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I just hate the fear he’s probably putting her through by just being here.
I was hoping he’d give up and assume nobody was home, but he’s slumped on the front steps, saliva dripping from his bottom lip as he sits there sobbing and yelling.
“Can’t even see my own kids! I just want to see my family!” His voice crescendos as I shut Ethan’s truck door and wander across the lawn.
My teeth are smashed together, rage curling through me, but the emotion is pushed aside by something else that’s just as heavy.
Dad is pathetic.
My dad. The guy who used to be my hero. The one I was supposed to look up to as I navigated life is a total loser.
I hate having to face that reality.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I stop a few feet from him, Ethan taking up post just behind me.
“Dad.” I catch his attention.
He jerks, looking up at me with glassy, wild eyes. For a second, I’m not sure he recognizes me. He’s so fucking drunk. And he looks like shit—his cheeks sunken in, making his eyes look too big for his pasty face.
Fuck. Has he started using as well?
Clenching my jaw, I look away from the pitiful sight, battling the urge to fist his collar and scream in his face. “Why couldn’t you just get help? Why do you let the drink own you this way? You’ve ruined our lives!”
Somehow, I find a calm I don’t feel and manage to say, “You shouldn’t be here. I have every right to call the cops. This isn’t your home.”
“My family’s here,” he whimpers. “Why are you keeping me from my family? You destroyed us!”
His roar is like a thunderclap as he lurches from his spot on the concrete steps and lunges at me.
I raise my arm to block his weak fist, quickly grabbing his wrist and spinning him around. A knock to the back of his knee has him crumpling, and he lands in the snow. I push him forward, his chest easily hitting the cold front lawn, then rest my hand on his shoulder.
“Calm down.”
“You don’t get it!” He wrestles and rages, but his struggle is in vain. I’m stronger than him now. I know how to fight and subdue an attacker. He forced me to learn.
Plus, Ethan’s right beside us. Dad’s got no chance.
“Calm down, Dad. Just take a breath.”
“You don’t get it!” His shouts are decreasing in volume, his writhing starting to slow as his murky brain registers that this is a fight he can’t win.
“You’re drunk. You need to go back to your apartment and sleep it off.”
“I hate my apartment,” he whimpers.
“Then sleep in your car.”
“I hate my car.” The words come out as a sob, and I feel like I’m talking to a five-year-old who’s still learning how to regulate his emotions.
Isn’t he supposed to be the parent?
I close my eyes with a huff, then glance over my shoulder at Ethan.
“What do you want to do?” he asks.
With a heavy sigh, I stand and shake the snow off my jeans. “I’ll go check on Sofia, call Mama, then… I guess we’ll drive this asshole home. He can’t spend the night in his car.” Even though I was the one to suggest it, I wasn’t serious. I may not like the guy, but I don’t want him freezing to death.
Dad’s still sobbing into the snow and can’t hear what I’m saying.
