No Second Chances (7 page)

I pulled the item on over the top of my still damp t-shirt and wrapped my arms around my torso as I headed toward my house. The truck idled in the road until I’d walked through the front door, and then it pulled away. I was touched he’d waited until I was safely inside before he’d left.

I didn’t want to lose the warm glow that being with Cole had created inside me, but I had to deal with my dad. Exhaling a sigh, I walked into the living room to find him asleep in his spot on the couch.

The relief I’d experienced upon seeing his car in the drive vanished, replaced by raging anger. I stalked over to him and whacked him on the foot, the smack jolting him awake.

“What the hell, Dad!”

He gave a grunt and rubbed his hand over his face. “Huh? What?”

I balled my fists and glared at him. “I’ve been out half the night looking for you!”

He sat up and shook his head slightly. “What on earth would you do that for? I’m a grown man, Gabi. I can take care of myself.”

He appeared genuinely baffled by my actions, and once again, I started to doubt myself. Then I noticed the empty bottle and cans I’d come home to that afternoon had been disposed of, and I wondered if I’d find them in the trash or if he’d been more careful with where he’d disposed of them.

That was the trouble with addiction. It was sneaky and manipulative, and if you weren’t careful it became every single part of you.

“If you’re the adult,” I snapped back, “how about you start acting like one, and at least let me know where you’re going to be. If I come home and find you not here, I’m going to worry. I’d like to think you’d do the same for me, but I’m starting to wonder if you care about me at all.”

His expression softened. “I love you, Gabi. Of course I would care about where you are.”

“Really? Because you didn’t seem to care too much tonight. Or did you not notice I wasn’t even in the house?”

He sighed. “You’re almost eighteen. I figured you were with your friends.”

“Well, I wasn’t. I was out looking for you. But like you say, you’re the adult and I’m the kid, so I guess I didn’t think before I acted. Next time, I’ll stop myself even caring.”

I knew I was being huffy, but I was feeling alone and unloved. I turned and stormed from the room, stamping up the stairs to my bedroom. I peeled off my wet clothes, but took Cole’s hoodie and bundled it into a ball to use as a pillow. I climbed beneath my sheets and allowed the scent of him to lull me to sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

Gabi – Present Day

My days were
filled with various appointments—doctors, physical therapy, my psychiatrist—and between those I read, and cooked, and generally allowed life to pass me by.

I got back from another torturous physical therapy appointment to find my back door wide open. My dad hadn’t told me he was going anywhere that day, so I figured he was out back on the deck. I’d planned on making some iced tea, so I headed out to ask him if he wanted a glass. It would be nice to sit out in the sun with him for an hour and catch up on things.

When I stepped outside, it took me a moment to spot him. He wasn’t sitting on the deck, or pottering around in the flowerbeds. Instead, he was on all fours right at the back of the yard, his head pressed up against the bars of the gate which closed our yard off from the alley behind.

I frowned, my stomach twisting in anxiety.

“Dad?”

Something was wrong. All thoughts of iced tea vanished as I hurried toward him.

“What the hell, Dad!” I exclaimed, trying not to notice the way his pants had slid halfway down his backside, exposing a far too large expanse of plumber’s crack. He grunted and struggled, and it suddenly dawned on me that he wasn’t able to move. Panic surged up inside me, and I stepped closer to get a better look. My mouth dropped open. I had no idea how he’d managed it, but his neck was trapped between two of the metal bars of the back gate. Rolls of fat squeezed both sides of the bars, and his already pink face was gradually turning crimson.

“Jesus Christ.” I crouched beside him and tried to take hold of his neck through the bars on either side—the ones not holding his neck prisoner.

“Gabi,” he slurred. “Leab me alooo…”
Leave me alone…

Ugh, he was drunk. Way too drunk.

“I can’t leave you alone,” I said, exasperated. “You’ll end up choking yourself or breaking your god-damned neck.”

“Wanna go sleep.”

I was starting to lose my patience, plus I was scared and worried, which are never a great combination. “For fuck’s sake. You’re in the back yard and it’s four o’clock in the afternoon. What do you think the neighbors are going to say?”

I didn’t think any of the neighbors would actually be able to see what was going on from this position, but if I ended up having to call nine-one-one to get him out, I could guarantee every single one of them would find out about it quickly enough. In fact, they’d all be standing around with drinks of their own, watching the whole scene go down and having a good gossip about how far Bill Weston had fallen while they did.

No, I couldn’t call the emergency services. It would kill him to have everyone standing around him in this position.

