Chapter One
D I S C L A I M E R: This book will contain sexual content between two males. NO HATE WILL BE TOLERATED! ❤
-Rayne-
“Never again,” I mutter, yanking open the heavy bar door. The smell of cigarettes and cheap beer hit me as soon as I step foot inside Rodney’s—the shoddy little joint off the edge of downtown L.A.
That’s what I’d told myself the last time I wound up here after he called drunk out of his mind and needing a ride home.
And the time before that. And the time before that. And...you get the idea.
But here I am.
And here he is.
Both of us stuck in the same vicious cycle.
I honestly lost count of the times over the past few years we’d done this same old song and dance. Thirty? Forty? Too damn many for sure.
With a resigned sigh, I make my way to the bar. There’s still a fair amount of people drunk off their asses hanging out, playing pool, and watching two basketball teams square off on the big screen. None of them in a rush to part, despite it quickly approaching 2 a.m.
A collective groan sounds from those seated at the bar, watching the game.
“How could he miss that?! How?! It was such an easy layup. Motherfucker’s seven-fucking-feet tall! All he gotta do is drop it in!” Julius Warner Jr. shouts above the rest, his words slightly slurred. I’d know that craggly voice heavily afflicted from his years of drinking and chainsmoking anywhere. Afterall, he was my father. “Shoot, even my ol’ ass could do it!”
Yeah, right. I mentally roll my eyes. He’d probably break his hip again if he tried. The first time hadn’t involved any wannabee showboating but was the result of a workplace injury. He spent the past thirty years of his life as a forklift operator before suffering a devastating slip and fall. And after undergoing multiple surgeries, he had been forced into early retirement with nothing to show for his decades of dedicated service but a permanent limp.
Will, the bartender, gives a wry shake of his head, lightly chuckling as he clears the empty glasses. “With how much you’ve had to drink tonight, Julius, I’d be surprised if you can find your own ass, let alone the rim.”
Everyone laughs except my dad.
He pauses with his drink halfway to his lips, caught off guard by the comment, before shrugging and joining in.
I hang back at the edge of the dance floor to watch their interaction, but Will quickly notices me.
“Your boy’s here!” He announces with a nod of his chin in my direction.
I force a smile despite the sinking feeling in my stomach. Will meant no harm. Honestly, he didn’t.
He had no way of knowing the pride with which he spoke those words; my father would never associate them with me.
With his glass in hand, he turns to me, smiling brightly. But his face falls, and disappointment clouds his eyes when he sees me. The other son. The extra.
“Mm.” He throws back the rest of his drink, slams the glass down hard on the bar, and stumbles to his feet. I reach out to steady him, but he brushes me off. “I got it! I got it!”
I step back some giving him space, but still remain close enough in case he falls. How he felt about me aside, I wouldn’t risk him hurting himself.
“I need to,” He belches. “Settle my tab.”
I nod and unstick my fresh white kicks from the floor to shift back a bit.
He pulls out the old, worn black leather wallet with his first name embossed on the front that he always carries—a birthday gift from my mom when they first began dating—from his pocket and opens it. His smile falters a bit at the two singles and five-dollar bill lying amongst a crumpled receipt and his bus pass.
And knowing my father, that wasn’t enough to cover what he owed. Probably not even half. He could drink a fish underwater if given the chance.
“Uh…” He flips repeatedly through the three bills as if it would magically conjure more before dragging his thumb across his left brow.
He wouldn’t ask me.
Too much pride.
He didn’t believe in asking for handouts.
Not even if he was down to his last. Which he clearly was at the moment. Never have, never will. A man should be able to stand on his own two feet. A lesson instilled in him from his father, Julius Warner, senior. Even if he had difficulty following through.
I pull a few twenties from my pocket and toss them on the bar. “I got it, Dad.”
He blinks at me once, twice before putting away his wallet. “Alright, well, you fellas, have a good rest of the night.”
Everyone returns his farewell with one of their own as we head for the door. The cool night air hits me across the face as we step outside but does little to quell my growing frustration. We walk along in silence for a moment, the busy nightlife sounds accompanying us.
“Dad, I thought we agreed you would cut back on the drinking?” I ask after a while.
“No, you and that egghead Hillerman agreed. I didn’t agree to shit.”
