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A loud, piercing noise infiltrated the quiet.
Maybe Dad was smoking in the house again. I really freaking hated when he did that. It took forever to get the smell out.
I hurried up the stairs and the smell got stronger—and the smoke alarm got louder the closer to the top I got.
When I turned the corner, I saw dad in the living room—passed out again.
The coffee table was a freaking mess, just like it had been when we’d arrived.
What I smelled wasn’t cigarettes or weed, though.
My head turned to the kitchen where I saw smoke rising from the stove. “Holy shitballs!” I screamed and dropped my backpack. I ran to the stove and put on an oven mitt before I grabbed the handle of the frying pan.
Smoke billowed out of it. I carefully carried the pan to the sink and dropped it in.
“Move away, Christ!” I heard Trey behind me. Suddenly, his hands were on my shoulders, shifting me to the side.
I backed up and let him take over. “Fuck!” he shouted, his hand briefly touching the handle of the frying pan for a second before he let go. He turned on the sink faucet and a rush of water hit the pan.
A combination of smoke and steam whooshed upward, swirling into the already hazy air.
“Are you okay?” I grabbed his arm after he stepped back from the sink.
“No, I’m not fuckin’ okay,” he pulled his arm away from me. “What the hell’s going on up here?”
I peered into the sink to see what looked like something resembling a grilled cheese sandwich.
Except it was charcoal black and mostly soggy.
“I’m guessing he tried to cook, then wandered off to the couch instead.”
I looked down at his hand. He’d flipped it over and was observing the damage.
I pulled him to the sink and turned the faucet onto cold. “Put it under here.”
After that, I leaned over to open the window.
“It’s too cold out to open the window,” he grumbled but didn’t try to shut it.
I ignored him and opened more windows on the main level, and even the doors—in order to air out the place.
Then, I checked on my dad.
He was still on the couch, but now his eyes were open. I stood in front of his tricked-out coffee table. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to burn the house down. Especially when I’m sleeping in the basement.”
He rolled his eyes. “I was getting up to deal with it, but you beat me.”
I tamped down the anger inside of me just enough to speak, “You were passed out on the couch.”
He frowned at me and narrowed his eyes. “I had it handled. Stop making such a big deal over it, Jesus.”
I felt and heard the blood coursing through my veins. A constant whooshing sound beat through my ears.
What the heck was I supposed to do?
Leave my dad here to burn himself alive in his home?
“I’m supposed to be back with my team in a matter of hours. I can call and try to postpone. Are you ready to go into treatment?”
