Dear Isaac,
Mom won’t give me your phone number or your address, but she said she would deliver this to you for me. If that’s all I can have, then I’ll take it. I promise this won’t be a sappy, emotional letter. I know how much you hate that.
For now, I hope you’re well.
And since I can’t exactly ask you any details about your life, I figured I’d fill you in on mine.
I’m sure by now you’ve seen the shit our father is in, and you might have seen some of the things I’ve been up to lately (although I hope you haven’t watched the videos. Please don’t.)
I found someone. You’d love her. She’s honest and tough and funny. Nothing like you’d expect, I’m sure, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s my favorite person, period. I’m simply obsessed with her, and I could see the two of you becoming close friends. Maybe someday you will.
To be honest, I think you would have been a little proud of me for rebelling…at thirty-seven. I’m not the same guy I was when you left, and I imagine you’d be cheering me on if you were here.
Basically, you were right about our father all along. And while I can say I just found out myself, the truth is that I always knew. Even before he drove you away. Even before he started his church. He was always a monster to us, and I should have protected you sooner. I shouldn’t have let that behavior slide. I should have held him accountable when I had the chance, and then maybe no one would have been hurt.
So, here it is. I’m sorry.
I’ll probably say it again another thousand times and every chance I get, but I hope you know it’s true. Mom said, “All men make mistakes, but good men make it right.” So, that’s what I’m trying to do now.
Here I sit in my favorite diner while I write this letter to you, trying to imagine you rolling your eyes as you read it. Giving me shit for trying to be such a “fancy writer.” Telling me to stop trying to be so fucking righteous.
Obviously you’re still seventeen in my mind. I know you’re twenty-five now, but until I see you again, you’re still that same sarcastic, bratty teenager I remember. Still my best friend. Still the kid I would spill my guts to, just so you could give me the worst advice possible.
And while I know you’re not a kid anymore, I’d still die for some of that bad advice.
So, tell me what to do, Isaac.
With some coercion that I’m sure you would have loved to see, I managed to get Dad to sign the property title of the club over to Sage. Because she deserves it.
Because I hate to say it, he was right. I can’t have the church and her—not in the ways that I want.
So I can either give up my dreams of running this place on my own, or I can give up her.
And you’re probably thinking, “Jesus, Adam. How is that even a question?” I’d just like to point out that Sage has never been a bad influence on my life, but I have always been one on hers. So, I really am thinking about her in this scenario. I’m just afraid that she’d be better off without me.
With all of her brilliant ideas and good intentions, I can only imagine what she could accomplish.
I have no clue what my future holds, but I know what hers will.
According to the woman who worked at the club, Sage’s ex-boyfriend skipped town and closed it down once Dad’s stuff went public. Apparently, all the VIP assholes were afraid of their secrets getting out, so they pulled their patronage.
Which means it’s all hers.
So who am I to interfere? Right?
Am I only being selfish if I stay? After all of this, would I hold her back?
And this is what made me think of you. I understand that I was too much like our dad to earn a place in your life, but I still want you to be happy and free and never face his judgment or bigotry again. I want all the best things in the world for you, Isaac. I hope you find love. And success.
I hope you’ve found a new family.
And I hope you never miss me a day in your life.
Because I understand now that loving someone doesn’t mean forging a way into their life. It means being able to step out of it for their sake.
I know you may never read this letter, but I’m going to continue writing them. Maybe someday you’ll write back, but it’s okay if you don’t.
You’re free from him, and you’re free from me.
I love you, Isaac.
And I’ll keep praying that there will come a day when I can wrap my arms around you again.
Your brother,
Adam
