Page 106 of Versions Of Us

Instead, a guttural sob leaves his mouth as he turns away from me. He tosses the bottle, and it hits the carpet leaving a tawny-brown stain where the liquid trickles from it. I don’t know what to do so I stand frozen in place.

“I know I fucked everything up,” he says, turning back to me, his face twisted in anguish.

I can see that he does indeed know. That he’s a broken man haunted by everything he once had.

“Good,” I say to him.

His chest heaves rapidly, his eyes wandering around the room before they finally come to rest on mine, infused with desperation and shame.

“What is she like?” It’s not so much a question but a plea.

“You don’t deserve to know.”

I spin around, turning my back on this sad excuse for a man, preparing myself for the four-hour drive home, but there’s a heavy ball of lead weighing in my gut.

I wonder why he wants to know about her now, when knowing could be more torturous than not knowing. A small part of me has hope that if I tell him about how perfect Kristen is, he might actually change his ways. The rest of me knows there’s about as much chance of that happening as hell freezing over.

But I turn back to him anyway, an impatient sigh leaving me as I allow myself to slump against the door frame. “She’s amazing. She’s smart and gorgeous and funny. She’s brave too. Knows how to hold her own. Doesn’t take my shit, that’s for sure.”

“Sounds just like her mother,” he says, a weak smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “You seem like you care about her a lot. She’s lucky to have you.”

This comment annoys me. It only makes it clearer that he knows nothing about Kristen at all.

“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “You’ve got it wrong.I’mthe lucky one. And you would be too if you’d stuck around. Been a part of her life.”

He draws in a deep breath, waving a hand back and forth between himself and the chaotic living room behind him, a helpless expression crossing his face. “I’m a mess.”

“I can see that,” I say. “But I’m not here to listen to your excuses. Only you have the power to change all of this. You made a choice. If you wanted to be in her life, then you would be.”

“It’s not that simple.” His lips form a thin white line, his eyes narrowing into slits.

I don’t care how angry I make him. I came here to tell him what I think and I’m not going to back down. “Actually, it is. It really is.”

He doesn’t answer. His forehead crumples in a frown as he collapses into a tattered armchair behind him, more pitiful sobs wracking his bony frame. This time when I turn, I do leave. I storm toward my truck, heave the driver’s door open and lunge inside.

I’m angrier than I was before I decided to make this trip, if that’s even possible. I’m disappointed for Kristen, having seen what a trainwreck her father has become, and sad that she’ll never know what it means to have a father who is proud of her accomplishments and loves everything there is to love about her.

But it also fills me with purpose. I’m now more determined than ever to give her everything she deserves. I check my phone, finding a number of missed calls and texts from her and type out a quick reply.

I need to get home.

The only place I want to be right now is wrapped in her arms.

As I turn the key in the ignition something catches my attention in my peripheral vision. A young woman with long, honey blonde waves tumbles from the left side window of 23 Woodville Road.

She expertly lands on her feet in a crouching position with the stealth of a cat, clearly having done this before. She rises, scanning the area for anyone that may have seen her, as she brushes the grass from her baggy jeans and smoothes out the crocheted crop top that adorns her thin frame.

Then her sights are set on my truck. I watch as she races toward me, not hesitating to open the passenger side door and climbs right in beside me.

“Drive!” she shouts at me.

“Wh – what?” I stutter.

“Hurry! Go!” she yells again, waving her hands and motioning for me to power forward.

I’m stunned at the fact this young woman has the balls to both throw herself into a stranger’s car and expect them to meet her demands, but still, I do as she says.

“Where do you want me to take you?” I finally say.

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