Page 27 of Unraveling with You

“I said, wait, jeez.” Dad quietly chuckles, as if it could soften the blistering tension between us. He’s leaning over the porch railing, holding out an ice pack.

Staring into his worried eyes, I’m tempted to remind him why I need one at all. But I know what he’ll say: he snapped becauseImeddled, pushing him past his limits.

To spare myself further hell, I take the ice pack.

“Love you.” He gives me puppy-dog eyes.

Gritting my teeth, I open my car door and chuck the ice pack into the passenger's seat. “You too.”

I zig-zag a few blocks until I find a random enough street to stop where Dad wouldn’t expect to find me. It’s awkward to drive with one hand, especially making so many turns, but I’d rather be safe than see him pull up behind me ever again in my lifetime.

I wanted to drive home before the sun fully set, but I still feel like hell - a hangover-like exhaustion weighing down my chest, enough to prevent me from sitting straight. Plus, I need to assess the damage on my hand: whether I need to call in sick this weekend.

But as soon as I shakily spread my fingers, I heave a sigh of relief. I’ll definitely have bruises by tonight, but nothing is broken.

Tears spill. Not in sadness, but in an immense, building rage. It shreds through my panting breath, begging me to act.

I don’t know what to do when I get like this. How to let it out. I want to go back in time and smack Dad’s hands off me. Better yet, I want to punch him in his bitter fucking face.

I smack my steering wheel with my good hand instead, letting out a sharp scream.

Shock freezes me in place. I never hit things.

I’m not becoming like Dad, am I?

No, things have just changed. I’m not 18, I have my own place, away from Dad, and I’ve finally been working out.

And now I have Remington.

I’m not used to being treated like shit anymore.

My hands shake as I open our texts, tapping Remington’s number. It rings a few times as I struggle to breathe through leftover rage, and my stomach wavers. It’s past seven, so he’s probably at Club X. Maybe I should just let him work.

But just as I drop my phone from my ear, his low voice rumbles through the speakers.

“Hello?”

My whole body slackens. I drop my forehead onto the top of my steering wheel, raising my phone back onto my ear. “Hey, Rem. Sorry to bother you, I just– I just wanted to say ‘hi.’”

Distant shouts echo in the background of our call until it’s suddenly silent. With the rush of wind into the receiver, Remington softens his voice. “Sorry, I was still on my way outside. Are you okay? I’m really worried.”

My heart flips. “O-oh. How come?”

“Your nose sounds stuffy like it does when you’ve been crying. Did something bad happen?”

I exhale hard, closing my eyes. “I really don’t know how to explain.”

Remington hums. “That’s okay, sweet girl. I’m here for you, okay? Want to meet after my shift for a hug?”

Warmth floods my chest. It’s such a startling difference from the dark, hollow ache there that I need a second to breathe through it. When I can finally speak, my voice wobbles through soft, weeping tears. “I’m out of town, and I just needed to talk to someone I feel good around.”

Remington huffs through a soft laugh. “That’s too damn sweet. Now I’m dying to hug you even more. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m excited to see you tomorrow.”

“I’m excited to see you too.”

I hang up with my smile restored despite my sore heart.

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