Chapter 7
TAYLOR
“There was no dinner. Where’s my meal? I’m hungry!” Dad shouted, camped out in his recliner that had seen better days.
The TV blared from the living room, the only light coming from the game show. He hadn’t even gotten up to turn on a light when it got dark.
I’d driven around for a little while, avoiding home as long as possible. It’d given me a little time to stop crying, but it did nothing to fix the ache in my heart. I’d spent the week thinking of Cam Wilder, longing for him and that hot, sizzling connection we shared.
I’d never had a guy look at me the way he did, as if he could see into my soul. As if he found me pretty and sweet and kind and smart and all the things he didn’t know he wanted in a woman. That was laughable, like a romance novel where the heroine got the hot, sexy, and smart hero.
I wasn’t in a romance book, I was in a fairy tale.
Instead of an evil stepmother, I had a drunk, deadbeat father who I had to toil and clean for.
I used to think he would change, that he’d get over Mom dying and try to be the man he used to be.
Over the years, he only got worse. Got meaner.
As if something from the accident that killed her was stuck in him, like a sliver that never got tweezed out.
It had festered and turned him into the bitter man he was now.
I stopped just inside the entry, leaving my boots by the door since I didn’t want to track anything from the stable into the house.
Except it didn’t matter that much. Glancing around, it looked like we lived inside of a barn.
Dad’s coat had missed the hook and was crumpled on the floor.
His shoes were strewn across the scratched wood. Mail littered the table by the door.
I hadn’t said a word but he’d heard the door shut and that was enough to set him off.
Looking left, I saw the disaster that was the kitchen.
When I’d left early this morning, I’d done the dishes and wiped down the counters.
Now, it looked like a high school football team had come through, eaten everything we had, then left a mess behind.
Dishes piled the sink. A dirty pan was on the stove, something black and scorched still in it.
The stinky trash was overflowing and an egg was broken on the floor.
It also smelled sour, like milk had gone bad.
Or Dad had stuck something rancid in the trash.
For someone who didn’t have dinner, he’d sure eaten a lot. Or at least tried.
Entering the family room like there was a bomb in there I didn’t want to go off, I gave Dad a little wave. “Hey.”
He was in jeans and a flannel that was misbuttoned.
His salt and pepper hair was messy and he hadn’t shaved.
His cheeks were sunken and his pallor was awful.
He’d tried for a job at the park service earlier in the summer but he hadn’t gotten it.
That was no surprise since employees had to show up to get paid.
Since then, he’d pretty much been creating an ass groove in his recliner and pickling his liver.
“Go make me a sandwich,” he ordered, giving me a royal, but drunk wave. He held a beer can and kept his eyes fixed on the TV.
“Looks like you already ate something,” I told him.
Slowly, like a panther stalking its prey, he looked to me. “You backtalking me? You weren’t here to cook so I had to do something. You want me to starve? Be useful and make me a goddamn sandwich and while you’re at it, get me another beer.”
I winced, but was used to this. All I wanted to do was go into my room and throw the covers over my head, but that would have to wait. I knew better than to let my father wait for anything.
In the kitchen, I took out the fixings for a ham sandwich that was thankfully left, found the white bread in the cabinet and set it all on a small clear space on the counter.
The house hadn’t been updated since I was little.
I didn’t remember it any other way. Mom had been so pleased when they’d put in the dark green counters and she’d kept it spotless with pride.
Now, the counters were worn, the laminate floor chipped, and a handle was missing from the silverware drawer.
Swiping mayo onto the bread, I thought about how different life must be at the Wilder’s.
A different kind of noise, a fun one, from having so many siblings.
Family meals. Holidays loaded with tradition and maybe even something like flag football or boardgames to hold them over until dinner was ready.
“Hurry up!”
I stared up at the popcorn ceiling and took a breath.
Slapping the top piece of bread on the sandwich, I found a plate that wasn’t too dirty on the counter and set it on it.
Swiping a beer from the fridge, I put both on the tray beside him.
I grabbed the empties, but he swung his arm out, knocking them to the floor with a clatter, one rolling across the worn and stained carpet.
“I’m not done with those,” he snapped.
I left them and stepped back. When he grabbed half of the sandwich, I quietly went to my room and shut the door.
This was the only space in the house that was tidy.
It was painted pink, just as it had been my whole life.
I didn’t like pink any longer, but there was no money for paint and the last thing I wanted to do was put any of my hard earned income into sprucing up this house.
I wanted out. I hadn’t gone to college since there was no money for it and my dad expected me to work.
While I was good with horses and people, I had no degree.
No real marketable skills. I’d imagined being a nurse like my mom had been, but that meant schooling.
That wasn’t happening. I couldn’t leave town and there was nothing else in such a small community to do.
Before I flopped down on my twin bed and fell asleep, I grabbed my sweats and towel from the hook on the back of my door and took a shower. I changed into sweats and was brushing my teeth when Dad hollered for me.
