by Bella Jewel
He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, darting his eyes to the left. He is uncomfortable with this question.
“Well?” I prompt.
“After I got successful, and started going to races and building cars for racing drivers, I got attention. When the TV show was being aired, I got even more. Finding women wasn’t hard, and for a while, it was nice just having the fun and no commitment.”
I swallow but nod. “And there were heaps then?”
“I didn’t count.”
“Right.”
We both fall silent, but it’s me that breaks it. I can’t be angry at him for his women, it’s not like I didn’t know Tazen was a womanizer before he met me.
“Do you ever want to get married?”
He nods. “Yep.”
Wow, that surprises me. He certainly doesn’t seem like the type to want those things.
“You do?” I say with wide eyes.
“I’m not a coldhearted bastard, angel. I have had women, but after a while, I realized just how fucking boring it was only having sex with them. I am all for marrying the right one and building something real.”
Am I the right one?
God, I’d love to be.
“And kids?”
He grins. “Fuck yeah.”
My heart falls a little more in love with him.
“Well, Tazen Watts, you’re proving to be a very interesting topic to discuss.”
His grin gets bigger.
“Okay, let’s go for the hard stuff. What’s your favorite food?”
He laughs and leans forward, grabbing me and sliding me across the tub so I’m between his legs. He turns me around and presses my back to his chest, then he wraps his arms around me. “Definitely pizza.”
“Ugh.”
He pokes my belly button. “You don’t like pizza?”
“Nope. I don’t understand it.”
“You don’t … understand it?”
“Yep,” I say. “It’s a whole heap of ingredients, which separately would be amazing, but together just seems … dumb.”
“It tastes good like that,” he points out.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Strange woman,” he mumbles.
I laugh. “I never denied it.”
He pinches my breast and I wiggle.
“Do I get questions now?”
“Yep.”
I prepare myself for his questions, because I don’t want to react badly to any of them. Especially when it comes to my dad or the garage.
“Tell me about your family.”
I knew that one would be first. I decide to keep it as simple as possible. I’m not ready for him to know the world I live in just yet. I’m just not prepared to show him what’s deep inside my soul. Because when I do that, it’ll be when I know he’s the one I’ll keep forever. “My dad and mom were childhood sweethearts. They got married, bought the garage and had me. It was awesome until Mom got cancer.”
“Oh baby, I’m sorry.”
I swallow and keep going. “She died and it was just Dad and I after that. It was hard on the both of us, but it was so much worse for him. She was the only thing he breathed for. But we, ah, got through it.”
“It sucks you had to lose someone so special to you.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “And she was special.”
“You want to tell me about her?”
“She was the best kind of mom. The one who bakes, and sings and acts crazy. She literally was sunshine. So happy and fun. I don’t remember a lot, but I remember that. She was the reason the garage was named Pixie Wheels. She used to call me Pixie when I was a kid, because I was so little.”
Tazen is quiet for a second. “God, I’m sorry we took that down.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I assure him. “I have it now, so that’s all that matters.”
“What about your dad? He obviously kept the garage.”
“Yeah, he did, but he lost interest in it. I spent most of my teenage years working there. I loved it though, so I didn’t mind.”
“Still,” Tazen says carefully. “That must have been hard.”
“It was.”
“So no siblings?”
I shake my head and he wraps an arm around my belly, squeezing me softly. “That sucks.”
“Yeah, I always wanted siblings.”
“Understandable.”
“Aside from that, there really isn’t much to know. I’ve been here my whole life. I had only one boyfriend in my teen years, and the only friends I have are the guys that worked with me. Cars are all I’ve lived and breathed, and I want it to stay that way.”
“One boyfriend?”
I grin, knowing he’d pick that out of what I said. “Just one.”
“Lucky guy.”
I laugh. “Coming from the one sitting behind me.”
“I never said I wasn’t lucky.”
I smile and lean back, putting my head on his shoulder.
“Are we really giving this a shot?” I ask.
“Fuck yeah, we are.”
* * *
I stay at Tazen’s that night, and we make love twice more before falling asleep. We also talk for hours. His bed is like heaven, and it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever laid down on. I fall into the soft mattress and plush pillows and drop off in minutes. I don’t move all night. I’m woken the next day with Tazen’s body over mine. He makes love to me for a long, glorious hour and then we shower.
Now I’m sitting in his kitchen, coffee in hand, watching him cook breakfast. While I wait, I glance down at my phone. I have a few missed calls from Lenny, so I quickly give him a call back. “Morning, sweetheart,” he answers.
“Hey, Lenny.”
Tazen turns and then smiles when he sees I’m on the phone.
“Listen, I just went past your place. You’re not there.”
“No, I’m out. Dad should be there, though?”
“He didn’t answer. I knocked a few times.”
I glance over to the clock on the wall. It’s well past 10 a.m. Dad never sleeps that long even after a big night. Maybe he was in the shower? I hope so, but worry is clenching inside my belly. “I’ll give him a call, see if I can find out.”
“Okay, love. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later.”
I hang up from Lenny and then find Dad’s number. I dial it. No answer. I try the home line. No answer. Panic swells in my chest and something just doesn’t feel right. I turn to Tazen. “Hey, I can’t get hold of my dad. Do you mind if I just run home and check on him?”
