Page 65 of Make Me Yours

When I hold it up, the screen says the call is coming from a local police station. I move my thumb away from the answer button and silence the call, waiting for it to go to voicemail. I don’t have it in me to give my statement right now. The officer can leave a number, and I’ll get back to him once I’m out of the emergency room and know Weaver and Gramps are going to be okay.

It’s definitely a “one crisis at a time” kind of day.

A few moments later, the voicemail notification pops through. I tap the play button and put my cell to my ear, only to be surprised by the sound of my father’s voice.

He sounds like absolute hell…

“I’m so sorry, honey. You have no idea how sorry. If I could go back and redo one thing in my life, it would be what happened this morning.” He clears his throat before continuing, “That’s why I’m using my one call to call you, not a lawyer. I need you to know how sorry I am. And that I’m going to make a change. It’s time. Past time. You deserve a father you can trust, one you know is never going to hurt you, not even by accident.” He pauses, exhaling a breath that hitches into a sob.

I press my fist to my lips, fighting tears.

“I’m just so sorry, baby girl,” he wheezes. “I swear, I’m going to get better. I’m going to be the dad you deserve. Even if I have to do it in prison. I’m going to get sober and stay sober. I love you, and I always will, even if you decide you never want to talkto me again, which…I would understand. You’re a good person, Gertie. You’re so funny and you work so damn hard. And you’ve got the best heart. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have put up with a deadbeat like me for so long. Whatever you decide, just know I’m so proud of you.”

The call ends, and I let my phone fall into my lap.

My dad has never expressed any interest in getting sober. Not once. He isn’t that kind of alcoholic. He would never admit he had a problem in the first place, let alone think about getting help. He always made other excuses for why he couldn’t work or function like other human beings—the accident, his brain injury, his back pain, his depression, his untreated ADD, even.

To hear him actually owning the disease and expressing a desire to get better is huge, though I know it won’t be that simple. Dad’s in so deep that he’ll need medical care to survive getting off alcohol without killing himself. He’ll start going into withdrawal in a few hours and be in bad shape by tomorrow morning.

But I’ve already vetted several local rehabilitation centers. I did a deep dive back when I was sixteen and still believed helping Dad was just a matter of getting him through a pair of sliding glass doors and into the care of medical professionals. There’s even one that takes patients on a sliding scale. They’ll probably treat Dad for close to free if they have a bed available.

I could text him, give him some names of places and their phone numbers…but he won’t be able to see the text or claim a rehab bed if he’s in jail.

“Shit,” I mutter, my stomach starting to ache again at the thought of what I have to do.

But I have to do it. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try to help Dad now that he’s finally asked for it.

So, I lift my phone and send a message that might very well destroy what’s left of my budding romance.

chapter 23

WEAVER

I’m nearly backto the yacht with a clean bill of health for my internal organs, a painkiller prescription for my swollen nose, and advice to ice my bruised ribs several times a day, when the texts come through from Sully.

I hit the play button on the car’s screen, listening to the robotic voice relay her message?—

Hey, I know this is a big favor to ask, but is there any way you would reconsider pressing charges against my dad? I know he absolutely deserves to be punished for what he’s done, but I think he has been.

He’s really upset, Weaver, and really sorry. He used his one call to leave a message for me, promising that he was going to get sober.

That’s the first time he’s ever done that.

It’s a big deal. And I think he means it.

If I can get him into a bed at a rehab in the next twenty-four hours, before the withdrawal gets too bad, this might be the chance I’ve been waiting for my entire life. Maybe he’s finally hit rock bottom and is ready to make a real change. If so, I…I might get my dad back, the one I remember from when I was little.

But there’s no chance of that happening if he stays in jail waiting to be arraigned or for bail to be set or whatever happens when you’re facing assault charges.

She sighs and I brace myself for the rest of the message.

I can see your face right now in my head. I bet your jaw is all clenched and the muscle is bunched up into a ball under your skin.

I reach up, touching the muscle.

It is indeed a tight ball beneath my stubble.

And you’re right to have doubts. I have doubts, too. But I also believe in helping people when they ask for it. This is the first time he’s actually asked. I don’t want to let him down, and you did say you would be supportive of helping pay for treatment for a relative more than rent or food or whatever, so…

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