“What?” I called, sticking my head out the bathroom door. The air was cooler and the scent of the trash made my nose twitch. I missed the humidity and the strawberry scent of my generic shampoo.
“Where’s the cash?”
Shit.
I ran down the hall and through the living room, where his recliner was empty. He was by the front door digging through my purse. A chapstick went flying, my keys. My wallet was open on the table.
“Get out of my stuff,” I told him, tugging on his arm.
“Where’s the money?” he asked, shrugging me off. It made me fall on my butt. “The cable bill’s due and you know I need my shows.”
He didn’t need his shows. He didn’t need to drink my entire paycheck from the Feed and Seed.
“There is no money. It’s not payday,” I told him, pushing myself to my feet, then rubbing my tail bone through my sweats.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he shouted. “Jesus, you can’t get a solid job or keep a boyfriend.”
There came a knock at the door, making both of us freeze.
“Who the fuck are you having come over now?” Dad asked, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He flung the door open and there stood Cam.
Oh my God.
Tonight couldn’t get any worse. Not only had Cam told me to get out of his sight, but now he was at my house and seeing what my life was like. No doubt he heard it through the door.
I had some gas in my car. I could get as far as I could until it ran out and then live the rest of my life wherever that was. Somewhere I could hide in shame.
“Hi,” Cam said, eyeing my father and I. “Everything okay?”
What was he doing here? Did he want to yell at me, too? If he did, I didn’t want it to happen in front of Dad.
“Come on, Dad, let’s go watch your show.”
His gaze narrowed on me. “You bringing men into this house behind my back? I didn’t work my ass off for this place for you to slut around.”
“Dad, that’s not–”
“What did you say to her?” Cam said, stepping off the stoop and into the house. Dad had no choice but to step back.
Cam was several inches taller than Dad. Fit. Muscular. Dad smelled like the bottom of a beer bottle, had dirty clothes on and was weak and well, pathetic.
“I told my daughter to get me some dinner and she made me a sandwich. Didn’t even have enough mayo on it. Now she’s got men coming over.”
“Dad!” I shouted, then, took his arm, trying to steer him back to the living room and to calm down.
Once more, he shrugged me off, knocking me into the wall. I hit my shoulder, hard enough to shake the wall. The framed wedding photo of my parents fell to the floor and the glass broke.
I’d never seen him like this. Angry, belligerent, yes. But physically aggressive was new.
“Look what you did, knocking your mother to the ground!” Dad came at me, irate. Eyes wild, spittle flying. I had no idea how much he’d had to drink before I came home. Usually, I was back earlier, but he’d had more alcohol and not enough food to sop it up.
I flinched, but Cam grabbed a hold of Dad’s arm, spun him around and pressed him up against the wall, his forearm across his shoulders. Cam was right in Dad’s face. Growled. “You want a fight? You take on someone your own size.”
Dad’s eyes widened, catching on that he couldn’t be a bully to everyone.
Cam let him go, hands up and Dad stumbled and dropped like a heap to the floor.
Cam came over to me, took my hand and pulled me into the kitchen. His hold was gentle considering he looked like a pressure cooker ready to explode.
His gaze swept over the chaos of this room, too. His nose twitched. Yeah, the trash was pretty bad.
“Don’t you… don’t walk away from me!” It sounded like Dad was trying to get to his feet, but a thump as if he’d hit the wall meant he was having a hard time.
Cam set his hands on my shoulders, breathing hard. “He always like this?”
“Pretty much,” I admitted. “He’s not a happy drunk. But he loves that photo of the two of them. She died when I was six.”
It was the one that showed Mom with her red hair and green eyes just like mine. Looking at me was a daily reminder to my dad of what we lost.
His jaw clenched and his gaze narrowed. As if he wanted to take my dad out back and shoot him. “Yeah, well the way he’s treating you, he might just kill you. No way in hell are you staying here.”
I blinked at him. His hands were so warm, so big where they touched me. Even through my sweatshirt. “What?”
His look was as angry as it had been back at the stable at work, except this time I knew it wasn’t aimed at me. He was angry for me. “You’re coming with me.”
Going? With Cam?
“But–”
“Red, you’re not safe here. He’s a drunk and not a fucking nice one. I promise you’re safe with me. I’d never hurt you.”
Physically? I believed him. His words earlier… get out of my sight, hurt worse than any blow or push. Except, I’d rather go with a guy who hated me that was sober instead of being stuck in the house with a mean drunk, even if he was my father.
I nodded.
Dad stormed into the kitchen on wobbly legs, but Cam took my hand again and he pretty much used his shoulder to knock Dad out of the way and lead me out the still-open front door.
I was following Cam Wilder down the cracked and uneven walkway to the street in my bare feet and sweats. I had no idea where he was taking me, but right now, I didn’t care.