No Second Chances Page 7

  I entered the living room and my heart sank. Beside the couch lay an empty bottle of vodka and several empty cans of beer, crumpled up and tossed.

  “Ah, shit.”

  Dad had gone on another binge.

  That, in itself, wasn’t unusual. It was like him to have a couple of days off work and then have a heavy drinking session. It was as though he was able to restrain himself while he was working, and keep a handle on things, but then as soon as he didn’t have the responsibility of going to work, all his restraints went out the window.

  What was unusual, however, was the fact the front door was open and the car was gone.

  I prayed someone else was driving, and the door had swung open in the wind. Even letting someone else drive would get him in trouble, but not half as much trouble as if he was driving drunk out of his head. I dreaded the thought of him being on the road, with the innocent people he might be putting in danger. If he ran someone down, he’d never forgive himself, and I’d never forgive myself for not doing something about his drinking sooner.

  Clinging to some final threads of hope, I raced around the house, praying I’d find him slumped in a drunken stupor somewhere. I took the stairs two at a time, but when I checked all the rooms, including my bedroom and the bathroom, it became clear he was nowhere in the house.

  I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. There would be time for self-pity, and anger, and frustration later. Right now, I just needed to find him. I wished I could call Taylor, but she was still mad with me because of the whole Cole Devonport thing, and anyway, I couldn’t call her, because that would mean having to tell her the truth about Dad’s drinking, and I couldn’t risk doing that. Word got around too quickly, and if someone got wind he was drinking too much, it would be the end of everything for him. I couldn’t say a word to anyone.

  One thing I knew for sure, the house was empty. Wherever my dad was, he wasn’t here.

  I grabbed my purse and keys, and ran back out of the house. I hesitated at the door, wondering if I should lock it behind me or not. If Dad returned and didn’t have any keys on him, he wouldn’t be able to get back in. Then I reasoned that he must have his house keys on the keychain for the car. Hell, he could just sit in the car for all I cared. At least it would mean he’d gotten home safely.

  I knew I wouldn’t be able to cover much ground on foot, so I set off at a jog. There were a few places I knew my dad liked to go—the cliff-face overlooking the cove, or down at the park. I prayed he hadn’t gone to a bar. Even smashed drunk, I hoped he had enough sense to stay out of the center of town.

  I checked all the usual places, the dread inside me thickening to a sludge which seemed to trickle through my veins. I was exhausted now, my jog slowed to a walk, and I was barely dragging my feet off the ground. I was so angry with my dad for doing this to me—he was so selfish when it came to booze—and I was frustrated by my own lack of action. I’d tell him, I decided. I’d tell him he needed to get help, and we couldn’t go on living like this. I wished I could give him some kind of ultimatum to push him in the right direction, but then I remembered how people only got help when they wanted it themselves. I had a feeling my dad was lying to himself as much as he was to me about how much he drank.

  Above my head, the sky rumbled ominously.

  I glanced up to realize I hadn’t even noticed the thick grey storm clouds which had rolled in while I’d been so desperately trying to find my only parent. I’d been stupid, really, thinking I could find a man in a car, when I was just a girl on foot. I had no idea where he was, but at least I hadn’t noticed police car sirens or seen a multi-car pileup anywhere.

  A fat, warm droplet smacked me on the forehead, then another, and another. In my rush, I hadn’t even thought to bring a jacket. The sky opened up in a deluge, soaking me to the skin within seconds. My t-shirt clung to my skin and my skirt slapped around my thighs as I walked.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” I cried up at the sky, my face upturned.

  Did everyone just want to dump on me? When was I going to catch a god-damned break?

  A couple of vehicles passed me. The light was fading now, headlights shining in the gloom. I suddenly became aware I was a young woman, out walking alone when it was almost dark. I was also soaked and my clothes stuck embarrassingly to my skin. I used my thumb and forefinger to pinch my t-shirt away from my chest. I literally looked like a contestant in a walking wet-t-shirt competition.

  A truck pulled up alongside me and I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, my body tensed, willing the person to go away. The last thing I needed right now was to be cat-called and hassled by a car full of jocks who thought they were being funny.

  “Gabi?”

  A male voice shouted at me from out of the driver’s open window.

  My name, someone who knew me.

  I glanced cautiously to one side, a combination of rain and tears dripping from my eyelashes, so I had to blink to clear my vision. I didn’t recognize the truck, and I picked up my pace, close to breaking into a run. Could my day get any worse?

  “Gabi, hey, it’s Cole. Hang on a minute!”

  I drew to a halt. Cole?

  Turning to the truck, I pushed my sodden hair out of my face and squinted at the vehicle. He leaned across the passenger seat and pushed open the door. “Get in, will you? It’s pouring.”

  I glanced up at the sky as though I hadn’t noticed, blinking as fresh raindrops hit my eyes. “I’ll get the seat all wet,” I said, stupidly.

  “It’ll dry. Just get in.”

  I didn’t have much option, did I? So far this evening, all of my choices were wrong anyway, so I might as well make another stupid one. Cole Devonport wasn’t about to abduct me and have his wicked way with me—not looking like this, anyway. Drowned rodents came to mind.

