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“Dad, I don’t have a lot of time, and I can’t miss the playoffs. The coaches and the owners were cool about me going, but I really have to get back.”
He frowned at me and lit another cigarette. “So, go. Nobody’s holding you hostage here.”
I let out a sigh.
Yeah, he totally was keeping me freaking hostage. Nobody else in the world could get him clean.
“You didn’t seem all that great last night.”
He burned a hole through me with his eyes. Which was also so not like my father. “I was having a fantastic fucking time until you showed up.”
Yeah.
The jerk had arrived.
My dad held me accountable, and he expected my best effort at all times.
He’d lay into me if I slacked off or messed up.
But never in a mean-spirited way.
Always with love and encouragement.
Except when he was on a bender. Then, all bets were off.
His words took on a sharp, nasty tone—aimed to shoot and kill.
I knew the man in front of me right now was not my dad. He was an addict looking for his next hit of whatever he could find.
And, if he wanted to find it—he would.
I could do my best to find all of his hiding places, and toss out whatever I found.
But, I learned long ago you could never outsmart an addict. If Dad wanted to get drunk or high—he’d move Heaven and Earth to do it.
All I could do was watch and clean up afterward.
Eventually, something always clicked. You just never knew what or why or when.
And then he’d clean himself up, either on his own or in treatment.
After that, I’d breathe a sigh of relief and hope there’d be no next time.
There was always a next time.
And a next, next time.
And a next, next, next time.
“Yep, that’s my job. Ruining all your fun.” I shivered again and hugged myself tighter. “But, I’m serious this time, Dad. I have to be back in time to travel.”
He frowned at me and flicked his cigarette ash over the railing. “So fucking go, Alexis. Play your stupid games. Nobody’s stopping you.”
Yeah.
This was not my dad.
“I can’t leave you alone.”
