“So how did you two meet?” her dad asked.
“At the restaurant she works at. Then we met again after her play ended tonight. I helped out a crew member who got sick. But I also did it to get access to the speaker system. I’m a musician.”
“Is that right? What instrument?”
Ashley couldn’t have asked for a better introduction between Scott and her father. She beamed at her mom, hoping that she also found Scott charming, only to find her mother amused by the way her husband related to the young man standing before them.
“I play guitar in a rock band I started with my brother.”
“You like Zeppelin? Aerosmith? Bands like that?”
“Hell yeah,” Scott said, grinning. “You get the Led out?” he asked, referring to someone who likes hard rock music.
“You know it,” her dad said. He thrust his hand forth. “Put it there, young man.”
Scott clasped his palm.
Ashley couldn’t help but regard him as a knight in shining armor. Her father, who seemed to purposely intimidate every guy who came to their door without actually threatening them, seemed to respect Scott. Maybe it was because Scott also rode a Harley. Or because he persuaded Ashley to take a ride with him. Either way, her dad grudgingly accepted the notion that he’d taken her home at a reasonable hour.
“Glad to meet you, sir. My name is Scott Mettle.”
The good-natured grin on her father’s face shattered. The firm grip around Scott’s hand fell limp at his side. He let out a heavy sigh that hitched on its way out of his mouth. He swallowed and winced as though suffering from a sore throat. “Thank you for bringing my daughter home.” He leveled Scott with a threatening glare. “But you are not to see my daughter again. Is that understood?”
Scott cringed, but his expression didn’t waver. “Why? Have I offended you?”
Her dad looked as though he’d just watched a driver going fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit. “Because I said so, that’s why.”
“Yeah, my dad says the same thing to me. But you know what? He never explains why. I’m just trying to understand things.” He held his ground. “Did Ashley tell you that I live in Vista Heights? Is that it? I’m not rich like you, so I can’t date your daughter?”
Her father’s chest heaved as he released each breath through his nostrils. “We’re not wealthy. Far from it, in fact. But I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
Scott just stared at him for a long beat then said, “That may be.” He glanced at Ashley and gave her a warm-hearted smile. “But I think you’ll need to explain yourself to your daughter.”
As Scott turned and walked away, Ashley almost melted. She had no idea how he had the courage to stand up to her father like that: respectful but not the least bit intimidated. She’d never been able to do likewise. Whenever her dad spoke to her in a stern manner, Ashley often got so rattled that she did her best to push a toughness into her voice that didn’t come naturally. But it allowed her to stand up to him and plead her case. Even though she rarely won arguments, she took a small measure of pride by not backing down against a cop who spent his career acting tough and following up on it.
Scott got on his bike, started it up, and without so much as a glance at her, took off, leaving a chorus of noise in his wake.
Her mother’s expression shifted from indignation to shock. “Who is that boy? Do you know anything about—”
“How could you?” Ashley shouted at her dad, needing no effort to sound upset. It came naturally. “How could you treat me like that? I didn’t deserve it. And neither did Scott.”
Her father stared at her, lips pressed tight, making it known that he had no intention of answering her.
“Do you even care about me? Is that why you’re so mean?”
“Are you nuts?” asked her father, loosening his hold on the tough-cop routine. “You’re our first child.” He went over to put an arm around her shoulder.
That last statement made a lump form in Ashley’s throat. It meant that she’d been a surprise they hadn’t considered, something they hadn’t even wanted. She couldn’t respond if she’d tried. Her father had never sounded more genuine. And when he pulled her into a tight embrace, she felt what she’d always wanted: the sensation that he truly cared. But something at the back of her mind told her that he held something back.
Although she wanted to believe him, Ashley couldn’t quite bridge the gap between them. Even though his hug and the words he said sounded sincere, she couldn’t ignore two decades of treatment similar to the way he’d handled his meeting with Scott. It didn’t add up, and she wouldn’t pretend like all the ways he’d neglected her could be forgotten with a few kind words and a hug.
Unsure how to respond, sensing that she might say something she’d regret, Ashley slipped away from her father, hurrying up the steps to her bedroom on the second floor. She slammed the bedroom door behind her. Her parents probably thought she’d made the raucous out of anger, but she did it to show them that she had the same expectations as her siblings. Still, no matter what she said or did, they just didn’t seem to understand how she felt.
* * *
When Scott got home, he found his father sitting in his recliner, watching a rerun of Star Trek: The Next Generation.
He clutched a half-filled beer bottle in his left hand, while eight empty bottles littered the shaggy, mud-colored carpet. The view summed up his dad’s existence: drinking to forget the pain of having lost his wife, giving no thought to the future.
“What’re you doing here?” his dad asked, slurring his words. Creases crisscrossed his face. With a fragile, bony frame and an ashen complexion, his father looked sixty-five, rather than fifty-five, despite eating fruit, vegetables, and fish every day. His balanced diet allowed him to spend the majority of his daily caloric intake on what mattered: drinking booze. Not only that, but since he didn’t eat fatty foods, the alcohol hit his system that much faster.
