The Enemy - Kelsey Clayton Page 0,66

he's in this fucked-up depression.

“Don't worry about it,” I tell him, patting him on the back. “It's taken care of.”

I love my dad, but I can't sit here anymore. Not seeing him like this. He's not the same guy I've looked up to all my life, and I'd like to keep my image of him firmly intact, at least until he gets up on his feet.

On my way out, I grab as much alcohol as I can find and load it into my Jeep. Then, I drive away and toward the beach.

The waves are beautiful today, but I'm not here to surf. I grab the bottle of Jack from the passenger seat and walk down onto the sand.

How did everything go to such shit? A few months ago, I was surfing, without a care in the world. And now? I'm stealing money from my mom's boyfriend to pay my drunken father's bills. I left to keep an eye on Molly, but I should have stayed. Maybe he wouldn't have ended up like this.

Broken.

Alone.

Drinking to numb the pain.

I lift the liquor to my lips and take a swig. Maybe I'll find what he's been looking for at the bottom of this bottle.

21

LENNON

My eyes shoot open in a panic. The room is dark, but I can sense someone else is here. Moonlight filters through the window, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see Cade standing by my bed. I rub my eyes and sit up.

"Cade?"

As he steps closer, I can smell the booze on his breath. It's strong. Overwhelming. It only takes a second for me to know he's drunk. Did he go to a party tonight instead of having one here?

Everything he said last night echoed through my mind all night long. I had trouble sleeping, and when I finally drifted off, he infiltrated my dreams. When I woke up in the morning, my dance bag was on the edge of my bed. A peace offering of sorts, I guess.

Before I left for dance, I considered talking to him, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. That night with him, the moment we shared, it was the first time I'd ever been that sexual with anyone—and now it's tainted. Any time I think about it, I remember how he used it to humiliate me. To forgive him for that would be dumb, and I don't want to be dumb.

He sits on the side of my bed but says nothing. I turn to flick on the light, and when I look back at him, I can see how bloodshot his eyes are. Something is plaguing his mind, and I shouldn't care what it is, but I do.

"What's wrong?" I whisper.

Taking a deep breath, he turns to me, and I can see just how broken he is. His pain is evident in his expression. The vulnerability in the way he looks at me is so intense, it threatens to crumble all the walls I've built against him.

He reaches forward and runs his knuckle down my cheek. "You're so pretty."

My brows furrow, wondering just how drunk he is, and how he got home. Hell, I don't even know what time it is. I'm frozen in place as he leans over and presses his forehead to mine.

"I hate that I'm so bad for you."

He goes to kiss me, but I turn my head at the last second.

"Cade," I whisper again as he pulls away, but I don't know what else to say.

"I'm sorry," he slurs. "I'm so sorry."

Before I can stop him, he's off my bed and all but running from the room. I fall back into my bed with my eyes still on the door.

What the hell was that all about, and what got him so worked up?

SAVANNAH AND I REPEAT Brady's choreography with a practiced skill. The two of us even throw in our own ideas, from a pirouette here to a jeté there. Just things that will push it the extra mile. This is the last dance we'll be doing as a part of this studio. Saying it has to be perfect is an understatement.

Dancing with Savannah has always been my favorite, because it gives me something to strive for. The two of us push each other to be better. From what she's told me, I can expect a lot of that at Juilliard, and I can't wait for it.

Our front aerials are perfectly in sync, and we nail the last few moves of the dance. The music