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For the second time that day, I checked myself out of the ER. But this time when we went into the parking lot, Kade was right next to me. He got me into the passenger seat and then slid behind the wheel.
When we got back to my mom's house, it was almost eleven. The street was very quiet, and the house was dark, but as we walked up the steps, I froze, seeing a man in the chair on the porch.
As the man stood up, Kade rushed past me and threw him up against the wall.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Kade demanded, giving the man a hard shake.
That's when I saw the man's face for the first time. "Stop," I said, shocked once more.
Kade threw me a questioning look. "Do you know him?"
"Yes. He's my father."
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Kade immediately letmy dad go. "Sorry," he muttered.
My father gave me a bleary look. "Is that you, Brynn?"
As I moved closer, I was overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol. "Are you drunk?" I asked in surprise.
My dad never drank more than two glasses of wine. He always had a hard limit on alcohol, but tonight he was wasted. His slacks were wrinkled, his shirt untucked and stained. He didn't appear to have shaved in several days, a white grizzly beard covering his jaw. His eyes were red and puffy, his skin pale, and he seemed to be having trouble staying on his feet and keeping his eyes open.
"Let's go in the house," I said, taking the keys from Kade. "Can you help him?"
"I think that's the only way we're getting him inside," Kade replied.
I opened the door and stepped back as Kade put my dad's arm around his shoulders and then helped him into the living room. He got him as far as the couch and then my dad fell back against the cushions.
"I'll make some coffee," Kade said.
I sat down on the sofa next to my father. "Dad, where have you been?"
He gave me a bemused look. "This is her house, isn't it?"
"Yes."
His gaze moved around the room, and he frowned. "It's a mess."
"Someone broke in here and trashed it. I put it back together as best I could." I licked my lips. "When did you find out Mom was alive?"
"Last week," he bit out. "I couldn't believe she faked her death. She betrayed me. She betrayed you and Dani. She left us. She made us grieve for her. I hate her." He paused, then gave a helpless shake of his head. "I want to hate her."
"I know." I completely understood his conflicted feelings. I put my hand on his arm. "It's hard to hate someone you used to love."
"Love," he spat out. "I don't think she ever loved me. She just used me. That's all it was. I thought we had this great love affair, that we'd be together forever. I was a fool—stupider than I've ever been in my life."
"Did you see her before she got shot?" I asked, wanting to know more about the last week than the more distant past.
"I saw her."
"What did she say?" I prodded.
He stared back at me and then blinked a few times, as if he could barely stay awake.
"Dad, what did she say?"
"Said she was sorry." He shook his head in frustration and anger. "Like that makes any difference. I don't care if she's sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever met her."
