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“June.” He places a hand on the back of my neck, and I shiver at his touch. It’s too much! I can’t handle this level of need for him. It’s not fair. It’s like the universe is playing a cheap prank on me after everything that’s happened.
I force a smile. “Seriously, Cash, look after your dad. Family comes first.” And his father needs help. I know it. The rest of the town has been talking about it—whispers about the fall of the Taylor family—and it makes me angry every time I hear it. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”
“I want to be more than fine.”
My heart flutters. “You always have been.”
Cash opens his door and steps onto the sidewalk, but I let myself out before he can get my door for me. I wave and hurry up to the house, fumbling keys out of my purse. I slam the door shut once I’m in, leaning against it for a minute.
There’s a beat before the pickup engine starts. I wait until he’s gone, and then I pull my phone out of my purse as I run upstairs.
I lock my bedroom door behind me and open a tab on my phone. Five minutes later, I’ve found them. Lone Star College Counselors. Their website is encouraging, and they specialize in helping “later-in-life” students who want to change their career or study something fresh.
There’s a button at the bottom of the web page.
Book a consultation with us today!
They’re located in Austin, which is a three-hour drive from Heatstroke, and they’re my shot to get out of here. My finger hovers over the button.
Twenty-Two
CASH
I pullup outside my grandmother’s house to find Jesse’s squad parked out front, the lights still flashing. I grit my teeth and stare at the scene in front of me. Jesse’s holding my father up and walking him toward the picket gate, my father’s head hanging, feet dragging.
I take one night off, shift my focus from Dad and my family and the fucking bar to June for what feels like a second, and this happens.
My hands ball up into fists and I release them, along with a low breath.
I get out of my pickup and slam the door.
Jesse pauses, glancing over at me. “Found him on the sidewalk out front.”
This is bad.
Jesse’s on duty. He should be taking our father into custody for drunk and disorderly conduct. Every time my father acts this way, he endangers Jesse’s job, he endangers our entire family, and it’s selfish. He didn’t have this problem until Mom died.
And that’s exactly why I can’t afford to get involved with June.
“Sucks that you had to cut your evening short,” Jesse says. “I could have handled it. Thought you’d want to know.”
I lift my father’s other arm. “You’re not going to detain him?”
“No,” Jesse says, a hint of guilt in his voice. “He’s right outside his house. Nobody called me over here either, so he wasn’t causing a disturbance. I just happened to be driving by.”
I nod.
“…go of it,” Dad mumbles.
“All right, old man,” Jesse says. “Let’s get you upstairs and into bed.”
“Fuck, Jesse,” I say. “This is—”
“You can’t do it!” Dad grabs hold of my shirt, fisting it and tugging me with the strength that only drunks have. “Listen to me, you can’t do it.”
“Calm down, Dad,” I say, grinding it out.
It hurts like a son of a bitch to see him like this, but suggesting rehab has only made him double-down. Nothing we do seems to help. Nothing we say.
