My school pictures remain, though crooked. Anything with her or with us as a family is torn and crushed.
"I'm surprised it took him this long to do that."
Carter's arm flexes around my waist, holding me secure.
"That's my bedroom." I point toward a closed door and nod to the door opposite on his side. "A bathroom."
They're both untouched. Which means…
I break away from Carter, my eyes narrowing on the door cracked open at the end of the hallway. "Dad?" Worry and concern have vacated. Anger prevails. My knuckles rap, rap while pushing the door open. I anticipate him passed out in bed.
I find nothing.
Nothing but the same disheveled room I argued in with him this morning. And a fresh pile of empty beer cans littering the bed.
Scraping my nails over my scalp, I grip my hair and grit my teeth as I stop at the foot of his unmade bed. Carter moves around the room, but my focus remains on the cans. And the ashtray on what used to be Mom's side. And the deep burgundy lipstick staining the ends of a dozen crushed cigarettes. I didn't detect the scent of nicotine over the burnt eggs until this moment. Now, the scent is all I inhale.
"Oh, shit."
There are clues in tones of voices, in the way words are spoken, which leaves the unequivocal impression that terrible news lies in wait. Carter's voice triggers that response in my nervous system. The expectant drop of the hammer response—my head goes fuzzy, a high-pitched ringing fills my ears, and time slows. I turn in place, clutching my chest to pace my jackrabbiting heart and meeting his gaze from where he stands within the master bathroom.
There's no urgency to my thought process. I focus like I'm wandering through a fog-shrouded labyrinth. I latch onto Carter's gaze and lose my thoughts. His eyes are the most compelling mix of blues and grays I've seen, and coupled with the tan skin he inherited from his mother, they glow. My mind snaps in place, the fog lifting, as his eyes lower—his body with them—and my gaze follows until I land on—
"Dad!" My legs carry me into the bathroom, where Carter kneels over my father, and life moves in real-time.
My feet are glued to the threshold of the doorway.
Dad's lying on the tile floor, his body angled and bent in the small space. The gray rug beneath him is wadded and dark in places. I clutch my groaning stomach. "Is that?"
"Blood? Yeah." Carter hovers above Dad's face, and the worst hits. What if he's dead? I wasn't here. I ran off.
"He's breathing." Carter's eyes flick to mine and hold. "He's alive, Jess. I think the blood is coming from the back of his head. I can't see a wound, but—" He holds a hand up. "Toss me that towel?"
On autopilot, I pull the towel from a hook on the wall and dangle it from my outstretched hand. I can't compel my legs into action. I watch Carter as he shifts in the small space between the bathtub and Dad and takes the towel. I watch his brows furrow, and his mouth forms a tight line. I watch his shoulders shift, and his arms flex, but I can't look below his chest. I can't look at the body on the floor. It is impossible to lower my gaze. To process what is happening.
"You need to call an ambulance."
"Is that…" I choose not to finish the question.
"Necessary? Yes." He spares a nod. "I don't want to move him. We don't know what happened. He could have a neck injury. He could have had a heart attack and fell—"
My tongue is thick in my mouth.
"—or passed out from the alcohol. We don't know. He needs medical help. There's a lot of blood."
A lot of blood. The ringing in my ears resumes.
"I…" I pat my hips and rear. "My cell?" Where the hell is it?
"I left mine in my car when I came running in."
"Kitchen." My shoulder hits the door frame. "I left it on the counter," I say, jogging through Dad's room.
Carter
Four days.
My fist strikes the heavy bag.
Four damn days since I spoke with Jess.
Punch. Kick.
The events of Monday night are on repeat in my mind. She dropped my shirt in the passenger seat and walked away from my car, angry. I get it. I live in the same danger zone. The space between pissed at the world for the shitty hands it deals and pissed at myself for everything I’m unable