by K. Ryan
It wasn't right for my dad to be completely alone today. It wasn't right for us not to see each other at all, even if it was only for a few minutes. We were the only people in the world who truly understood the depth of the loss we felt today and guilt gnawed away at me for not even bothering to check in on him once.
At the end of the day, he was still the only real family I had left.
Caleb's first priority was about shielding me from my dad and distracting me from my memories, but there were no provisions in that plan to make sure my dad would be taken care of too other than to pick him up from whatever bar he landed at tonight.
A surge of protectiveness and stupid impulsivity shoved everything else away and I abruptly swerved to my left to pull a U-turn, sending my car in the opposite direction from Becca's apartment. Ten, fifteen minutes tops, and I'd be heading back this way.
I just needed to make sure my dad was still breathing first.
. . .
When I pulled into my driveway, dread rooted me to the driver's seat.
Part of me wanted to just shift the car in reverse and hightail it to Becca's. Right about now, the weight of Caleb's misgivings about today hovered dangerously in the air.
There was no telling what I would find if I went inside, but maybe he wasn't even there. Maybe he hadn't been able to stick around any longer than me and was sucking back whiskey after whiskey at some bar. At least he'd be around people then.
Besides, Caleb would skin me alive if he knew what I was doing. All I'd have to do was call. That was it. One phone call and maybe I'd have to wait here in the driveway a little longer, but I knew Caleb would get to me the first chance he got so I didn't have to do this alone.
But there was another side to this coin, too. For my dad, Caleb was the opposite of family. The last person my dad probably wanted to see today was the person, who, at least to him, represented everything he hated and despised more than anything. It just didn't feel right to invite him in to see my dad at the very bottom of his despair, even though Caleb had already been witness to more drunken nights than I could count.
If the way he'd looked at Caleb after he came home from the run was any indication, loathing probably didn't even begin to round the corner of what my dad felt for him.
Then a terrifying thought gripped me. What if he hadn't left? What if he'd been in the house all day? All by himself...no one around to keep an eye on him...no one around to stop him from...
And then I grabbed my phone from my purse, shoved it into my back pocket, threw the car door open, and sprinted up the walkway as fast as my feet could carry me. When I was finally inside the house, my steps skidded to a halt.
It was just too quiet in here.
Nothing but the ticking grandfather clock in the living room filled the vast space in front of me and the house just felt so massive and empty.
My blood ran cold and my body wouldn't budge, paralyzed to the ceramic tile cemented to my feet. When the spell broke, I almost turned on my heel and fled the house altogether. Whatever I was about to find, I had a feeling it would haunt me for the rest of my life and yet, I couldn't bring myself to do it.
As if my feet had a will of their own, they carried me from the living room and then to the kitchen, only to find both rooms empty. So, when I stood in front of my dad's office, there was little doubt in my mind this was where I would finally find him.
What was waiting for me on the other side of that door was a different story.
When I pushed open the door and my dad's slumped over figure came into view, two thoughts simultaneously ran through my mind: I need to call Caleb...is Dad even breathing?
The latter thought propelled me into the office as everything else numbed to the stuttered thumping in my chest. It was like I was hovering over my body, watching myself reach out to check his pulse, trying and failing miserably to trick myself into believing any of this was just a bad dream.
And as much as I knew I should turn back and run, there was no stopping my body from its current path.
Because slumped over in his chair, with broken glass littered across the desk, was my dad.
All the moments when he'd actually been a true father washed over my mind and I had a clear vision of myself sitting on his lap at this very same desk so many years ago, watching him type away as he explained each case, line by line, even though I hadn't understood a word of it.
I couldn't walk away. I couldn't leave him now. Not when he needed me the most, even if he wasn't sober enough to realize it.
He jerked underneath my touch and when his head turned, his eyes glazed over, squinting at me like he was trying to place who I was.
"Dad?" I whispered.
