Page 52 of Tempting the Goalie
CHAPTER TWENTY
Luc
My body tenses when I hear the front door creak open. I pull away from Izzy. Her dark eyes are wide. If it’s Elyna, it isn’t the end of the world. I can tell her how happy Braden was tonight and boast about the good job I did taking care of the little guy. Only I know it isn’t Elyna because I hear Papa’s mumbling as he tries to make his way through the door. He knocks something off the console in the front door and it smashes to the floor, but it doesn’t sound like it breaks.
Izzy stands and moves away from the couch and I walk to the front door to greet him. I’m not expecting him to be pleasant because if there is one thing that is certain, it’s that Charles Chabot is not a happy drunk. I want to be a shield between Papa and Izzy because it’s impossible to know what to expect from him.
“Hi, Papa, how was your night?” I ask.
He grunts, “I forgot you were home.” Where my mom was English-Canadian, Papa is French. Since Mom barely spoke any French, we were raised speaking English and attended the only English school in the area.
“Thanks. I thought you missed me more than that,” I joke, trying to keep the mood light and easy. Only Papa’s gaze narrows on Izzy, who is standing behind me.
“Didn’t see you had your friend here,” he begins and then he stumbles toward the kitchen.
“Do you need something? I can get it for you,” I offer.
“Don’t need anything from you. Your friend looks like her maman. You shouldn’t be bringing her around here,” he barks.
Izzy flinches.
“That’s not nice, Papa. You should be kinder to Izzy. We’ve been friends since we were kids,” I say.
From behind me Izzy whispers she is going to leave.
“I’m walking you home,” I insist.
“Good, get her out of here. It’s her fault your mom died,” Dad shouts and Izzy flinches.
I place an arm around her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Eh, screw it, just get her out of here,” he says. It isn’t often my father speaks. He’s usually quiet and subdued. Even when he’s drunk, he doesn’t go off on rants like this so this seems off.
“Why did you start drinking again? You were doing so good,” I say to him.
He looks at me and waves a finger in my face. “You kids want to torment me. Bringing that baby around. It’s only a reminder.”
“What?” I ask, thoroughly confused. “Are you talking about Braden? Why would you have a problem with your grandson?”
“He’s the devil’s spawn,” Daddy answers.
I wince and so does Izzy.
“Braden is sleeping upstairs. You can’t walk me home and leave him alone here with him,” Izzy whispers.
“I’m sorry. He’s never said things like this before,” I say to her.
“Do you idiots think I can’t here you?” Dad asks.
“Papa, calm the hell down. Maybe go up to your room and sleep this off. You’re being nasty. It isn’t a good look,” I declare starkly. I don’t like speaking to him in a disrespectful way, but this has gone too far.
He turns and heads up the stairs.
“You should go watch Braden,” Izzy urges. “Stay in his room and don’t leave him.”
“You think my father would hurt him?” I ask in shock.
“That was a very weird interaction. Your dad was saying cryptic things,” she explains.