He turns and studies me. He can obviously see the panic in my face, because he stops what he’s doing, turns the heat off and then says, “I’ll throw on a shirt and come with you.”
Shit.
Tazen is possibly about to see my dad at his worst. I wonder if I should warn him, but forget about that when Tazen walks out and waves his keys. “Let’s go.”
We rush out and get into his car. It takes us a couple of minutes to get to my place, and we both jump out. Tazen knows where I live, but he’s never experienced the ugliness of the inside. I don’t have time to worry about trying to find a way to stall him, because my dad could be in trouble. I fling the front door open and the stench of vomit hits me hard.
Shit.
I start running down the halls and there’re patches of it, leading to the bathroom. I kick the bathroom door open and see Dad on the floor, on his back, passed out. It’s not seeing him passed out that makes my heart stop. It’s the odd blue color. I drop to my knees and frantically press my hand near his nose. He isn’t breathing. Oh God, he isn’t breathing.
“Tazen,” I cry out.
He’s already behind me. “Shit.”
“He’s not breathing, what … what do I do?”
“Call an ambulance. Now.”
I push back tears running down my cheeks as I dial 911. Tazen flips my dad to his side and then shoves his fingers into his mouth. I cry out, but he ignores m
e. He just keeps pressing his fingers inside my dad’s mouth.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“My dad,” I squeak. “He’s not breathing. He’s had too much to drink, but he’s not breathing.”
“Stay calm, ma’am, I’ll send someone right over. What is your address?”
I give it to her and she assures me that someone is on their way. I drop the phone and turn back to Tazen just in time to see my father vomit across the floor. I stare at Tazen who’s kneeling over my dad, finishing a chest compression. I drop to my knees on the floor, pain ripping through my heart as Dad starts wheezing and coughing. Tazen turns him on his side, tilting his head the right way so he can’t choke.
Dad coughs and splutters and Tazen holds him firmly, even when he starts squirming and crying out.
“Stay still. The ambulance is coming,” Tazen orders firmly.
Five minutes later, the paramedics arrive and lift my dad onto a stretcher. One of them is asking me questions, but I’m numb. Tazen answers them for me and then they inform him which hospital they’ll be taking him to. Tazen nods and we both watch them carry him off. When they’re gone, I start rushing to my room to get some things. I need to get to the hospital.
“Your dad is an alcoholic.”
It’s not a question, but it still slams into my heart like a knife being driven in.
“You didn’t tell me.”
Again, not a question.
“I have to get to the hospital,” I say frantically.
“Quinn, baby, look at me.”
I don’t, I throw open my drawers and start pulling out something clean to wear.
“Quinn!”
He takes my hand and I spin around, tears pouring down my cheeks. Tazen’s face is soft as he steps forward and takes me into his arms. “It’s all right, he’s going to be fine. We got here in time, and he’s going to be okay.”
“It’s all my fault,” I cry. “I shouldn’t have gone away for a night. I left him. It’s my fault.”
Tazen flinches.
“Quinn, he’s your parent. You’re not his.”
“I’m all he has,” I yell, pushing out of his arms.
“Quinn…”
“Take me to the hospital, Tazen,” I say, my voice numb. “Take me … please?”
He sighs. “Yeah, come on.”
I walk out to his car, not even noticing the distance to get to it.
I left him alone. I left him and he could have died.
This is all my fault.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
We’re at the hospital for the entire day as they pump Dad’s stomach. Then Tazen takes us home. He wants to stay, but I just need time to process. I tell him I’ll call him and he doesn’t argue. He just kisses me softly and tells me he’ll call. This isn’t his fault, but I can’t focus on anything else right now. I get Dad into his bed. Then I find a spot on the lounge and just sit, staring at nothing, too scared to sleep in case he gets sick again.
I’m tired of living this life, tired of being unable to feel okay or free because of my father and his alcoholic ways. It’s hurting me and it’s hurting him. I’m drowning in guilt, but I’m afraid to leave him to his own devices because he’ll end up dead. A part of me has had enough. I just want to get up and leave. I don’t want to be his caretaker for the rest of my life. I know he needs help, but I don’t know how to get him to accept help. For years I’ve begged and pleaded with him about it, but it’s done no good. He has to choose sobriety for himself, and until he does, all my arguments mean nothing to him.
It seems like there’s just no way out.
I close my eyes and start sinking into an exhausted sleep, when I hear the crashing sounds coming from my father’s room. I push to my feet quickly and rush towards it, only to see him throwing things around. He stops after a minute and clutches his head, then he starts destroying his room again.
“Dad,” I yell, rushing in. “What are you doing?”
He spins to me and his eyes are bloodshot. “My head is pounding. Where’s my alcohol, Quinn?”
“Dad, you nearly died today.”
He glares at me. “I was fine. Where’s my alcohol?”
My heart falls to pieces. “I got rid of it. You have to stop this.”
“That’s not up to you to decide,” he roars so loudly I flinch.
