Page 9 of Wait in the Truck
“Probably the foal Samuel and my dad were discussing earlier.” I begin to shrug out of Kade’s flannel but stop when his hand lands on my shoulder.
“Keep the shirt,” he rasps, his attention shifting to the house. “Your dad waitin’ on you?”
I grimace. “Not likely. Just up watching TV. He doesn’t sleep so well these days, and…” My mouth snaps shut. “I’m sure he’ll be glad I’m home.” Giving him a tight smile, I open the door and gingerly climb out, turning back because I feel like I should say something to him, yet not knowing how to go about it.
“I’ll wait until you’re safely inside.”
“Thanks. And, uh, thanks for everything tonight.”
He gives me a curt nod. “I’d do it again.” His dark eyes roam over me, and my tongue absently flicks over the wound on my lip. I incline my head in acknowledgment.
The headlights are bright as I walk around the front of the truck. I give Kade a self-conscious wave with one hand while clutching his shirt together over my chest with the other. As I make my way onto the wraparound porch, it occurs to me that the door might be locked. I’ll have to pray it’s not, because my keys are in my bag at the bar. With a swift inhale, I try the knob and thank my lucky stars when it turns and the door pushes open. I’m so tired, it’d be a miracle if I don’t fall on my face on the way up to my room. True to his word, Kade waits for me to enter, hiseyes following my every move. With a quick wave, I enter the house and shut the door behind me.
The old farmhouse is familiar, and I creep forward on my tiptoes, carefully sidestepping the creaky boards in hopes of avoiding any sort of conversation with my judgmental father.
A random, muffled shout from the den startles me into taking a poorly chosen step. The hardwood groans under my boot. My eyes shut on a wince. I was hoping to avoid him. I am not physically or mentally able to handle his reprimands right now.
“Sage? Is that you?” my dad bellows from the armchair where he’s surely nursing a glass of his favorite whiskey while watching TV. Like I told Kade, he’d be up, but he’s not waiting for me. He’s hardly slept at all since well before my mother took off. “Laurel?”For fuck’s sake, another night with Dad drunk off his ass.
I cringe, not seeing a way to ignore him. “No, Dad. It’s me.” The sound of his voice leads me to the back of the house. Poking my head into the room, I purposely hide the side of my face that’s swollen the worst. Sure enough, he’s there in front of the television. It flickers in the dimly lit room with what looks like a video of his glory days as a football player. Sadly, there’s a big difference between the energetic young guy on the screen and the miserable man sitting piss-drunk in his recliner. He’s almost unrecognizable as the same person.
I squint at the screen with my uninjured eye, discovering a teenage version of my mother in a cheerleading uniform, waving her arms before a crowd to pep them up. And now that I’m looking, Alice Rivers, Kade’s mom, is cheering right beside her. Though, she was Alice Jenkins back then.
“Laurel, what the fuck are you wearing?” Dad grumbles as his eyes rake over my body.
I tear my eyes from the football game on the screen, my brow knitting. “Dad. For the last fucking time—I’m not Mom. I’m Sage.” I’m sick of this. Every time he gets drunk, it’s the same story. Several long seconds pass while I wait for him to recognize me. This sure as hell isn’t the first time he’s called me by my mother’s name, and unfortunately, it won’t be the last. My mother’s departure ripped yet another hole in our already broken family when she left me here alone with my father. As if it wasn’t bad enough that we all had to survive the death of my brother… my mother up and fucking left.She left me.She couldn’t handle the loss. We haven’t heard from her since and don’t have a clue where she is or if she’s ever coming back. Not that I’m certain I could forgive her even if she did.
Wrenching my thoughts from our family tragedy, my attention flicks back to the screen where Daniel Rivers walks up to my dad and hooks him around the neck in a celebratory bro hug. I’ve never seen this clip before.Were they friends once upon a time?If they were more than justneighbors, I never knew. For as long as I can remember, my father and Kade’s father have been at odds.
My father squints at me through the haze of booze, eyeing me up and down a second time. His leering gaze makes my stomach sick. “Were you out whorin’ yourself around town?” He sputters, trying to sit up. “Gonna ask you one more time what the fuck you think you’re doing wearing that out of the house.”