Something muffled rumbled from his chest as he pushed himself up by the elbows and somehow groped for the half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him.
"Dad," I called after him, my arms reaching out, but unable to grasp him.
He grunted half-audibly in response and my breath choked in my throat as his shaking hands grasped the whiskey bottle to top off his glass.
"Dad, please, don't."
The glass slipped from his hands and tumbled to the desk, bouncing as it fell and spewing shards of glass on the surface, on the floor, everywhere.
"I tried so hard," he whispered hoarsely. "All I wanted to do was make her happy. I tried so hard to make her happy..."
"She was, Dad. She was," I tried desperately to reassure him and I barely felt the hot tears slipping down my cheeks.
He just shook his head, his eyes boring a hole into the desk in front of him. "No, she wasn't. I did everything I could, anything I could think of...it wasn't enough. It wasn't goddamn enough for her."
"You were enough, Dad. I know you were."
I was reaching out to him again, but this time, he just shrugged me off.
"No, I wasn't," his knuckles turned white from gripping the edge of the desk so tightly. "I don't know why she stayed so long. After you left for college, she didn't have to anymore...you look just like her, you know that? I hate how much you look like her."
My hand flew over my mouth to mask the sob that erupted from my throat. I couldn't let him see how much this was shattering me, how much I needed him too, not when he was so weak. There was nothing harder.
"Dad, I..." I trailed off, all words failing me. There was nothing I could possibly say that would ever make this better for him.
He was shaking his head now as his fingers closed over a large shard of glass.
"There's no point in trying anymore, Isabelle," he muttered, bringing the shard closer to his wrist. "I'm no good to anyone. No one at work trusts me anymore, no one even looks at me anymore. You're ashamed of me. There's no point."
As soon as I realized what he was about to do, I lunged forward, strangling a cry, arms outstretched and flailing towards their destination. My left hand flung out to snatch the shard from him just as he brought it down to attack his wrist. The glass sliced through my skin, but there was no pain—I was submerged underwater and everything around me was hazy.
My dad slumped over again as I stumbled back, finally looking down at the red droplets of blood sprinkling the carpet beneath me. Was that—was that my blood?
My uninjured hand dug into my back pocket, fumbling for my phone. But as my fingers swiped across the screen, scrolling until I found Caleb's number and hit dial, my dad suddenly sprung to life, charging up from the desk and straight for me just as Caleb's smooth voice picked up.
"Hey, Iz."
"Ca—"
That was as far as I got.
My dad's hand launched out to slap the phone away, sending it plummeting to the carpet.
"Who was that? Sawyer?" he spat. Suddenly, he lurched down, swept my phone up in one hand and smashed it into the wall behind me. "You'd bring that...that felon over here? What the hell is wrong with you?"
I'd been scared of my dad before. Scared of bringing home a B. Scared of what would happen if I didn't become a lawyer. Sca
red of disappointing him. Scared of not living up to his sky-high expectations. But I'd never been scared of him physically hurting me before—until now.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Always your first instinct to run to the criminal, huh?" he shook his head, disgust oozing from his pores, right next to the stench of whiskey.
"I just thought..." I swallowed tightly, edging closer to the wall. Anything to put more distance in between us. "I thought he could help."
He bit out a bitter laugh and shook his head, wavering unsteadily on his feet. "Help from Caleb Sawyer. Help from the Horsemen. Jesus, what is the world coming to?"
"Dad," I whispered, a fat tear trailing down my cheek. "He's—"
"Lemme tell you something about Caleb Sawyer, Isabelle," he cut in. "Caleb Sawyer won't do anything but get you pregnant and leave you. Is that what you want?"
I shook my head furiously. "Dad, you don't know him like I do—"
"Don't play dumb with me, Isabelle. Boy's got a one-track mind and he's not hangin' around you the way he does outta the goodness of his heart."
I winced at his words, which seemed to slur and run together the more he stumbled and staggered around his office.
