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“Fifth and Dodge. Got it.”
He slammed into reverse and she tried to focus on texting Lauren, since that was easier than worrying about how big of a mess her father had made this time.
And it was also a heck of a lot easier than acknowledging how amazing this man was being to her, and what that could mean. He’d asked her to give him a chance, and she had, but she’d held on to one little last piece of the wall she’d built around her heart, just in case she needed it. After tonight would she be able to hold on to her last defense against him?
Or would the brick drop out of her hands and crumble into dust…
That was, if he didn’t go running at first sight of her father before it could fall.
Biting her lip, she texted a quick apology to Lauren, saying something came up at work, and shoved her phone away. The ride to the bar went quick, too quick, and Mark left his hand on her thigh supportively the whole time. They pulled up in front of the shady hole in the wall and she saw him immediately through the front window. He was leaning against the wall inside, yelling angrily at a woman she could only assume was the owner who had called her, and his face was flushed with anger.
As she watched, he drunkenly swung at the woman, and she dodged out of the way. Another man in the bar slammed him against a wall, holding him by the throat, and the woman picked up the phone with trembling hands. Time was up. She was calling the cops.
And I don’t blame her at all.
“Jesus,” Daisy muttered, throwing the door open and jumping down.
Mark’s door opened, too, so she could only assume he was behind her, but she didn’t stop to look, or to warn him that this was the worst she’d seen him in years. Walking in to this bar was like running up to a bomb that was about to explode. It was a real threat, but you bolted toward it anyway, to try to stop it from exploding, to try to save everyone else.
And you got yourself blown up in the process.
She pushed through the door, calling out. “I’m here. I’m so sorry for this. But I’m here.”
“Thank God.” The woman stopped dialing. “You’re his kid?”
“I am.” She glanced at her dad. “I’m here.”
“You don’t look like a cop,” she said doubtfully, eyeing Daisy’s soft blue dress.
“I am. I swear.”
Mark came in behind her, also staring at her father with a tinge of horror in his eyes. Her dad wore a stained, ripped T-shirt that he probably hadn’t changed in days, had food and God knew what else stuck in his beard, and an unidentified dried up substance on his jeans that was probably vomit. Having him here, standing behind her, witnessing the true extent of her father’s fall from grace was embarrassing, but it felt liberating, too. She was finally letting him in. Letting him see what she dealt with.
No more walls. No more defenses.
Just them.
And if he ran?
So be it.
Her father finally stopped struggling against the man holding him when he spotted her standing by the door. “Barbara? Is that you?”
Daisy stiffened.
When her father was really far gone, he mistook her for her mother.
She used to argue, try to make him see he was wrong, but it only made him more violent. The sad truth was, he cooperated more when he thought she was her mother. He liked the other woman more. After a quick glance at Mark to gauge his reaction, she stepped forward. “Yeah, it’s me, Dickie. I’m here. Let’s go home, okay?”
Mark rested a hand on her shoulder as they approached her father. “Are you okay with this?”
“I do it all the time.” She glanced at her father. He looked like he was dozing on his feet now, which might make it even harder to maneuver him to the truck. “It’s easier this way.”
“Okay.” He swallowed. “What should I do to help?”
“Help me get him out once I—”
“Who’s he?” her father barked, spotting Mark behind her, glowering at his hold on her shoulder. “You brought another man with you? You’re leaving me?”
