Page 72 of One Last Verse

“You’re not going, Frank!” I screamed, my lungs and my throat tense with panic. “You’ll crash!”

The man was so drunk, he’d lost all his marbles. I had no idea how to reason with him.

“Get out of my way, doll.”

“I won’t. You’re going to have to run me over, Frank!”

We yelled at each other full throttle. Angry words spilled and soared through the garage, drowning out the soft sounds of the music. Staining everything good, every nice memory of this house and us with depravity.

Frank was a blur behind the tears forming in my eyes. He grabbed the handlebar and turned the front wheel to twist it out of my hold. I felt it crunch against the cement and grind against my jeans as my foot slid over the floor. Every muscle in me drew tight.

“Please stop it,” I pleaded, clutching his wrist. “Please, Frank! I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I need to ride. Move.”

It was a split-second decision. I knew he wouldn’t cease trying otherwise. He was teetering on the edge of insane, too stubborn and too drunk to hear me.

I pushed him. I pushed him hard. I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. It was either risk his stitches and a couple of bones or let him leave and never come back, because he wouldn’t.

Not after this stupid suicide ride he was so hell-bent on attempting.

My heart pounded so hard, my ribcage felt as if it was about to crack in half. The swell of moisture in my eyes made it difficult to see, but I heard a thud. Frank’s body had slammed against the Escalade. The helmed dropped to the floor.

“Fuck you!” he cried out in anger and pushed himself off the car. Pain twisted his face. “Fuck you!”

“Well, fuck you too!” I was shaking. “If you want paramedics scraping your insides from the bottom of the ditch, be my guest.”

“Who the hell are you to judge me? You don’t know anything about me, doll.”

“That’s right, I don’t. Because you won’t fucking talk to me. Because you’d rather drink yourself stupid. Guess what? I’ve already seen one man in my life go down that road. I’m not going to stick around to watch another do the same shit.”

My wrath was immense. Apocalyptic proportions. I hated my father. I hated Frank, but most of all, I hated myself for not being enough for either one of them.

Every drop of my blood raged a mad fire. The fury was absolute. Blinded by hurt, I kicked the bike with all the strength left in me. It tipped and fell over, its crash drowning out the sounds of the music and Frank’s loud, angry breaths.

Resentment blazed in his eyes. He spun to the Escalade, jerked the door open, and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Disbelief choked me. Fists balled, I screamed. It was a spiteful growl. No words. Just noise. My lashes were heavy with tears and I felt them spill down my cheeks one by one, burning my skin. Sick adrenaline ran through my veins.

Frank was out of control. Delusional.

He activated the remote inside the car and I heard the soft scrape of the automatic garage door behind me. Cool air rushed in from the outside. The Escalade’s engine rumbled.

Think, Cassy. Think!my inner voice howled.

My gaze scoured the shelves as I searched for something to stop him. My trembling hands sifted through the scattering of useless gadgets. The man didn’t have a single tool in his garage that a car owner actually needed.

Grabbing the first thing I deemed strong enough—a wrench, I raced over to the door and wedged it into the chain. A shrill screech pierced the exhaust-filled air as the metal panels came to a halt.

The Escalade was like a beast. It roared, its tires squealing against the cement floor. Cursing, Frank scrambled out of the vehicle and began his approach.

I shook my head. “Please stop.” He drilled past me and yanked at the wrench but to no avail. He was too drunk.

Heart thrashing, I charged back into the house to get my phone.

A string of expletives followed by heavy footsteps and the banging of furniture trailed after me while I galloped through the hallway as if the floor were on fire.

“Fix the goddamn door.” Frank’s voice carried over the noise.

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