  I climbed into the truck and slammed the door shut behind me. I dripped onto the floor, water running into my face. He reached behind the passenger seat and pulled out a hooded sweatshirt.

  “Here,” he said, handing it to me.

  I looked at him dumbly and he gave it another gentle push into my hands. “You can dry yourself with it.”

  “Oh, right, thanks.”

  I took his sweatshirt and used it to dry the rain from my face and hair. The material smelled of him, Lynx deodorant, and musky boy smell. It was a good smell—comforting—and I found myself pressing the sweater against my face for longer than was probably suitable. I didn’t want him to notice I’d been crying. When people thought something was wrong they asked questions, and right now I didn’t have any answers.

  When I removed his sweatshirt from my eyes, I found him staring at me.

  “What?” I said.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re wandering around in the rain at almost ten at night?”

  Crap. Was it really that late? I’d completely lost track of time.

  I shrugged. “I was taking a walk and got caught in the rain.”

  “Seriously? Who even takes walks these days?”

  I bristled. “I do!”

  “Okay, okay,” he replied. “Whatever you say.”

  “I do like to walk,” I muttered.

  Cole’s lips twisted as he regarded me. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to tell me what’s going on. That’s your business, and believe me, I know how it feels when everyone wants to know your business. But if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where I am.”

  I appreciated him not pressuring me. “Thanks, Cole.”

  “So you want me to drive you home?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  A smile quirked his lips. “You don’t want to walk?”

  I smacked him on the arm. “Don’t tease.”

  He laughed. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Are you going to tell me where home is?”

  I gave him my address and then settled back in the seat as he pulled the vehicle away from the curb and headed toward my house. “Who does the truck belong to?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen hi
m driving it before.

  “My foster parents. The guys I play in the band with needed some gear moved and I offered to help.”

  “They don’t have cars of their own?” I inquired, thinking as they were older they’d be more likely to have their own transport.

  “Yeah, Ryan does, but he said it was in the shop.” He gave a shrug. “I don’t mind helping out.”

  “How long have you been playing in the band?”

  “About six months now.”

  “And you enjoy it?”

  He laughed. “Of course. I wouldn’t do it, otherwise. The band is the one thing I have where I don’t have to worry about all the other shit in my life. The guys can come off a bit cocky at times, but they’re all right, really.”

  I didn’t intend on telling him about my instant dislike of the other band members. Maybe it was just because they were older, but they’d given me the distinct impression they looked down on us, Cole included.

  He glanced over at me as he drove. “Aren’t your parents going to be worried about where you are?”

  I shrugged. “It’s only my dad, and he doesn’t pay much attention to me. My mom took off when I was two, so I don’t even know where she is, and I doubt she’s given me a second thought.”

  He gave a slow nod. “I know all about parents being screw-ups, seriously. My folks didn’t even want me around. Apparently I was off the rails because I snuck out a couple of times, and got drunk.” He shrugged. “They were just looking for an excuse to be free of me.”

  “I’m sorry. My dad stuck around, at least, though there are days when I wonder if life would be easier if he hadn’t.” Immediately guilt swamped over me in a wave. Of all people, I shouldn’t have said that in front of Cole. He’d probably love to have a parent around, even if they were an alcoholic who embarrassed themselves in front of the whole town.

  But to my surprise, he reached out with the hand not holding the wheel, and his fingers covered mine. His eyes appeared closer to grey than blue as he regarded me with a depth I’d not felt about him before. “Sometimes we just have to make the best of what we’ve got. None of it is ever easy.”

  Surprise tears sprang to my eyes and I blinked them away, pulling my hand from his.

  As we approached my house, my heart lifted with relief to see my dad’s car parked back in the drive.

  Cole also spotted the vehicle. “Your dad’s home.”

  “Yeah.”

  I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Are you okay going in there alone?” he asked me.

  I forced a smile. “Of course I am.”

  His blue eyes focused on mine, studying my face. I felt like he could read all my secrets as though they were tattooed upon my skin.

  “You can tell me if you’re not, Gabi,” he said. “I’ve been in the position plenty of times where I haven’t wanted to go home.”

  I appreciated his honesty. I could hear the pain in his words, saw the flash of discomfort across his face as he confessed this to me. I felt awful that I couldn’t be honest with him in return, but it wasn’t just my life I’d be messing with if I told him the truth.

  A sudden impulse overtook me, and I leaned over and planted a kiss on Cole’s cheek.

  His eyes widened, his lips tweaking in a grin. I had caught him by surprise.

  “Thanks for the ride, Cole.” I opened the passenger door and slipped from the seat.

  “Hey, Gabi,” he called to me, before I’d had the chance to slam the door shut.

  I turned back to him, and he threw his sweatshirt at me. I snagged it from the air.

  “So you don’t get cold.” He smiled at me.

  I couldn’t help but smile back. He leaned across the passenger seat and pulled the door shut behind me.

  I pulled the item on over the top of my still damp t-shirt and wrapped my arms around my torso as I headed toward my house. The truck idled in the road until I’d walked through the front door, and then it pulled away. I was touched he’d waited until I was safely inside before he’d left.

