The Enemy - Kelsey Clayton Page 0,57
cover my face and I groan. “It is a big fucking deal. I'm supposed to despise her, not fool around with her.”
He squints and tilts his head to the side. “Eh, you know what they say—hate sex is the best sex.”
“Fuck off, Hurley. You're not helping.”
My phone rings in my pocket, and I pull it out to see Jayden calling.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“Hey, man.” He sounds hesitant. “Have you talked to your dad lately?”
Dread fills my stomach. “Not in a couple weeks. Why?”
“He...uh.” He pauses. “He...”
“Spit it out.”
Jayden sighs. “He just got kicked out of Park East Tavern for being too drunk.”
I pull the phone away from my ear to look at the time. “It's eleven in the morning.”
“I don't know, man. I gave him a ride home, but he's really wasted. You might want to go check on him.”
Nodding, even though he can't see me, I grab my keys off Bryce's nightstand. “Yeah, I'm heading there now. Thanks for the heads up.”
WALKING THROUGH THE FRONT door of my dad's house, it's hard to believe this is the same place I lived for years. Garbage is scattered everywhere, attracting bugs and creating a horrible odor. Bottles of alcohol fill two of the counters and I wonder how much he's drinking a day.
“Dad?” I call out.
“Cade?” my dad slurs from the other room. “Cade, is that you?”
He stumbles in and halfway to me, he trips. Thankfully, I act fast and catch him before his head slams against the countertop. That's the last thing I need right now—having to sit in the hospital with my drunk and concussed father.
“Dad, you're drunk.”
He points to himself in a silent question and then shakes his head. “No, I'm just a little buzzed.”
Keeping an arm under him for support, I walk us over to the couch and lay him down. “It's Friday. Why aren't you at work?”
“Because, work is for pussies, and I am not a pussy.”
I look around the room and sigh when it hits me. “They fired you, didn't they?”
He scoffs. “A couple days of showing up smelling like booze and they told me I was no longer needed. Can you believe that? A bunch of buzzkills is what they are.”
Jayden was right, he's really shitfaced. Even I'm having a hard time deciphering his words with how badly they're slurred. Is this what he's been doing since mom left? Drinking himself into oblivion?
“How are you going to pay your bills, old man?” I question softly.
His hand swats at the air, like it doesn't matter. “Bills, shmills.”
I take a deep breath and get up from the couch, going over to where we've always kept the mail. Sure enough, past due notices are stacked high—unopened and unanswered. At this rate, everything is going to get shut off, and he'll lose the house.
“Hey, how's your mother doing?” my dad murmurs. “Is she still pretty? She was always so pretty.”
My mother. Right. The woman who is off on some extravagant cruise with her rich new boyfriend, while my dad is a fucking disaster. I wonder what she would think if she saw him like this. Would she even care? Probably not. She barely even pays attention to Molly anymore, let alone me.
Dad passes out on the couch, and I spend hours cleaning up most of the mess. It's only helping a fraction of the damage, but it'll have to do for now. I write a note, telling him I'll be back tomorrow, and put it on the counter next to a bottle of water and some Advil.
The second I step outside, I pull out my phone and hit speed dial two. Bryce answers on the second ring.
“Hey, C. Everything good with Pops?”
Running my fingers through my hair, I hop into the Jeep. “Not even a little. I need to find Ken's Achilles heel, and I need to do it fast.”
AFTER BRAINSTORMING FOR WHAT feels like an eternity, Bryce, Jayden, and I determine that I need a way to go through his office. However, during the day, there's staff around. The housekeeper, Melani. The chefs. Lennon. I need a distraction to keep the attention away from Ken's office. A party is the best way to do exactly that.
Jayden gets the beer while Bryce splurges on a DJ. My only assignment is to figure out how to get Lennon out of the house. She's the only one that won’t stay away from the party, or from me, for that matter. If she catches me, I don't trust for a second that