I take a weary step back as he spins and starts kicking things over again. He drops to his knees near his bedside table and jerks the drawer out. Then he reaches in and pulls out a bottle of whiskey that had been hidden there.
“Dad,” I say, coming closer. “You need to stop.”
He unscrews it with shaky, desperate hands. Then he tips his head back and starts swallowing it. My heart cracks wide open now, and pain lashes my body.
“Dad!” I cry, rushing towards him.
He spins on me, glaring. “Don’t you tell me what to do, Quinn. This is my house, understand?”
“No,” I yell. “This is our house. What you’re doing is dangerous and you’re going to kill yourself.”
“Stop telling me what to fucking do!” he roars.
Fear fills my veins. I’ve never seen him like this before. Never. He’s scaring me. I take a hesitant step forward.
“Dad, please, give me the bottle.”
“Will you just get the fuck out?” he barks.
“Dad, you have to stop this. Now.”
His eyes point daggers in my direction. “Who died and made you my fucking mother?”
That hurts. My mom died and made me his fucking mother, because he refuses to take care of himself.
“Mom died,” I whisper. “And instead of taking care of me the way you should, you turned to the bottle. I’m tired of it, Dad. I don’t want to have to do this.”
“Then don’t,” he barks, standing straighter and glaring at me. “Move out, Quinn. I don’t fucking care if you’re not here.”
Ouch, that hurts like hell. It hurts so bad a pained noise is ripped from my throat.
“You’d die without me here,” I whisper because my voice is too shaky to work.
He snorts and laughs loudly. “You’re so sure of that, then get out.”
I shake my head, blinking back my tears. “We’ll talk about this when you’re not so angry. Give me the bottle and get some sleep.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” he roars again. He’s never yelled at me like this before.
“Dad,” I try again. “You need to put that bottle down and go to bed.”
“Fuck you, Quinn.”
“Dad,” I say, stepping forward. “You’re done for the night.”
He spins and snarls at me, “No, I’m not.”
“You are!”
Before I know what’s happening he’s raising his arm and roaring, “No, I’m fucking not. Get off my back!”
Then he launches the bottle across the room at me. I don’t have time to duck and it hits me in the temple. I cry out in pain and stumble backwards as it smashes all over the floor. Whiskey sprays up my body and blood trickles down my head. I stumble a few steps and then a burning pain shoots through my foot and I scream. I glance down to see blood gushing out onto the carpet. I stepped on the bottle.
I manage to pull myself away from the glass, but my heart is tearing into a thousand tiny pieces. I look up with tears running down my face at my father who is still panting with rage. He has no remorse over what he’s done; he’s so far gone he doesn’t even realize he’s hurt me. He doesn’t care. Something explodes in my chest, a pain I’ve not felt before in my life.
Pure devastation.
I know I have to get out of there, and I have to do it now. I hop out of the room, towards the front door. Trying to keep it together. Dad growls something at me, but I don’t hear what it is. I have to go. I can’t be near him. He … frightened me. Pain, fear and hurt mix in my chest and I can feel the panic rising. I manage to get myself into my car, and drive into the next street over before I pull over and let it
all go.
I cry.
I cry so hard my body shakes and silent sobs rip from my throat because I am too far gone for them to have a sound.
My dad tried to hurt me. He was … violent.
I’ve never been so afraid in my life, never felt such hurt. I clutch the steering wheel and let it all out. It pours from me in waves, exploding from my body like an eruption of agony. When I manage to pull back the tears enough to think, I realize I don’t really have anywhere to go. If I show up like this to Lenny or Oscar, they will lose it. Jace won’t know how to deal with me like this. That leaves only one more person I trust. Tazen.
I pull out my phone and call him a few times, but he doesn’t answer. Not in the right mental state to push, I decide to go somewhere I feel safe. The garage. I put my car into drive, swipe my tears and drive slowly the entire way over there. It’s dark and quiet when I get in, so I unlock the door and slip inside. There’s nowhere for me to sleep, but there’s a shower and a toilet, and I can find some old towels to lie on until I can get hold of someone. I can’t go home, even though I’m so worried about what Dad will do if I’m not there. How sad is that? I’m worried about him when he threw a damned bottle at my head.
I decide to send Lenny a text, coming up with some lie about why I can’t go home. He’ll arrive and probably just think Dad’s drunk again and help him to bed. He doesn’t know Dad went to the hospital today. I don’t want him to know it, either. He doesn’t deserve that extra stress.
Q—Hey Len. I have to work extra late tonight, so is there any chance you can check on Dad, make sure he’s home and in bed?
He replies a minute later.
L—Sure sweetheart.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and then let myself into the office. I’m trying not to think of what happened, because every time I do, it hurts like hell. I just need to focus and figure out what I’m going to do next. First, I need to check my foot and make sure it’s not stitches-worthy. I hop over to the cabinets and I pull out the first-aid kit, then I flick on a light.
I turn my foot and scrunch my nose up. It’s not deep, thank god, but it’s long. Running nearly half the length of my foot. I get to work putting strips on it to hold the skin together, and then I patch it up. Once I’m done with that, I walk into the bathroom and look at my face. My temple is swelling and the beginning of a bruise is forming. How the hell will I explain that one away?