  I didn’t want to lose the warm glow that being with Cole had created inside me, but I had to deal with my dad. Exhaling a sigh, I walked into the living room to find him asleep in his spot on the couch.

  The relief I’d experienced upon seeing his car in the drive vanished, replaced by raging anger. I stalked over to him and whacked him on the foot, the smack jolting him awake.

  “What the hell, Dad!”

  He gave a grunt and rubbed his hand over his face. “Huh? What?”

  I balled my fists and glared at him. “I’ve been out half the night looking for you!”

  He sat up and shook his head slightly. “What on earth would you do that for? I’m a grown man, Gabi. I can take care of myself.”

  He appeared genuinely baffled by my actions, and once again, I started to doubt myself. Then I noticed the empty bottle and cans I’d come home to that afternoon had been disposed of, and I wondered if I’d find them in the trash or if he’d been more careful with where he’d disposed of them.

  That was the trouble with addiction. It was sneaky and manipulative, and if you weren’t careful it became every single part of you.

  “If you’re the adult,” I snapped back, “how about you start acting like one, and at least let me know where you’re going to be. If I come home and find you not here, I’m going to worry. I’d like to think you’d do the same for me, but I’m starting to wonder if you care about me at all.”

  His expression softened. “I love you, Gabi. Of course I would care about where you are.”

  “Really? Because you didn’t seem to care too much tonight. Or did you not notice I wasn’t even in the house?”

  He sighed. “You’re almost eighteen. I figured you were with your friends.”

  “Well, I wasn’t. I was out looking for you. But like you say, you’re the adult and I’m the kid, so I guess I didn’t think before I acted. Next time, I’ll stop myself even caring.”

  I knew I was being huffy, but I was feeling alone and unloved. I turned and stormed from the room, stamping up the stairs to my bedroom. I peeled off my wet clothes, but took Cole’s hoodie and bundled it into a ball to use as a pillow. I climbed beneath my sheets and allowed the scent of him to lull me to sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gabi – Present Day

  My days were filled with various appointments—doctors, physical therapy, my psychiatrist—and between those I read, and cooked, and generally allowed life to pass me by.

  I got back from another torturous physical therapy appointment to find my back door wide open. My dad hadn’t told me he was going anywhere that day, so I figured he was out back on the deck. I’d planned on making some iced tea, so I headed out to ask him if he wanted a glass. It would be nice to sit out in the sun with him for an hour and catch up on things.

  When I stepped outside, it took me a moment to spot him. He wasn’t sitting on the deck, or pottering around in the flowerbeds. Instead, he was on all fours right at the back of the yard, his head pressed up against the bars of the gate which closed our yard off from the alley behind.

  I frowned, my stomach twisting in anxiety.

  “Dad?”

  Something was wrong. All thoughts of iced tea vanished as I hurried toward him.

  “What the hell, Dad!” I exclaimed, trying not to notice the way his pants had slid halfway down his backside, exposing a far too large expanse of plumber’s crack. He grunted and struggled, and it suddenly dawned on me that he wasn’t able to move. Panic surged up inside me, and I stepped closer to get a better look. My mouth dropped open. I had no idea how he’d managed it, but his neck was trapped between two of the metal bars of the back gate. Rolls of fat squeezed both sides of the bars, and his already pink face was gradually turning crimson.

  “Jesus Christ.” I crouched beside him and tried to take hold of his neck through the bars on either side—the ones not holding his neck prisoner.

  “Gabi,” he slurred.
“Leab me alooo…” Leave me alone…

  Ugh, he was drunk. Way too drunk.

  “I can’t leave you alone,” I said, exasperated. “You’ll end up choking yourself or breaking your god-damned neck.”

  “Wanna go sleep.”

  I was starting to lose my patience, plus I was scared and worried, which are never a great combination. “For fuck’s sake. You’re in the back yard and it’s four o’clock in the afternoon. What do you think the neighbors are going to say?”

  I didn’t think any of the neighbors would actually be able to see what was going on from this position, but if I ended up having to call nine-one-one to get him out, I could guarantee every single one of them would find out about it quickly enough. In fact, they’d all be standing around with drinks of their own, watching the whole scene go down and having a good gossip about how far Bill Weston had fallen while they did.

  No, I couldn’t call the emergency services. It would kill him to have everyone standing around him in this position.

  I wracked my brains for what to do. I needed something slippery—soap, washing up detergent, olive oil?

  “Wait here, Dad,” I said, and then realized what a stupid thing that was to say. It wasn’t as though he was going anywhere.

  I hurried back into the house, as much as my leg would allow me to, and went straight for the kitchen. Figuring I’d save myself a couple of trips if the first option didn’t work, I grabbed the hand soap, detergent, and olive oil from the cupboards. With them all clutched against my chest, I went back to where my dad was still embarrassingly stuck. What had happened to the big, strong man I’d grown up with? How had he ended up like this? I blinked back tears, knowing I didn’t have time to pity either of us. From an outsider’s point of view, this probably looked hysterical—the one legged woman attempting to free her drunk father from a gate. The reality was far more sobering.