Page 17 of Drowning Erin

I’m already out of bed, looking for clothes. There’s no point in ever suggesting she go look for him herself. My mother only has two modes where my father is concerned: defensive outrage on his behalf or disablingdespair.

When I was small and my dad wouldn’t come home, she’d cry and say, “He always said he didn’t want to settle down. I should havelistened.”

Even as a small child, I resolved not to repeat her mistakes. If someone says they don’t want a relationship, you take them at theirword.

Sleep dazed, I have just opened the garage door when Brendan appears, so unexpected that I gasp infear.

“Where you going, blondie?” heasks.

The person in the world I most do not want to know about these trips is Rob. The person rightafterhim is Brendan, as he won’t hesitate to run and tell Robeverything.

I swallow. “Nowhere.”

“You’re goingnowhereat 2AM?”

Every bone in my body wants to lie to him, yet my brain is blank, without a single plausible excuse. Maybe I’m just too tired to lie, exhausted not just from tonight but from all of the past years, all the lies I’ve told and the effort ittakes.

Standing under Brendan’s penetrating gaze, I just don’t feel capable of lying even one more time. “My dad had a little too much to drink. He needs a ridehome.”

“Isn’t he in Denver?” Brendan asks. “Can’t he just take acab?”

“We don’t actually know where he is,” Imumble.

I see understanding dawn on his face. “Does he do this alot?”

“No, of course not. I think he just had a bad day.” My answer is too hasty and too defensive. I sound like I’m lying. Which, obviously, I am. “But can you…can you not mention this toRob?”

I can’t imagine why I’m throwing myself at his mercy here. Brendan doesn’t like me. He has no reason to show me any kindness, and I’ve never gotten so much as a hint that he’d be willingto.

“Okay,” he says, putting a hand on the small of my back. “But I’m driving. You’re half asleep, and my face is way too pretty to wind up smashed into atree.”

“You don’t need to come withme.”

“You’re not going alone.” Something in his tone tells me this is non-negotiable. He’s coming, or he’s tellingRob.

“You’re not going to get anysleep.”

“My dad used to drink a lot too,” he saysquietly.

I finally meet his eyes, wondering if he’s making this up, if this is all some elaborate ruse to pry my secrets from me so he can offer them on a platter to Rob, in a file titledSee? I told you I was right about her. But his face is open and honest and serious in a way it isn’tnormally.

He leads me to his car. I don’tresist.

* * *

We aresilent as he takes back roads to the interstate. I don’t know how to be around him anymore unless I’m being spiteful or guarded, which I don’t entirely understand. It’s not like I’m cruel by nature. Why is it so hard withhim?

He yawns. “Okay, blondie, you’ve got to keep me awake here. Tell mesomething.”

“Likewhat?”

“Tell me something no one knows about you, not even Rob. Other thanthis.”

I wouldn’t normally engage in this kind of game with him—or any game, really—but I’ve already handed him one of my worst secrets. The rest seem minor bycontrast.

“Every time I go to Denver to visit my parents, I stop by the Ducati dealership and test driveone.”

He laughs. “Bullshit.”

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