His father squinted beady eyes to get a better look at his son. “Why aren’t you out? Wasting your life like always?”
Scott, knowing better than to indulge his father while he was on one of his benders, excused himself as he passed across his father’s field of vision, on his way to his bedroom.
“You’re excused… for disrupting my show. But you aren’t excused for pissing me off!”
Scott let out a loud sigh as he glimpsed a vodka bottle tipped onto its side on the island in the kitchen. Nothing new there. No matter how many days passed, Scott continued hoping against logic that his dad would one day quit drinking and return to the easy-going, humble, loving man he’d been while he still shared his life with the only woman who’d made him happy. At least that’s the impression Scott got from old family photographs.
“Hey!” his father said with a tone full of anger. “Get back here, you goddamn bum!”
Scott turned around and met his father face-to-face, surprised that his dad had closed the distance between them so quickly. Silver had infiltrated the hair that hadn’t already vanished from his head. “What now?” Scott asked. “What have I done wrong this time?”
His father, egotistic smirk firmly in place while the corroded yellow teeth in his mouth elevated as his lips widened, grabbed hold of his son’s shirt, holding it tight, drawing him close. “You think you’re something special, don’t you? Writing in those notebooks every day like you’re some kind of Salinger or Steinbeck. Strumming on that guitar like you’ll be anything close to what your little brother is? Let me tell you something, boy: you’re neither. Shitty grades. Shitty skills. That’s what you’ll end up with: a shitty life.” He smiled, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, off balance because of his liquor consumption.
Scott side-stepped his dad’s grasp, needing little agility to do so, considering his father’s inebriation. But he couldn’t stop the nerves from making him tremble. Whenever his dad lashed out like this, Scott couldn’t help but retreat inside himself, while doing his bes
t to appear unafraid on the outside. Although he’d grown stronger and quicker than his dad, Scott always saw his father as the same imposing man he’d been throughout his childhood: eyes filled with blazing anger, fists that moved too quickly to block, much less avoid, and a bellowing voice that made Scott quake in place.
“Don’t,” Scott said, surprised that a word made it out of his mouth. Usually, he only responded in his head, too afraid to say or do anything that might spur his dad to act with even more rage than usual.
His father’s eyes shot open wide, infuriated. A deranged expression overcame him as a smile appeared. “Don’t?” His smile became enflamed. “Look at you,” he said, unhooking his belt with fingers that had some trouble accomplishing the feat. “Worthless. A waste of space.” He withdrew the belt and snapped it once, twice. He shook his head. “Get gone before I take this to your face.”
With relief swamping him, Scott’s legs almost gave out. But he pulled himself together in time to walk past his father, who watched him with a pained expression, the belt tight in his hands, as though he had to hold himself back from springing forward and attacking his son.
Scott walked slowly. Doing so would allow him to determine if his dad decided to go back on his word by launching a blind-sided ambush. It had happened numerous times before, and he concentrated on keeping his eyes focused ahead of him, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder every few seconds to be certain that his father followed his word.
He reached his room moments later and fell into his bed, opposite his fourteen-year old brother, who lay on the mattress under his comforter, a flashlight barely evident, allowing him to read a Spider-Man comic book. “It’s coming,” Scott said. “It’s been four days since the last time he…well, he’s due to take out his anger.”
His brother, Gabe, flicked off the flashlight and his face appeared beyond his blanket. “He didn’t mean what he said. About you and me. You’re way better than me on guitar.”
Scott felt an outpouring of affection for his little brother. “Thanks,” he said, doubting his brother, who had more musical talent than Scott would ever have. Perhaps that explained why his father refused to lay a hand on Gabe, instead saving all of his punishment for Scott. “I’m so fed up with him. I can’t take it anymore. If he lays one hand on me again…”
“What’ll you do?” asked Gabe. “Could you hurt him?”
“I’d like to think I could, but he’s still—”
“Dad.”
Scott nodded. Because no matter how much he wished to see his father as the monster he’d become, he couldn’t help but hope that the father who’d smiled with such joy in those old photos would one day return. Even so, he doubted that day would ever come.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ashley felt such a strong connection to Scott that, rather than try to convince about a half-dozen friends to include him in their discussions at their lunch table, she decided to sit with him on the other side of the school cafeteria. Instead of explaining that she wanted to spend time with Scott, she needed to find out how her friends would respond. True friends would stop over and inquire about the guy she sat with.
But when she saw their confused expressions, followed almost immediately by laughter, Ashley discovered that she had every reason to suspect that her “friendships” were not based on sincerity and mutual respect. But instead of trying to find out why Ashley sat with someone no one knew anything about, they took that opportunity to cut her down.
It hurt more than she’d ever imagined. She felt pretty certain that some of her girlfriends wanted to approach her to learn more about why she sat with Scott, but from the intrepid glances they shot the guys at their table, they feared doing so would get them ostracized from the group. So they remained in place, unwilling to risk losing their own popularity. In the end, Ashley couldn’t blame them for not striking off on their own.
“Are you okay with all this?” Scott asked, not giving those around the cafeteria any more attention than they deserved.
