is it true?”

He grips the steering wheel and hits the gas. A minute passes and he still doesn’t answer me.

“Is it true?” I yell.

“Yes, son, it is.”

“Pull over now. I need a drink.”

“Your mother is waiting for us at home.”

A scowl tightens my mouth. “I’m not your fucking son and I said I need a drink. Either pull off at the next exit or stop the car so I can get out.”

Veering off the highway, he takes a right. He pulls into a dive bar just outside the city and I bolt out of the car. He follows and catches up with me inside the joint. “Look, I want your mother to explain everything, but you should know a few things.”

I glare at him from where I’m sitting at the bar. “What exactly are ‘a few things’? I think there is one thing—that Nick Wilde wasn’t my father and she never told me.”

“You’re wrong, son. Nick may not have been your biological father, but he was your father in the ways that count.”

“Scotch, neat. Make it a double,” I order. The bartender pours the amber liquid in a tumbler and I pound it back, then slam the glass down. I nod and he pours another.

“What do you know about it?” I ask Jack, after I’ve finished off the second glass and motioned the bartender back over.

“Two shots of tequila,” I tell the bartender, deciding a couple of shots might help faster than another drink.

“I only know what your mother told me today.”

I shrug my shoulders. “So she kept you in the dark, too. Why is that?”

“Xander, I understand you’re upset—and you have every right to be—but I think you need to let your mother explain everything to you.”

I lick the back of my hand and salt it. I tilt the shot back and suck on the lime, then toss back the second one straight up.

“What happened? Did she cheat on Nick when he was on the road? Was that the catalyst behind his career tanking?”

His hand grips my shoulder and this time he’s not trying to comfort me—he’s warning me. “I get this is a shock and I’ll let you take the brunt of it out on me. But I’m telling you right now, you will listen to your mother and treat her with the respect she deserves.”

“She cheated on Nick. What does that deserve?” I spit out.

“Xander, I can tell you this. She never cheated. She and Nick broke up right after he went on the road. She was seeing Dylan Wolf on and off for a while when you were conceived, but he died before he ever knew she was pregnant.”

Anger washes over me and I know I should just shut my mouth. My hand flies up in the air without conscious thought. “Bartender, another,” I yell. I don’t want to hear another word because already the use of the word conceived makes me want to puke right here. I am so fucking relieved when the conversation finally disappears from my mind and into the next tequila shot.

A ray of moonlight through my window brings me to consciousness. I sit straight up, staring into his face, wild and fierce, full of hate. It takes me a moment to realize he is me. I struggle to find the floor and then stumble to the mirror over the dresser. I peer at the reflection; it’s murky, but I can see it now—I look like him. If I look like Damon, he must look like his brother. How did I not see it?

Devastation, anger, and remorse run through me in a cacophony. I head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I squeeze my eyes shut as a rapid succession of faces flies across a blank canvas in my mind. My family, the ones I belong to . . . but not really. I shake off that thought and try to persuade myself that my conception doesn’t change anything. But I know it does. If it didn’t, why did no one ever tell me?

Was Dylan Wolf a monster like his brother? I scream at that son of a bitch buried in a coffin somewhere—you bastard. Gripping the sink, I break down when I realize that no, I’m the bastard. What kind of fucking irony is that? Along with rage, should I be feeling shame? What do you call that combination of emotions?

I bend over and purge myself of my thoughts and the alcohol. Vomiting profusely, I fall to my knees and wrap my arms around the toilet. A rush of memories that I haven’t thought about in years surfaces, only causing me to want to expel the toxicity even more. I spit in the bowl one last time, making sure every ounce of wretchedness is gone.

“Feel any better?” my brother’s voice asks from behind me.

I slowly turn my head, not sure if any of my senses are functioning. It’s River, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. His eyes are red, bloodshot, even more so than when I left him two days ago.

“What are you doing here?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I’m here for you.”

“You should be home with your wife.”

“Bell’s with her and I should be here with you. I want to talk to you. I’ve been calling you and when I called Mom for the hundredth time Jack finally got on the phone and filled me in.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. I just want to be left alone.”

He stares at me. “Not happening. We can talk . . . or not. Your choice, but I’m not leaving.”

My heart rate picks up speed as I try to stand up, and he extends his arm to help me. I take it. He feels like my brother. He’s the same guy he always was— except we no longer share the same father.

I get a close look at him. “You look like shit.”

“You don’t look so hot yourself.” Then with his voice full of sarcasm, he adds, “You want another drink?”

“Fuck off,” I tell him. “And I’m not talking about it. I’m going back to fucking bed.”

“Suits me. I’m pretty exhausted myself.” He follows me into my bedroom.