I wracked my brains for what to do. I needed something slippery—soap, washing up detergent, olive oil?

“Wait here, Dad,” I said, and then realized what a stupid thing that was to say. It wasn’t as though he was going anywhere.

I hurried back into the house, as much as my leg would allow me to, and went straight for the kitchen. Figuring I’d save myself a couple of trips if the first option didn’t work, I grabbed the hand soap, detergent, and olive oil from the cupboards. With them all clutched against my chest, I went back to where my dad was still embarrassingly stuck. What had happened to the big, strong man I’d grown up with? How had he ended up like this? I blinked back tears, knowing I didn’t have time to pity either of us. From an outsider’s point of view, this probably looked hysterical—the one legged woman attempting to free her drunk father from a gate. The reality was far more sobering.

Dad had started to sober up a little, but it didn’t help. He was starting to panic, yanking his neck backward and forward. “Gabi! Where are you?”

“Dad, stop it, keep still. You’re going to make the area swell, and it’ll be even harder to free you.”

I used the soap first, wrinkling my nose as I tried to smear it between the bars and his skin. “Christ, I can’t believe I’m even doing this,” I muttered.

When he didn’t budge, I tried the oil and then the detergent. I was making one hell of a mess, but I was getting desperate.

I attempted to move him again, taking his head in both hands now, and angling it in different directions, but my leg was starting to hurt, and I wasn’t able to put enough strength behind what I was doing, or get the angle right.

“Ah, Gabi, you’re hurting me.”

“Well, what the hell were you thinking?” I snapped.

“I dropped my keys and I was trying to reach them.”

“What with? Your mouth?”

This was insane. I couldn’t do this on my own. I simply wasn’t strong enough, or able bodied enough. I couldn’t call the emergency services; it would kill him. But I didn’t trust anyone else.

My mind went to the little slip of paper on my bedside table and my stomach flipped. Cole would help me, and he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Did I dare call him? The thought of doing so deeply embarrassed me—I hated he would learn my secret about my father this way, even though most of the town already knew why he’d been dismissed from his job. But I didn’t have any choice. I didn’t know anyone else in town strong enough physically to be able to help. And I hated to admit it, but part of me desperately wanted to be in his company again.

I touched my father on the shoulder. “I need to get help. It’ll be okay.”

“No, Gabi.” He started sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“I won’t be long. Just try to keep still.”

I didn’t have any option but to leave him. I raced into the house, as much as my leg would allow me to race, and went upstairs to my bedroom. Cole’s number was right where I left it, and my heart thudded hard as I picked up my cell and dialed his number. My mouth had run dry from the adrenaline of finding my dad in such a way, and now calling Cole had only made things worse. I listened to the rings, my lips sticking to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Last night’s glass of water still sat, untouched, on my bedside table, so I picked it up and took a gulp.

He wasn’t going to answer, and what would I do then?

But then he picked up. “Hello?”

He sounded out of breath.

“Cole, it’s Gabi.”

“Gabi?” His tone brightened. “Hey, Gabi. It’s so good to hear from you. Sorry I almost missed your call, I was out running.”

“You were running?” I almost forgot my poor father as the surge of a combination of hope and jealousy rose up inside me. I missed the sport with a physical pang, almost like the loss of a loved one, though I hoped I’d get back to it one day.

“So, what’s up?” he asked me.

“Actually, I’m sorry to dump this on you, but I need your help. Can you come over to my dad’s house?”

“Sure. What’s going on?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of hard to explain. Can you come over quickly?”

“I’m on my way.”

“Thank you, Cole.”

I went back out to the yard, and waited for Cole beside my dad, listening out for the sound of the door, or a car pulling up. My dad slipped in and out of consciousness, or perhaps it was sleep. I wasn’t sure I knew the difference. I sat with my hand on his back, worrying I’d done the right thing by calling Cole. What if my dad was badly injured and I should have called an ambulance?

A figure walked out of my back door, still sweaty from his run, his t-shirt molded to his torso, his blond hair a shade darker.

Cole.

“Hey, I knocked but no one answered, so I let myself in. Hope that’s okay?”

I forgot he knew his way around this house almost as well as I did. He caught sight of the person half lying, half crouched on the ground beside me, and a couple of lines appeared between his brows. “What …?”

I had no choice but to explain. “My dad’s drunk and somehow he’s managed to get his neck stuck between the bars. I don’t have the strength to get him out myself. I need your help.”