Ashley smiled, completely assured that she sat with someone real, someone who cared about her, someone who wouldn’t give up on her. How she knew this after only spending a few hours with him, however, eluded her.
Never before had she made friends with someone so quickly, so effortlessly. And she just couldn’t get over that they bypassed all of the mutual indecision to trust each other implicitly.
“I’m perfectly okay with it,” Ashley said, unable to wipe the grin from her face. “Why? Aren’t you?” Just because she felt confident in them, it obviously didn’t mean that she knew how Scott felt. Maybe she’d shown too much interest in him too soon. She hoped it didn’t chase him away. Then again, she had no idea if they’d even become a couple.
It made her realize that she had to dial back her feelings. She didn’t want to pressure Scott into a relationship. She’d seen her female “friends” do the same thing, only to lose the guys they were interested in. At the same time, Ashley didn’t want to fake disinterest in hopes of being pursued.
Wasn’t it best to be honest? Didn’t it make sense to be herself and hope things fell into place? Despite common sense, which suggested otherwise, she wanted to trust her instincts. The way she saw it, if Scott didn’t like her as is, then perhaps he wasn’t the man she thought she’d met over the weekend.
“I’m glad,” Scott said, smiling at her.
But what did that mean? Was he happy that she’d all but renounced her friends in favor of being with him, knowing that they might not even date and then she might not have any friends to go back to? The alternative horrified her. Then again, deep down, she’d always wondered if her friends might not have her best interests in mind. She got the impression that some of them would turn on her to increase their social standing. So what did it matter if her friends abandoned her? She hadn’t forced them to make that choice. They did so of their own accord.
“But what about your dad?” he asked. “He seemed really cool last night and then…I don’t know: what happened there?”
“I’m clueless,” she said, still irritated by her father’s mysterious mood-change. After Scott rode away, Ashley pressed him for answers, but he refused to say anything other than the words: “You’re not to see him again. Is that understood?” In the end, rather than scream at him, she took some pride in not giving in to his demands, then raced upstairs into her room, and slammed the door.
“I hope you find out,” he said, concerned. “I feel kind of guilty seeing you even now…when your dad can’t possibly know we’re talking.”
She appreciated that he respected her father, and since his transgression matched hers, at least she had a confidant who felt the same way she did about the situation. But rather than give life to the negative opinions of her father and her friends, Ashley dropped the subject, and she and Scott spent the next half hour chatting about their favorite movies, television shows, books, and music.
A few minutes before the end of their lunch period, Scott excused himself with a smile, stating that he planned to use the restroom before heading to his locker. “Catch up with you later?”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” But when? As far as she was concerned, it couldn’t be soon enough. For the moment, however, at least she had a good view as he walked across the cafeteria.
Then she noticed that half the students in the room also watched him leave. The other half stared at her.
* * *
Just as Scott stepped out of the cafeteria and into the hallway, he sensed movement behind him. With adept reflexes, from having been forced to deflect so many of his father’s kicks and punches, Scott spun around, expecting an attack.
And his involuntary response served him right. Troy approached him with five friends, each walking behind him as all faithful entourages feel inclined to do. It surprised Scott that, whenever his father prepared to knock him senseless, he had difficulty talking, let alone reacting quickly enough to avoid the assault. Yet, when six kids planned to jump him, he kep
t his wits. That fact was so illogical that he momentarily lost track of the tense situation he now found himself in.
“Hey, dipshit,” Troy said. “Caught me by surprise the other night.” He smirked while motioning to those flanking him. “So I thought I’d repay the favor.”
Scott didn’t have a chance of escaping this situation without getting a thorough beat down. He scanned the corridor around him, hoping he’d find someone who’d call for help. But they were alone. No one would come to his rescue.
“So,” Troy said, slinking his way towards him, “how about we get back to it? Since you attacked me from behind the other night…” Troy glanced at those around him, seeking reinforcement.
Scott didn’t bother arguing otherwise. Troy could twist the story any which way he wanted to, and his cronies would believe every word he said. That’s what happened when the most popular kid in school began a rumor about jumping someone from behind.
“Not so tough now, are you?” Troy asked, his oily grin still in place.
“No,” Scott said. “Not with five guys behind you.” Each of those football players looked hell-bent on destroying him: a couple cracked their knuckles as though that display proved their toughness; the other pair played rock-paper-scissors to determine who got first crack at him; the last student in the group threw jabs in the air like a prize-fighter. “So that’s what you’re all about, huh? Get your boys to do your dirty work for you?”
“I don’t need them,” Troy said. Then he rushed forward to throw a left fist at Scott’s head.
Scott blocked it and countered with a right hook.
Thrown off balance by the blow, Troy spun backwards before correcting his balance. Grunting with agony as he wiped a hand across his cheek, he charged Scott, a growl erupting from his mouth. He swung a left jab.
Scott misjudged the blow and got hit in the left eye, making him stagger backwards. Nevertheless, he recuperated, shaking off the blow. He got into a defensive stance, since Troy attacked, and waited for the next punch.
One More Chance (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 3) Page 7