Jake
I tried to be quiet as I finally got into our hotel room. My head was pounding, and my ribs ached more than they should by now. It was nearly three in the morning, and I was done with babysitting my father. Not just tonight, but forever.
Then again, I’d sworn that before.
I just wanted a bed and Ellie, and not in that order. She didn’t stir as I cleaned up in the bathroom, but by the time I climbed in beside her, she turned and mumbled something unintelligible.
I smiled, wondering how a woman’s muffled sounds could make me feel lighter inside. Not happy—not after Pops had ruined this weekend with Ellie. But quieter inside. More settled.
I crawled in close and faced her, then stroked her shoulder. I couldn’t resist touching the soft whisper of her skin. I wanted to kiss down her side. I wanted to settle myself between her legs. And I wanted to hear her cry out my name, as if I were the only thing in her world.
But I didn’t. She was sleeping, and I didn’t want to disturb her. So I simply stroked all the way down her arm to her wrist, then settled my palm over her hand. Finally, I closed my eyes and tried to rest.
“Is Pops okay?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.
Pops was the last person I wanted to talk about, but I answered, because she’d asked. “He’s responsive to pain. And I even managed to get some Gatorade in him. He’ll be fine.” Assuming he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night and decide to go for more beer. He’d done that before. But since I had the keys to his truck, he wouldn’t get far.
“Are you okay?”
No. Not since I was fifteen and my mother had left for good. “I’m great.”
She didn’t answer at first, but then she lifted her head to peer at me. “Liar,” she said, propping her cheek on her fist. Her hair fell every which way, but I thought it was adorable. “How are you really?”
“Furious. Tired.” I sighed. “Don’t make me think about it.”
“Why not? Because you’ll explode?”
“Yes.”
She chuckled and snuggled closer. Her knees hit mine as she rested her head on the edge of her pillow. And her lips were a few heated inches from mine.
“Guys need to learn that talking is what prevents explosions.”
I stroked my hand up her arm, across her shoulder, and to the curve of her neck. “Girls need to learn that sometimes a guy is beyond talking.” I blew out a breath, refusing to acknowledge the seething emotions that burned just below the surface. At this moment, I hated my father. And it wasn’t just that he’d destroyed this weekend, although that was part of it. Ellie had fought for time off and now I had to spend the rest of our vacation together making sure my father didn’t drink himself into a coma. Or wander into traffic in search of a six-pack.
“You were supposed to come here with him,” she said.
“He’s been going to the All-Star Game every year for as long as I can remember. First with Mom. Then later on with us. It didn’t matter where the game was being held, we were there. And every year he drank himself into a stupor.”
“And you didn’t want that to happen this year,” she said.
“I wanted to be with you.” I wanted not to have to worry about what he would do, what he would say. Bad enough to fear that he’d hurt himself or someone else while he was drunk. But this year, I was in the majors. If he did something stupid, it would be national news. And bad press like that could get me fired.
But I didn’t want to say any of that. So instead, I simply gripped her arm and pulled her close. She came willingly, snuggling tight against my chest. I felt her breath, hot and moist against my neck. And I adjusted our bodies so that she could lie on my shoulder, if she wanted to. I needed her, and thankfully, she came easily into my arms.
I tried to be grateful. I worked to hold her in stillness rather than give in to the emotions that coiled inside me. But then she spoke, stirring the pot of fury inside me.
“You know he’s an alcoholic, right?”
I gritted my teeth but managed to force out a single word. “Yes.”
She must have sensed my anger, because she rose up to look more directly at me. “I don’t mean to push. I just…I don’t know how to help. Talk to me.”
I stared at her. The last thing I wanted was to talk about the thoughts that had me ready to explode. And yet they started coming out. “I’m so tired of his shit. I don’t worry about him anymore. I’m terrified he’s going to kill someone driving home from the bar, or that he’ll cause an accident at work, when he’s at a fire. God, people depend on him.”
“The other firefighters don’t let him go out when he’s drunk, do they?”
I looked up at the dark ceiling. “Sometimes a trained drunk is better than no one.”
