I flinch at the nickname, taking slow, deep breaths. He’s drunk, I remind myself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

Poor Zeke is sitting as still as a statue on the couch opposite me. I want to reach out my hand and comfort him, but I’m still stuck because of this damn bandaged leg.

“Jesus, Stone,” Ruth says, wrapping his arm across her shoulders as she leads him to the couch and helps him sit. “How much have you had to drink?”

“I dunno,” he slurs, glancing at Zeke. “He spoken yet?”

“Not yet,” I respond quietly.

“Kid needs to talk eventually,” he says, sitting up and leaning unsteadily toward Zeke. “Oi, kid, you gonna talk to me?”

Zeke jumps to his feet and races into his bedroom, slamming the door shut. I can’t believe Stone just did that. Is he fucking crazy? He sees me looking at him, my eyes wide.

“What?” he asks. Is he kidding? Does he seriously think he’s done nothing wrong?

“Don’t you think you were a little too harsh?” I snap.

“He’s my kid,” Stone says in a low voice. “Mind your own damn business.”

“Stone!” Ruth gasps, her mouth hanging open in shock. “How dare you talk to Shannon that way.  She’s only trying to help.”

“No,” I start, struggling to my feet as I grab the crutches that lie on the floor. I still haven’t learned how to use them yet, and I have to brace myself on the arm of the chair as I prop them up under my arms. “He’s right,” I continue with a weak smile as I finally get my bearings. “It’s none of my business. If you call me a cab, I’ll be out of your way.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Stone says sullenly, not looking at me.

I can feel the blood draining from my face. “Wh-what?” I gasp, suddenly very short of breath.

“You heard me,” he replies, raising his eyes to me as he swallows a mouthful of his beer. “You’re here until that leg is better.”

“You can’t be serious.” I laugh. “I’m perfectly fine on my own, and—”

“You’re fine on your own, huh?” Stone says, raising his voice as he slowly shifts and stands up, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s how you managed to nearly break your fucking leg.”

“I nearly broke my leg,” I seethe in a low voice through gritted teeth, “because I found out you were married with a kid. So why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Now I’m yelling.

“I thought we already went through this!” Stone shouts back. “I didn’t know I had a damn kid until yesterday! You think I wanted any of this?”

“Guys!” Ruth yells, and we both look over at her in surprise. I’d forgotten she was even there. My eyes drift slowly toward the person next to her and my heart sinks as I look at his tear-stained face.

“Zeke,” I say, choking on tears as I try to move the crutches around to go to him.

“Don’t,” Ruth snaps at me as I watch Zeke rush outside, slamming the screen door behind him. “You two have some serious shit to work out, and this poor kid doesn’t need to hear it. I’ll take him to my house for the night. You need to work things out, pronto.”

Stone rubs a hand over his head and looks a little dazed. “Fine,” he mutters, turning on his heels and walking into the kitchen. I hear the fridge door open, the rattle of the glass bottles as he grabs another beer.

“I can’t stay here,” I plead to Ruth, but she’s in no mood to listen to my complaining.

“I don’t frankly care,” she spits. “You guys need to sort your shit. Like it or not, there’s a kid to think about now. Clearly, the both of you need to grow up.”

I hate knowing she’s right.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says in a softer voice. “I know it’s hard to believe, Shan, but he needs you.”

I watch her leave with Zeke in her car, sighing as I rake a hand through my hair. My legs are burning from the effort it takes to stand, and my headache is back and worse than ever.

I lean my head against the cool windowpane, staring out at the darkening sky. Ruth is right, of course. Stone and I have a lot of crap to work through. I feel terrible that Zeke overheard the cruel words his own father said, but I also know Stone didn’t mean any of it. He’s drunk, stressed and probably feels very alone. I have to find a way to help them both, starting with Stone.

I just don’t know how I’m going to get through to him.

I slam the fridge door closed and walk out the door onto the back porch. There’s still a steady drizzle of rain left over from last night, and the air has a slight chill. I feel goose bumps rise on my forearms as I open my beer and lift it to my lips, the fight leaving my body as the cool alcohol runs down my throat. I move to sit on the two-seater couch, swallowing another mouthful of beer before placing the open bottle on the small table in front of the couch. The table has various books and magazines scattered across it, a habit I picked up from Grandma. “Always make sure you have something to read when you need to relax,” she’d taught me. I’m still fuming from my fight with Shannon. I can’t believe she said those things in front of my son. What business is it of hers how much I drink?

I’m angry, but is it at Shannon or myself? Was she right? Do I drink too much? I know I’ve had a hard time coping since getting back home, but surely I can’t be that bad, can I? If you have to ask, you already know the answer, my mind taunts.

I groan as I sit back on the couch, picking up my beer and taking another swig. Just as the bottle touches my lips, a loud crack of thunder shakes the porch and I jump, dropping my bottle as I drop to the ground behind the table and cower with my head buried in my hands, fearing the bullets as they kick up the dirt around me. I sit there shaking for a few minutes until I can slow my breathing. I gradually lift my head as the tightness in my chest eases and my hazy vision starts to clear. I hate these flashbacks. I never know when they’ll occur, and they always seem so real.

I lean down and pick up the bottle, cursing under my breath as I see it’s now empty. I briefly contemplate getting another one. It would be so damn easy to have another, to lose myself once more in the amber liquid that seems to give me all my courage as of late.

But I can’t bring myself to do it.

I sit back with a small growl of disgust as I run a hand over my head. This is ridiculous. I can’t even have a beer now without feeling fucking guilty for it. This is my house, dammit, my rules. If Shannon and Zeke can’t respect that, then I’m not forcing them to stay. But you are, the rational part of my brain reminds me. You won’t let Shannon leave until her leg’s better. I close my eyes and rub my temple with my index and middle fingers, a headache coming on. Why did all this crap have to happen now? I’m not ready for a kid or a woman. A fire starts low in my belly, slowly licking upwards as it burns, consuming all coherent thought and igniting an anger in my heart. Who the fuck does Grace think she is? She can’t just leave me hanging for fourteen years then waltz back in like nothing happened with a fucking kid.

I stand up so suddenly I flip the small table in front of me, scattering books and magazines everywhere. Another clap of thunder passes overhead but I hardly notice, and I don’t care. I run my hands over my face as I pace back and forth in front of the couch. Why the fuck didn’t she tell me? So many years have passed, and she couldn’t be bothered writing a letter? Making a phone call? She’s nothing more than a selfish bitch who wants to play with my head, punish me for what I did fourteen years ago. I fucking hate her.

I walk down the stairs and into the rain, the biting cold doing nothing to dissuade the fire burning hotly inside me. What the hell did I do to deserve this? Did our time together, however short, mean absolutely nothing to her? I loved her.