I’d been so preoccupied about him calling me by my mother’s name that it hadn’t registered that he’d noticed my clothing—or lack thereof. I suck in a breath, glancing down, and realize Kade’s flannel is hanging open… and it’d been hiding the outfit I wear at Boozin’ Boots. Clenching my teeth together, an uneasy sensation washes through me.Dammit.There’s a reason why there’s always a T-shirt in my bag to throw on after work. “Dad. It’s what all the girls at Boozin’ Boots wear to wait tables—it’s the standard uniform.”
The irate look on his mottled-red face tells me I should have been more cognizant of what I was wearing. I’m an adult but have always known it’d be a bad idea to parade around in the bikini top and skimpy shorts required of me in front of my father. It’s actually surprising he’s never mentioned it before. I know for a fact he used to frequent Boozin’ Boots every weekend, but I don’t know why Billy barred him. That happened before I started working there.His drinking has only worsened since he’s been doing it unsupervised at home.
“You look like a cheap whore.” Spit flies from his mouth. His bluster has a whole lot to do with his drunken state, as does his accusation. His jaw locks up before he bites out, “You act just like your mother.”
My brows crash together, lips tightening into a thin line.Ignore him. Why does he have to be like this?Shaking my head, I gesture toward the kitchen. “I’m getting some water and going to bed. You should probably try to get some sleep, too.”
But as I attempt to pass by him, he grabs my wrist, jerking me to a stop. “Where’s my money?” His fingers dig into my skin as he stares at me all bleary-eyed. He’s obviously feeling sorry for himself tonight, but that doesn’t mean I have to be his victim. And as for my tips—yes, we need what I bring in, but that doesn’t mean all the money I earn should automatically be handed over. That was never the agreement. He’ll only use it to buy more liquor, anyway.
I wrench my arm from his vise grip, wincing as his fingers scrape my skin. “I left my bag at work.”
His head rears back, and his eyes lose focus as he takes in my appearance. It’s as if he’s only just now noticing the bruises and cuts on my face. “What the fuck happened to you, Laurel?”
Shuddering hard at the idea that he looks at me andstill sees my mother, I grit out, “I’m fine. It’s nothing.” He’s gape-mouthed as I hurry past, swinging through the kitchen to grab a glass of water before hightailing it up the stairs.
Upon entering my room, I spin around to lock the door before heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed. My reflection in the mirror truly shocks me. My face is a mass of bruises and swelling and cuts. I’m sickened by the fact my boyfriend did this—and that people willseeme. I’m going to have to find someone to take my next few shifts. There’s no way I can go in with these injuries. They’ll know. I don’t want to be the stupid girl who puts up with an abusive asshole because—Fuck. I don’t wanna become another statistic. Just as tears prick behind my eyes, the sound of my father pushing from his chair reaches my ears.
My lip trembles, but I hurriedly wash my face, then brush my teeth. I peel off Kade’s shirt, remove my shorts, and untie the strings at the back of the bikini top. Swallowing hard, my gaze moves over the rest of the damage incurred.Shit. I’m a mess.
A carefully folded T-shirt and pair of sleep shorts sit on the counter, and I tear my gaze away from my battered body to pull them on before scurrying on quiet feet to find a pair of shoes.
Each stumbling footfall brings him closer. Each franticbeat of my heart makes me hurry that much faster to the window to make my escape.
The door handle rattles, followed by some indistinct muttering. I hop on one foot, then the other as I pull on a pair of running shoes. “Sage!” Once. Twice. Three times, my father’s fist bangs on the door.
There’s no waiting around to find out whether he’s too drunk to gain entrance or not. With a grunt, I shove the window open, then scoot out onto the ledge. My fingers scramble for purchase on a thick branch as incoherent mumbling comes through the door. The rough bark bites into my already abraded hands, and I gasp from the pain of it. But there’s no way I’m staying in my room. Once I’ve hoisted myself onto a branch, I reach back, pulling down the window with a sharp snap behind me. With my breath coming quick, I shimmy down the tree like I have so many times before, then pause, looking around. When I deem the coast clear, I begin to move toward the only place on this ranch I feel safe—the old hayloft inside the barn.