"Don't let him degrade you the way he has every other girl in this town. Your mother and I raised you to be smarter than that."
My emotions shifted in a flash and suddenly, all the bitterness I'd pushed down underneath the guilt and obligation crashed over me in waves. I didn't have to listen to this. I didn't have to listen to him talk crap about the person I loved. And suddenly, the dull ache in my left hand and the blood dripping into the carpet didn't matter anymore.
"Stop it, Dad," I whispered angrily, wiping a stray tear from my cheek as I spoke. "You have no idea what you're talking about. And you wanna know something else? This..." I waved my hands in front of me, gesturing towards the broken glass, "this has to stop. We can't live like this anymore, Dad. You need help."
"Help?" he snarled, teetering dangerously closer to me. "We've had this conversation already before, but let me remind you again: you don't tell me what to do. You don't give me orders. I am the parent. You are the child!"
A fresh wave of tears streamed down my cheeks, but now my body trembled with resentment and animosity.
"Yeah?" I shot back. "And you're drunk. You're always drunk. And you stopped being a parent the day Mom died, so I'm pretty sure your opinion doesn't mean shit."
"You watch your language," he pushed a pointed finger into my chest, knocking me back towards the wall.
"Oh, fuck you, Dad."
I felt it before I heard it.
The sting burned through the side of my face and I stumbled backwards, my uninjured hand flying to my throbbing cheek. And as I regained my bearings against the wall now, I just didn't care anymore.
"I hate you," I murmured. I didn't even care if he could hear me. "I hate that I never wanna come home anymore. I hate that we can't even be in the same room anymore. I hate that you're not my dad anymore. The only time we ever talk is when you call me to pick your drunk ass up from a bar. What kind of parent does that? What the hell is wrong with you? Don't you care about me at all? Don't you care what this is doing to me...to see you like this? You know what Mom would say? She'd say you're a monster. You know that? You're a monster!"
His hands shot out, shoving me viciously backwards and my head bounced against the wall with a sick smack as my shoulders collided with the drywall.
Everything went blank and maybe that was a good thing.
Then I couldn't really feel when his hand slapped me across the cheek again or when his hand curled into a fist, slamming me backwards into the wall until I slid down in a daze.
With my sliced-open hand throbbing and dripping with blood, the pounding in the back of my skull, and the burning across my entire face, it was all I could do to get back on two feet. My dad stumbled backwards, staring down at his fists in disbelief, but all that mattered was that there was a good three feet in between us and now I had an opening to get as far away as possible.
Even when I managed to shakily hoist myself up, dizziness nearly knocked me right back down.
Somehow, I stumbled out of the office and scrambled up the stairs, tripping just once as adrenaline pushed me all the way up and into my bedroom. When I was safely behind the door, my good hand flipped the lock and I shuffled backwards.
The tears tumbling down my cheeks stung the open cut underneath my left eye, but that didn't stop them from coming.
Self-preservation was about all my instincts could manage without completely short-circuiting and I scrambled across the room and into my walk-in closet. But once the door was shut behind me, and I knew another locked door stood between me and the monster downstairs, reality set in.
I tucked my knees into my chest, buried my battered face in my arms, and let my body shake with sobs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I Got You
Caleb
Thirty minutes.
Isabelle had been gone for thirty minutes.
She should've been at Becca's apartment by now, which meant she also should've called me by now too. Or, at the very least, texted. There was no way Isabelle would forget to let me know she'd made it there. That just wasn't something she would do.
This was all but driving me out of my mind. My fingers twitched at my sides, just itching to dig into my back pocket for my phone, but indecision kept me from going through with it.
By all rights, it had only been a half hour, which, even I had to admit wasn't really that much time.
There were plenty of plausible reasons to explain why she hadn't called yet: she could've stopped for gas or at an ATM or maybe she was already at Becca's and had just lost track of time.
Something wasn't right here and I just didn't know how to beat back this craziness.
