XPLR | Colby Brock

~115~

SURPRISE CHAPTER. ITS ONLY BECAUSE WE JUST BECAME THE BIGGEST COLBY BROCK STORY ON WATTPAD (I'm pretty sure. We might not be here forever, but let's celebrate in the moment!!!!) THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!! YOU GUYS GIVE ME THE COURAGE TO CALL MYSELF A WRITER. I LOVE YOU. THIS IS (pathetically, considering it's a fanfic) MY PROUDEST ACHIEVEMENT, AS A PERSON BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY AS AN AUTHOR.

THANK YOU.

I took a deep breath as I walked towards a church a few miles from my house. It was about six pm, I'd just finished my rehearsal with Paisley, and picked up and dropped off Rudy. He was looking forward to our piano lesson tonight.

There were a bunch of rather old or middle aged people, standing around outside and smoking. As I walked towards the doors, avoiding the eyes of everyone, I was greeted by one woman. "Hey," she said, "is this your first meeting?"

"Kind of," I said softly. "I went to the teen support group a few times."

She nodded, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and taking me inside. "My name's Marley, I'm chairing the Al-Anon meeting tonight-" I cut her off, shyly. "Actually... I was looking for someone who might know about my father. He... told me he was coming here, a long time ago. I left before he got sober, and I came home a few days ago, and he... he died. His name was Lars Romano," I said.

The woman stared at me, and after a moment, a man with a thick, silky beard turned towards me. "Rose?" he asked. I nodded.

"No way," he said, and he thrust his hand out towards me. "My name's Kendall. I was your father's sponsor, it's nice to meet you. Finally. He talked about you all the time."

That made my heart sink. "He did?"

He nodded.

"Here, come in. You can sit in on our meeting," he said, motioning Marley and I to follow him. I felt like there was a weight lifted off my shoulders. At least I know I'm in the right spot now.

Today I was wearing a thick jacket and a band t shirt, and I'm sure my dark makeup (I've been taking a lot of solace in makeup lately) didn't help me to look like Lars. I don't look like my father, I always looked like my mom. After all, I am basically her clone. I'm the one carrying on her legacy. Alone.

I slipped off my jacket and hung it on the back of my chair. We were sitting in a circle. The few times I went to the teen support group, we sat at a table. For some reason, this feels more intimate.

As more people came in and sat down in the circle, I got a lot of looks. Maybe they think I'm a new comer. That I'm an addict just like them. I am an addict, just not to substances like they are. To blood, for sure, but I've been clean for a couple days now. Every time I see the scars, I cringe. Though, here, in a church, I suddenly find the courage not to hide them. Do be honest with yourself and others.

They opened the meeting, and introduced themselves. When it came to my turn, all the courage was gone. I shyly said, "I'm Rose."

There were some rehab addicts here, but besides them, I was the youngest one here. I mean, damn, I'm nineteen. Almost twenty. Everyone else here is in their twenties already, but the ones who do the most talking are over fifty.

"Why are you here?" Kendall asked. He wanted me to tell the rest of the group. "I... I'm Lars's daughter, I came into down looking for him. I only found a letter, though... I just... I wanted to know what he was like. I never knew a really sober father."

They all gasped when I said Lars's name. I looked around, and they all started talking at the same time. Kendall held his hand out and said, "Order, order," he chuckled. Once it was quiet again, Kendall spoke again, "I was Lars's sponsor. Let me just say, he talked about you and your mother all the time. And he was so, so sorry for everything he did to you."

I was regretting coming here all of a sudden. I cringed at that thought. I don't want all this attention on me, especially when they're telling me thing I'm still struggling to believe.

I know he tried. I know he did. So why did I come here?

After one woman finished a story about Lars, I said, "I know about him wanting to make amends to me. But that's not what I'm looking for. I want to know how he interacted with you. Interacted with God. I just want to know how he was while I was gone."

Kendall spoke up first. "Oh, he was funny. He used to cut out and collect the funny section of the newspaper. He always said that he had to make up all the Dad jokes he missed getting to tell you. I swear, you couldn't tell him a joke he hadn't heard before."

"He came to three meetings a week. Put a twenty in the collection every time." Another woman said.

"He put flowers in a vase every meeting too. Sometimes roses, irises... what was that flower he brought that one time?"

"Indian paint brushes!"

"Indian paint brushes! Those were his favorite too. More often than not, he would bring lilies. For his wife, he said. He bought lots of flowers, brought them out to her grave as well."

"Grave? Can I know where my father is buried?" I asked. "Who came to his funeral?"

Kendall laughed. "Who else? His second family. We looked for you for a long time, but we weren't able to find you in time. We're sorry. He did say once that you probably wouldn't come, and that he wouldn't blame you," he said. The rest of the group nodded.

"Can someone take me after this meeting?" I asked. Maybe by the flower shop too. "Of course. I'm still his sponsor, there's no death-do-us-part rules in A.A.. Or at least, I don't think there is..."

I nodded. They all spent the meeting tell me about my father, asking me about my life, where I was going. Of course, my recent bout with Colby came up.

A woman from the rehab said, "Oh, lordy! You poor thing. That must've hurt like a bitch."

"It did hurt, more like two bitches."

"Well, two bitches were definitely involved," Kendall said with a laugh. "He called me yesterday. First time I answered."

"You're not going back to him, are you? I mean, damn. You're going to the school of your dreams!"

I shrugged. "What can I say? I've been on my own since I was fourteen, this is what I've wanted since I was fourteen. There's no way I'm going to give it all up now."

Kendall, who was sitting next to me, patted my shoulder. "Attagirl. I'm proud. Lars is too."

For some reason, even if the bastard man gave me nightmares, bruises, trust issues, but an impenetrable agenda and fighting spirit, seeing how much a group of people could admire the man who terrified me as a child and killed my mother, it makes me feel better.

Even though I hated him, and I still feel weird about not hating him, the idea of a man who loved flowers, God, and his family, is a man I can come to love as well. Even if we are separated by the permanent unconsciousness and lack thereof.