The fervor in her voice didn't convince him. It only raised questions about what she thought constituted a monster, but he couldn't allow himself to be sidetracked by that right now. He needed to tell Riley everything.
"After you hear why I talk to Emily you might think differently."
She scoffed. "I doubt that."
Feeling fidgety and anxious, he got to his feet and searched the ground for a stick while he pulled his knife from his pocket.
"What are you doing?"
He found a branch—too thick and not the best wood for whittling—but it would help take his mind off the urge for a drink while he told Riley how he'd become addicted to alcohol.
Riley waited patiently, her brow furrowed as he sat beside her again and began stripping the bark off the branch. He kept his gaze on the stick. It would be easier to tell her if he didn't look at her. His stomach knotted as he pressed the blade of his knife into the hard wood. "You never met my grandfathers. I barely knew them myself, but do you know why my parents never let us spend much time around them?"
"Weren't they both alcoholics?"
"Yes, and do you know the risks children and grandchildren of alcoholics face?"
"They can have a genetic predisposition to develop an alcohol use disorder."
Trust Nurse Practitioner Riley to know the technical terms.
"Why are we discussing this?" Riley's words were careful, guarded.
He sighed and met her gaze. "Because I inherited that predisposition and developed that disorder."
"But you don't drink."
He cocked his head and grimaced.
Deep furrows formed between her brows. "When did you start drinking?" Before he could respond, she went on. "And why? Your parents warned you repeatedly about alcohol, of the dangers of taking that first drink. I remember being there for some of those lectures."
"You're right, they did. I knew I should stay away from the stuff. When I was young, I promised myself I would. But...sometimes life doesn't turn out like you expect it to." Daniel stopped whittling and squeezed his eyes shut as images of that fateful day flashed through his mind.
If I'd only made different choices!
Riley's hand landed on his arm, warm and soft. "What happened to make you start drinking?"
He wanted to take her hand in both of his and hold on for dear life,but he feared if he even acknowledged her touch, she'd realize what she was doing and pull away.
He let out another long sigh and started whittling again. "After we broke up at the end of that summer, it was harder than ever to return to school for my final semester and prepare for an internship. My heart wasn't in it. I missed you and the ranch like crazy." He darted a glance in her direction.
A look of contrition filled her face, and she ducked her head, withdrawing her hand with the motion.
"One day, I saw a listing for a dirt bike for sale. I figured it would be the next best thing to going back to the ranch, so I arranged to test drive it." His knife cut deeper into the wood now. "When I drove through the neighborhood, looking for the seller's house, a teenage driver came barreling out of his driveway, way too fast, right at me."
Daniel's knife moved faster now in short, deep strokes, matching the hammering of his heart. It didn't matter how many times he told people what happened, it always made his heart race, his gut clench, and his hands shake. He probably shouldn't be holding a knife right now, but he couldn't stop. If he did, his hands would start itching to pick up a bottle, and he'd get even thirstier than he already was.
"I wasn't even going that fast. I had been driving the speed limit, but I sped up a little, so the kid wouldn't T-bone me. And I... swerved to the other side of the street." He dropped his knife and swiped a hand over his jaw as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "At that moment, a four-year-old boy, who had just learned to ride his bike, came flying down his sloped driveway. I had been watching the teen driver to make sure he didn't hit me, so I didn't see the little boy in time." His next words squeezed out through a tight throat as a tsunami of guilt washed over him. "I hit him, Ri."
"Oh, Daniel." Her hand was back on his arm now, gently squeezing, pulling him from the dark place his mind always went when he recalled what he'd done.
Once again, he wanted to take her hand in his and soak up her comfort. Her acceptance would likely change when she learned how weak he was.
Daniel watched the ripples in the water, wishing it could wash away the memories that drove him to drink. Memories that made him crave a double shot of Jack Daniel’s whisky right now.
"I didn't run over him, but I knocked him off his bike. He wasn't wearing a helmet, so when his head hit the ground..." Daniel swiped a hand over his mouth at the memory of the blood that flowed from that small head wound. But that wasn’t the worst part. "He just lay there. So still." He swallowed again to alleviate the tightness that clogged his throat, but that did nothing for the jumble of knots in his stomach. "After the police finished their report, I drove to the hospital. I had to know if he was going to be okay."
He propped his elbows on his knees and plunged his hands into his hair. "Isaac never woke up. I heard the doctor tell his parents they couldn't stop the swelling in his brain." Daniel cleared his throat yet again before continuing. "I watched his mom collapse, and his father was so overcome with his own grief he was powerless to help her."