Because I couldn't wait anymore, I tried to flag Eli down and when I couldn't get the douchebag's attention, I jogged through the shop to get to him, sidestepping wayward tools and grease-stained rags along the way.
"Yo, Eli!" I called out sharply, annoyed that I still couldn't seem to get the dickhead's attention. When Eli's dark, buzzed head finally popped up, I fired off my demand. "Hey, can you get Becca on the phone for me?"
Eli's eyebrows flew up into his forehead. "What? Whaddaya need to call her—"
"Just do it, bro," I snapped.
Eli blinked back in surprise and then hastily dug into his back pocket, quickly making the call.
"Ask her if Isabelle's there yet," I directed, shoving my hands deep into my pockets to mask my nervousness.
Eli nodded silently and it was all I could do to not rip the phone away to talk to her myself. Instead, I just stood there like a helpless asshole.
"Hey, Becs," Eli was saying into the phone now. "Hey, is Isabelle at your place yet?"
I waited, practically leaning forward in anticipation as I listened for what I needed to hear. Eli's frustrated expression told me everything I needed to know: Isabelle was still unaccounted for. Still, Eli shook his head for quick confirmation as he listened to Becca on the other end.
"She says she hasn't heard from Isabelle yet either," he relayed. "When did she leave?"
I blew out an exasperated breath, resisting the urge to slam my fist into something. That wouldn't help me right now. I just needed to—the vibrations in my back pocket caught me off guard, but I dug it out of my pocket in a frenzy to see the caller ID.
"Nevermind, bro," I swatted out a hand as I stepped away, bringing the phone to my ear. "She's calling me right now. Everything's good."
"Hey, Iz," I answered.
Everything was fine now. She was going to tell me she'd just pulled into Becca's apartment complex or something like that. No big deal. Relief shot through me just knowing she was on the phone, knowing I'd be able to hear her tell me herself that everything was really okay.
Because I'd literally just talked myself into believing that all my initial wo
rries about today and everything that could go wrong with it were just smoke and mirrors, I wasn't prepared to hear the sounds coming from the other end of the phone.
"Ca—"
Isabelle's voice cut out abruptly and then I heard her dad's bitter voice: "Who was that? Sawyer?"
Static hummed over the line and then...nothing.
My heart crashed into my stomach and everything churned around me at once: the sound of her panicked voice, her dad's furious words, the static. Immediately, my instincts kicked into high gear and the paralyzing fear snaking down my spine would just have to wait. Everything could be dealt with later. I just had to get to Isabelle first.
I was already flying out the garage and sprinting towards my bike when Dom and Eli caught up to me.
"What's goin' on?" Dom called out.
I barely looked over my shoulder because there just wasn't enough damn time to slow down. "Iz called me. Somethin's wrong, Dom."
"Do you know where she is?" Dom yelled back as both he and Eli swung their legs over their bikes next to mine.
"Her dad was there, so she's gotta be at her house."
Dom and Eli just nodded, ready to follow my lead. The office door swung open and my mom stalked towards us, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun. Even from across the parking lot, Skyler obviously hadn't left her post to bitch me out for deserting my shift. She'd sensed the danger just as much as I did.
"Caleb? What's going on?"
"I gotta get to Isabelle's," I yelled back to her, frustrated to have to waste another second in this parking lot. "I'll call you when I can."
Not willing to spare another moment waiting for a response, I blasted through the parking lot with Dom and Eli right behind me. The entire ride to Isabelle's house flew by in a blur—and, honestly, a miracle that one of us didn't get our asses pulled over—but we made it to the other side of town in a record 10 minutes.
When her house finally came into view and I saw Isabelle's Trans Am parked out in the driveway, my adrenaline spiked, raging furiously and coiling through my veins as my fears took on a more tangible shape. Dread and lethal fury raged through me for control and neither one was really an option for me right now. I had to stay calm. I had to get to Isabelle.