I kick my boots off and peel out of my jeans before sliding into the sheets. He stares at me and throws himself on the bed.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re not sleeping in the same bed as me.”

“The fuck I’m not,” he says and toes his shoes off.

I roll over with my back to him and close my eyes. “Whatever.”

* * *

When I next open my eyes the sun is filtering through my bedroom window and I’m alone. For a moment I’m the person I always was, but then the recent revelations come back to me. I feel the pain as soon as I lift my head, but I don’t give a shit how my head feels. Kicking out of bed, I glance over at my phone. I turn it on to see missed calls and messages from late last night and most recently an hour ago. My mother, Jack, Bell, the guys, and Ivy have all called. I turn it back off—I can’t deal with any of them right now, not even Ivy. Instead I walk out of my room and through the living room into the kitchen. River’s sitting at the kitchen table that used to belong to my grandparents . . . the people I thought were my grandparents anyway. He’s sipping a cup of coffee and thumping his fingers on the wooden tabletop.

He watches me cross the room to the coffeepot. I pour a cup and move to head out the back door onto the balcony.

“Where are you going?” his voice asks calmly.

“Outside. Where does it look like I’m going?”

“Xander, let’s talk about this.”

I pause at the door but don’t turn around. “Everything in my life that I thought was real was a lie. Fuck, even this house that belongs to me is a lie. It was willed to me by the two people I admired more than anyone in this world and they weren’t really mine. So what’s there to talk about?”

“Stop being such a fucking douchebag and sit down and talk to me.”

I open the door. “Fuck you.”

“You’re my brother and I’m concerned about you. Please talk to me.” His voice sounds just as shaky as mine.

Closing the door, I lean my head against the cool glass.

“You and me—we’re the same as we were two days ago. Nothing has changed. We’re always there for each other. We always have been. Come on, Xander, we’re the same two kids that grew up together, fought with each other, went to school together, took care of our drunk father, watched over our sister, looked out for our mother. We started our careers together. We know who we are. Whose DNA runs through your veins doesn’t change any of it.” His voice rising slightly, he adds, “None of it!”

I turn around and close the distance between us, taking a seat across from him.

I look at him for a long while before speaking. “You know, it’s weird, but I don’t feel any different. Both men are dead, so what’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s what I’m saying.”

I nod and try to put everything in perspective.

He looks me in the eye. “You know I love you, right?”

I roll my eyes. “I was just starting to think you had stopped being such a pussy and now you’re going to talk about feelings?”

River takes a serious tone. “No, Xander, I’m serious. I want to talk to you about Mom.”

One solid fucking hour we spend talking about how I need to go talk to my mother. I tell him I’m not ready. I mean, I’m still digesting that I’m not who I thought I was. All he keeps saying is that I’m the same person I’ve always been—and fuck, I know he’s right. I just need time. We slam our fists on the table, throw both our coffee cups across the room, and I almost walk out about a dozen times, but the storm passes and now we’re both lying on the huge L-shaped sofa in the living room reminiscing about our youth.

“You should take that ’Vette out of storage,” he says.

“I hate that fucking car,” I tell him.

“Really? Then why have you held on to it for all these years?”

“Because Grandpa bought it and he helped me get it running again after it sat in his garage for so long.”

“Xander, come on, I know as well as you do that you loved it that Dad gave that car to you. Do you know how pissed I was when I was finally able to drive and I begged Dad to make you share it with me and he said no. He actually said it was yours and yours only. Then when you wouldn’t even let me drive it—that pissed me off more than anything.”

“I forgot about that.”

We’re both quiet for the longest time, and I try to remember the last time I even set eyes on that car.

River sits up and breaks the silence. “Xander, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Please, no more feelings. I can’t take any more of it.”

“Fuck off! I’m being serious.”

“Okay, what?”

“Damon shut the tour down. Everyone arrived home this morning.”

“What an asshole.” That’s all I can come up with because I can’t even think about work or the band.

After a few more minutes of silence, I’m tossing a basketball above my head. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know anything about Dylan Wolf? What kind of person he was?”

“No,” he answers softly. “Can I ask you something?” he counters.

“Maybe,” I answer.

“Why do you think Damon made the announcement?”

My heart starts pounding and I bolt upright, tossing the ball aside. River’s eyes flare to mine. “I don’t know. But I’d wager it has something to do with money,” I say with a lump in my throat that I can’t swallow.

River frowns and crosses a leg over his knee. “Go on.”

“With everything that’s been going on with Ivy and the tour, he still kept it going. It had to be for the money. He could have given a shit about the band. Then his old man dies and he cancels the remaining shows even after I left. When I confronted him, he kept throwing things out there about me being like my father. I assumed he meant Nick, but he must have meant his brother.”