25. Brandy

25

Brandy

I t’d been days since I last talked to my mom, and I was giving in. We saw each other every weekend, and now it’d been too long. I was going over there, whether he was at the house or not. I could pretend he didn’t exist—I was good at that. Someone left your life long enough, it was almost like they weren’t there to begin with.

Unfortunately for me, though, my mental scars didn’t heal. He could erase himself physically, but in the end, he’d always have some kind of hold on me.

I just chose to ignore it.

I pulled up to the curb in front of my mom’s house, letting the engine idle as I stared at the front door. There was no movement behind any of the curtained windows, and I wondered if she had them drawn for the sole reason of keeping things private between the two of them.

After he left, she’d open the curtains every morning, staring out of them with her steaming cup of coffee and a book on her lap. Now none of those happy moments permeated through the double-panes. Instead, hollowing silence sat in its wake.

Shutting off the car, I got out and closed the door behind me before walking up the path to the door. The overcast sky clung to my shoulders like the clouds were there solely for me today, reflecting my mood with a sprinkle or two on my sweatshirt. The forecast hadn’t called for rain, but it was often that thunderstorms would appear out of nowhere, drenching the ground and spreading its gloom.

Before I could try the handle or knock, the door opened. Standing on the other side of the threshold stood my dad, staring down at me with his typical disapproving look.

“It’s not polite to show up unannounced,” he chastised, like I was some child again, and not an adult coming to visit my mother.

“Well, if you’d been here the last few years, you’d know that today is girl’s day,” I responded, the smell of rain filling my nostrils.

He gave nothing but a blank stare, like he was waiting for me to get to the point.

“Where is she?” I asked, not bothering to look around his large frame. He’d block my view if I tried.

“In the shower. If you’d have called first, she could have planned around your visit.”

“She has to plan her weekly visits with her daughter, the ones we’ve been having for years?” I asked innocently.

He went to take a step back. “Don’t try to be smart with me, girl.”

“Just pointing out the obvious, as it seems I have to do frequently when speaking to you,” I said, not letting my eyes fall. That’s what he wanted, for me to cower. To back off and leave. But that only worried me, not for my sake, but hers. “Where’s my mom?” I asked again.

“Already told you,” he clipped, his tone growing irritated.

“She wouldn’t be showering when she knows I always come today at this time.” Other days, sure, she had plans or chores to do, and the schedules just didn’t work out. But today? I wasn’t buying it.

He lowered his chin, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe she just doesn’t care to see her brat of a daughter anymore.”

My lips pressed together in an attempt to hold my tongue from what I really wanted to say.

“Don’t worry, though. I’m taking care of her.” His mouth spread into a callous grin.

The look set me off, making me take two steps forward. But before my hand hit the door to shove it open, he grabbed my forearm, his grip crushing.

I gritted my teeth together, not moving to yank my arm from his hold. My gaze went vacant as I stared at the door. He wanted my eyes on him so he could see the fear he inflicted. Too bad for him, my demons didn’t lurk in the present.

“Be respectful and look at your father, girl,” he said, trying to lace sugar over venomous words.

My eyes moved to his, his grip tightening in return.

“If I don’t invite you in, you don’t come in. Is that clear?”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I kept quiet, but in doing so, it only pissed him off more. He yanked me forward, causing me to stumble on the doormat. His hold on my arm kept me up as I righted myself, but now we were inches apart. He smelled like pungent beer and my mom’s laundry detergent.

“I said, is that clear?” he gritted out, barely contained rage hidden behind his words.

“Yes,” I whispered.

His hand moved, and I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut in anticipation of the sting. But when none came, and instead a chuckle rumbled on the cool air, I peeled them open to find his hand on the doorjamb.

He wasn’t going to hit me.

I was such a fucking idiot.

He dropped my arm, giving me a little shove. I stepped back, moving my eyes to the ground. I couldn’t bear to look at him.

“I’ll tell her you stopped by,” he said, but I knew he wouldn’t.

Without another word, I turned, walking through the now pouring rain back to my Bronco. I rounded the hood, wrenching open my door and sliding in. Slamming it shut, I set my hands on the wheel, staring at the dash. I wanted nothing more than to storm back up that path and take my frustration out on him, but if I did that, I’d be no better than the man who put that feeling inside me.

Grabbing my keys from my sweatshirt pocket, I glanced at the house one last time. My father still stood in the open doorway, watching me through the downpour. With a wicked smile, he raised his hand in a slow wave.

Pressing my lips together so hard I thought they might fall off, I shoved the key in the ignition and started the engine.

Then I drove, rain pounding on the windshield so hard, my wipers could barely keep up.

I didn’t know where the fuck I was going, but I didn’t care.

I just needed to get the fuck away from here.