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I step back outside onto the porch. “Hey, Bay, Payton, can you guys go up to your room for a bit? I need to have a chat with Dad.”
“About the alcohol he buried in the backyard?” Bailey glances at our dad’s truck.
“Yeah.” Another lie. At this point, I’ve told so many I’m starting to get tangled up in them. “Well, that and a couple other things.”
“Good.” With a firm nod, she goes inside.
Payton follows, patting me on the shoulder. “Don’t go easy on him, Had,” she encourages. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I swear. When she shoots me an unconvinced frown, I stress, “I know I’ve gone easy on him in the past, but I’m at my final straw. It’s time he understands that we’re not going to put up with any more of his shit.”
Her lack of confidence in me decreases a notch. “Good. And if you need any help, shout for us, okay? Don’t let him bully you into backing off.”
“All right.” But I’m not about to bring them into this. As the oldest, my job is to protect them. To keep them away from our dad. To make sure they’re safe. To make sure they’re happy, even if it means giving them some of my happiness.
My attention briefly strays to the Porterson house. Does Blaise ever feel this way? Like he’s okay with being less happy as long as his siblings are content?
I instantly shake my head. Why, oh, why did I start thinking about him again?
Get him out of your damn head, woman!
Shifting my focus off Blaise’s house, I trot down the steps and approach my dad’s truck. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, distracted by his phone. The duffel bag I saw him collect earlier is on the passenger seat.
When he remains oblivious to me standing there, I tap my knuckles against the window. He jumps so badly he drops his phone.
“Shit.” He hastily collects his phone from the floor and straightens in his seat, blinking at me. “Hadley, where’d you come from?”
“The house.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder. “Didn’t you see me walking down the driveway?”
He shakes his head then rolls the window down all the way. “But, what’re you doing at home?” His puzzled expression alters into a scowl. “Wait. You aren’t cutting out on class, are you?”
“Like you’d care if I was. You never have before,” I say bitterly. “And no, I’m not cutting.” I don’t offer a further explanation as I open the truck door. “You and I need to talk.”
He has the audacity to appear perplexed. “About what?”
“About the bag you buried in the backyard.” I glance at the bag on the seat. “And that one right there, too, if it has the same contents as the one in the backyard.”
His eyes fleetingly widen, but then he narrows them into slits. “How many times have I told you to stay out of my goddamn business?”
I lean in closer, lowering my tone. “When your goddamn business could get you arrested and Child Protective Services called, then it becomes my goddamn business.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he hisses, glancing around in a panic. “And stay out of my fucking business.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not going to this time. I’ve had enough. I had enough a long time ago, actually—ever since Mom died—but I let you get away with a lot of shit because I felt sorry for you. That was my mistake. I’m not going to do it anymore.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?” His tone is like ice.
“That if you don’t cut this shit out”—I point at the backyard and nod at the bag—“then I’m going to try to gain guardianship of my sisters. I’m eighteen now, and I know, under the right circumstances, I can get it.”
“You can’t do that,” he warns lowly, turning in his seat. “Again, you’re forgetting who the parent is. Those are my daughters in that house. A house I pay for us to live in.” He grinds his teeth. “And you’re my daughter, too, even though I wish you weren’t right now.”
My heart squeezes in my chest, but I shove my walls up.
Don’t let him get to you. Don’t feel a thing.
“I …” That’s when I smell the whiskey on his breath. I shake my head. “Great, you’re drunk, and you’ve been driving around town. Awesome parenting example, Dad.”
“I just had one drink,” he snaps, the vein in his neck bulging. “And what I do as a parent is none of your business.”