“The man’s a doctor. Be respectful. He’s looking out for you. A man of your age shouldn’t be drinking so much. Have you thought about all the damage you’re doing to your body? The illnesses you’re exposing yourself to? I mean seriously. Have you?! Cirrhosis, Cancer-” I tick off on my fingers, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.
“Save that pamphlet nonsense for someone else, boy. Nobody knows my body better than me. How much I do or don’t drink is up to me. Not you. And let me tell you this, Hillerman, who you seem to hold in such high regard, wouldn’t give two shits about me if he weren’t getting paid so don’t act like he’s some saint.”
“Alright, fine, Dad. I’m done.”
“I’ve heard that before,” he mutters, grabbing his packet of smokes from his pocket and popping one into his mouth.
“No, I’m serious this time. If listening to a professional won’t make you take your health seriously, then I don’t know what will. So that’s it. Do what you want. But don’t expect me to watch you drink yourself into a grave.” I walk a few steps ahead of him before tossing back over my shoulder. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what?” He asks distractedly, patting his pockets in search of his lighter.
“For what?! This whole night! For driving clear across town at one something in the morning to come get you! Then, picking up the tab you racketed up,” I say the last part under my breath, but of course, he hears me. My dad had eagle-eyed hearing that’s why my brother, Ray and I got away with shit as kids.
He slips the cigarette from his mouth, eyes leveled on me. “I had it covered. And-”
I scoff. “Yeah, I saw.”
“And it’s not like you had anything better to do.”
“I was working, Dad.”
“Working. Pfft. All you do is sit on your ass all day playing video games for a bunch of losers with no lives of their own.”
His words didn’t surprise me. Hell, I’m pretty sure half the frickin’ planet would even agree with them. It was par the course being a Youtuber.
No one saw the hard work and dedication it took to build up a successful channel for nearly a decade now. Every day my videos amassed millions of views from fans worldwide. And it was only thanks to them I was able to experience a different lifestyle from my childhood upbringing.
Not that he cared. I was just a chauffeur. The dozen other times we’d done this, my flexible work schedule allowed me to pick him up with ease. But tonight, it was just shit timing, Will had called me during a rare late-night recording.
“Well, those losers, as you so like to call them, keep mine and your bills paid. So show a little respect. At least I’m not bumming around all day like Ray.”
“Hey!” He whips back to face me, dark brows in an angry slant over his bulging, bloodshot green eyes. “Don’t talk about him like that! Your brother has talent, okay? God-given talent. Unlike you.” He sneers the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath.
“No, Dad, he had talent. Had! Past tense. And the sooner he and you let that go and move on with your lives, the better off you’ll be.”
“What? You arrogant little shit. How dare you speak to me that way?! You think just because you have fans and drive around in a fancy car, you know what’s best for everyone?!”
“No, I-”
“Cause let me tell you something, they don’t mean shit. And as soon as the next thing comes along, they’ll move on and forget all about you.”
“So, what, you think Raymond would’ve been more memorable if he’d made it to the NFL?” As soon as the words are out my mouth I realize how ridiculous they are. How ridiculous this whole situation is to be arguing over a hypothetical professional football career that never happened but I can’t stop.
“Yes. A helluva lot more than you could ever do.”
While I always knew my success would never measure up in my father’s eyes to that of my brother’s could’ve been career, this was the first time he’d outright said it to my face.
“Well, you know what, Dad, I’m not even surprised I don’t measure up in your eyes. Nothing I probably ever do will cause Raymond’s all you care about. You’ve got him on this goddamn pedestal that’s so high that it’s unattainable for anyone else. And I’m sick of it, alright? So why don’t you call him and have him pick you up ’cause I’m outta here.” I turn and head for my car.
No longer would I put up with his shit. For as long as I could remember, everything I did, from my grades to how I dressed and acted, was always compared to Ray’s, and that comparison continued into adulthood. He was the gold standard while I was less than. Never good enough. Never seen.
Not even his many, many fuck ups could make him regard him differently. But I was done. Through. Finally, cutting the cord and breaking the cycle.
“Boy, don’t you turn your back on me! Come back here!” He calls, reaching out for me, but I don’t stop.
I shrug his hand off and dig my keys from my pocket. “Come back for what? So-so you can belittle me and tell me I’m not good enough some more? To he-”
A loud boom suddenly rocks the night, knocking me back. Blazing red flames engulfing my car are the last thing I see before everything fades to black.