He didn’t ask any more questions—and I was reminded of how that was something I’d always loved about him, that he’d never pressed me into revealing anything to him I hadn’t wanted to—and came toward me at a jog. When he reached me and my dad, he crouched as well, frowning slightly as he studied the scene.

My dad made a noise and tried to pull out of the bars again.

“Hey, Mr. Weston. It’s Cole Devonport.” He spoke slowly and calmly. “I’m going to get you out of there, okay?”

Utter thankfulness that he was here to help swelled inside me. I had no idea what I would be doing if he wasn’t. The sudden urge to fling my arms around him and give him a hug took hold of me, so I bunched my fists and pressed my arms to my sides to stop myself.

This is Cole,
I reminded myself.
He hurt you so badly you changed your entire life course. This is not a man you want to hug.

Cole’s gaze landed on the bottles of various liquids which I’d brought from the kitchen. “Which of these have you tried?”

“All of them,” I admitted. “But I couldn’t get a hold of him enough to try to work him out again. My movement’s kind of restricted with my leg.”

“Sure.”

Cole reached through the bars, one hand either side of my dad. Gradually, he manipulated my dad’s drunk, dead-weight head to the correct angle. “This is probably going to hurt your ears a little, Mr. Weston,” he warned.

My dad gave a gurgled grunt as answer, but at least he was conscious. “When I push, I’m going to need you to pull back. Can you do that, sir?”

“I can do it,” came his slurred, anger-filled answer.

Cole didn’t appear perturbed. “Okay, ready. One, two, three …”

I wished I could help more, but instead stood by, every muscle in my body tensed, wincing as Cole worked my dad’s head back through the bars, and my dad pulled back on him like a cow trying to get out of its milking equipment. For a moment, I didn’t think it was going to work, but then he popped free and fell backward onto his ass in the dirt.

“Oh, thank God,” I breathed, so relieved this horrible, embarrassing incident was over. “Dad, can you walk?”

“It’s okay,” said Cole. “I’ve got him.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Cole.”

Deciding I didn’t want to leave the collection of soap and oil bottles around my back yard—yet another thing for the neighbors to gossip about—I stepped toward them. The heel of my prosthetic limb hit an oil patch, and before I could even yelp my shock, the ground vanished from under me. I felt the twist on my leg as the sleeve attached to my stump wrenched in the opposite direction to my actual limb. My knees hit the floor with a bone jarring smack, my teeth clacking together, and I cried out, partly in pain and partly in shock. Cole reached for me, but he had his hands full with my dad. I squeezed my eyes shut, remaining on my hands and knees, biting the inside of my lip to stop myself crying out. The intense brightness of the pain softened to a throb, and I was able to open my eyes and reconnect with the outside world.

Cole stared at me. “Shit, Gabi. Are you all right?”

I nodded briskly. Not only was the fall painful, it was also embarrassing.
Like father like daughter.
“Yes, just get my dad inside.”

His gaze flicked between me and the house, clearly debating in his head if he should dump my dad and help me instead.

“Please, Cole,” I insisted.

He exhaled a sigh through his nose and hoisted my dad higher on his shoulder. My dad muttered something unintelligible.

“I’ll be right back,” Cole said.

I forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

Even so, I waited for him to return before I attempted to stand again. I couldn’t risk going over in all the slippery liquids on the ground again.

Cole ran back to me. “I put your dad on the couch. He’s snoring.”

I rolled my eyes. “Typical.”

He crouched beside me and put my arm around my waist. “Can you walk at all?”

“I think so.”

He hesitated, and then said, “Screw it.” His other arm reached beneath my legs, and before I had a chance to argue with him, he lifted me up, cradled against his chest. “Cole, I can walk!” I protested, though honestly in that moment, I wasn’t completely sure I could. I wasn’t averse to dragging myself across the ground, though. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Stop talking, Gabi,” he told me.

I opened my mouth to protest some more, and then shut it again. Being carried by Cole, feeling his big, strong biceps bunched up beneath my body, was certainly preferable. His body felt completely different than how I remembered. Though he’d always been strong, back then he’d been lean and wiry. Now he was physically bigger, his shoulders and chest thick with muscle. From my position, I could see more tattoos crawling up from beneath the neckline of his shirt and up the back of his neck. The thought of seeing what Cole looked like now with no shirt on suddenly flashed into my head.

It was just curiosity,
I told myself. It didn’t mean anything. I just wanted to compare what he looked like now to the body I had known off by heart as a teenager. I told myself this, but it didn’t stop my heart from fluttering and set my insides squirming.