friend, or on foot, but he isn't driving drunk since he has no car of his own. Mom sold it for cash when she took off.
"Do you want me to come in with you?" he asks.
"No." I open the door and stare at our house, rooted to the seat. The blinds are closed, and no lights shine through the windows, but that's not unusual; the summer sun has another hour before it sets.
The engine cuts off, drawing my gaze to Carter as he reclines in his seat and blows out a long exhale.
Torn between being the girl who handles her shit and the girl who accepts help, I reaffirm my stance, toning down my brusqueness. "I mean, I've got this. Thanks for the offer."
He roughs a hand over his mussed hair, leaving the dark strands standing every which way before he turns his head against the seat. The hesitation on his face has me facing the windshield and giving him my profile.
"We were good, right? Everything was fine, we were flirting, and we got to my car, and you flipped and begged me to get you here. So, we're here, but I'm confused about what's going on, Jess. I don't know what's happened or why you're upset. I feel like I should be doing something. Calling someone?"
It could be the edge to his words, sharpening them and making him come off disgruntled, or it could be his audacity to push the subject. Whatever the reason, my precarious calm snaps.
"He's a drunk, Carter." The tears I valiantly withheld rebuild and spill, like floodwaters breaching a dam. "My dad’s a drunk, and we had a fight, and I left, and I bet he's wasted because I wasn't watching him." Swallowing the lump in my throat, I meet his gaze.
"I'm in Rossview to watch him. To take care of him. Not to flirt with you, not to be … reckless." I finish with a sigh. Using the back of my hand, I swipe the moisture from my cheeks and swing my legs out of the vehicle. "Just, let me…"
Standing in the open door, I stare over the glossy red roof of his gorgeous car and unknot his shirt, pulling the soft cotton over my head. My body rebels, my nose drawing a deep inhale and gathering the scent of his detergent, the smell of seasoned fries, and the garage's oil. "Let me deal with this." I drop the tee on the passenger seat and swing the door shut.
The front door is locked. Of course, it is, and I don't have my key. I left for a jog before lunch. Why would I have a house key on me?
Following the cracked sidewalk to the driveway, I head around the back of the house, keeping my gaze focused when I pass Carter's car. My nose stings at the vision of his concerned face slipping to one of aloofness when I dropped the shirt in his seat. His jaw locked tight, like he was clenching his teeth, or biting his tongue to keep from putting me in my place. Why does he wait in my driveway? I'm a horrible bitch. I wanted to fall into him the moment I saw him in the street this afternoon, and every moment we shared today cemented that desire. A desire I have no time for, the voice within my head reminds.
The remnant odor of burnt eggs hangs in the air as I enter the house through the unlocked back door. "Dad?"
The kitchen is as I left it. A couple glasses on the counter, charred pan in the sink. If he ate anything at home, he cleaned up after himself. Meaning, he didn't eat anything. The early evening sun cuts a reddish-orange haze through the kitchen, but the living room is dark. The blinds and drapes covering the two skinny windows on the front of the house are drawn tight.
"Dad?" The word wobbles from my lips, a whisper, as I pause in the threshold between the kitchen and living room. Sweat pools beneath my breasts, and my muscles tense like I've entered a haunted house. Demons reside within these walls. I assigned them to my parents, but the fear triggering my body's reaction refutes the claim. I have demons of my own to slay in this home. Sliding my palm over the wall, I flip the light switch to the right of the doorway and inch into the room, running into a misplaced end table. My shin incurs the brunt