With that, she turns on her heels and stomps back into the apartment building. I watch until she’s completely out of sight before climbing into my van. The beat-up old van that I got as a teenager. My pride and joy. As long as I keep taking care of it, I can keep it running for a long ass time. The engine revs beneath me, and I pull away from the curb, heading in the direction of Gracie’s favorite diner. I now understand why it’s her favorite. I don’t know if I want her back exactly, not right now, but I know I need to start figuring things out. Even if, for the moment, it’s just a friendship having to be rebuilt. Because up until this point, Gracie and I’s relationship has been extremely strained.
I need to talk to her, to start however I can to fix things. To get her to see that sobriety is everything, and that she doesn’t have to be scared to ask for help. Relapses happen, it’s okay, and I want her to know that. I need her to know that.
Chapter30
Gracie
Ithrow open the door to my parents’ house and traipse in, taking out my key from the lock before pushing it closed. It slams shut and alerts the teenage boys to my presence. They turn in unison to stare at me, brown eyes staring wide at me. They aren’t the same shade as mine, but they’re brown enough to show their Walker lineage. The brown eyes are from daddy’s side of the family. So is the red hair that adorns the triplet’s heads. The three of them, my father and brothers, all have the crowns of red hair.
I wave to my nephews but continue walking past them and towards the stairs to the second floor of the house. They turn back to their video game, and I eye them for a moment, hovering just at the bottom of the staircase. When their backs are turned, it’s hard to tell which triplet is which. It also reminds me that both of my sisters had a set of twins, and my brother had triplets. He just had to one-up both of them. The reminder is sordid and clenches at my heart. All three of my siblings started having kids early. Even though it took my brother and his wife a few years to finally conceive the triplets due to some complications, they still had them early enough. Here I am, twenty-three and without any kids. I was close, but that was lost because of the choices I had made.
I feel the emptiness all over again as I ascend the steps and am reminded of my loss. My brother’s two-year-old daughter squeals from inside the guest bedroom, the door ajar as I approach it. As I pass, I peek in and see both parents tending to their adopted child. After the triplets, my sister-in-law had an emergency hysterectomy, but that didn’t stop them from looking into having more kids.
I push forward again and go down the hall to my parents’ room at the far end. Their door is cracked a little bit, and I can hear the television from within speaking, gentle laughter emitting from the open door, but before I can reach it, my phone rings and draws me to a stop. I shove my hand into my pocket and draw it out, seeing Devon’s number for the fifth time. He’s been calling and texting insistently for the last hour.
Irritation flashes through me, and I hit ignore yet again. I’ve lost my nerve now, though, and instead, I back off from my parents’ room and go back down the steps. My nephews don’t take notice of me this time. Later, they’ll probably ask what I was doing here, and nobody will be able to answer. But the fact they know I arrived will have my parents calling, checking up on me. I leave without bugging my nephews or letting anyone else know I’m here. I take my purse off my shoulder and sit it down on the porch swing.
I feel more alone than ever before.
I know I probably shouldn’t have run out of Colton’s the way I did, but kissing him had freaked me out. Not because of the kiss itself. Not because he kissed me, and I kissed back. No, it was because of how I felt afterward. In a way, sparks did fly, and it scared the hell out of me. It still does. I’m more than confused now.
I leave the porch and my purse behind. I don’t look over my shoulder as I step onto the sidewalk and make my way down the block. I pass familiar houses, and my feet slapping against the cement reminds me of the old days. I used to walk this street day in and day out. Despite it being so familiar, nothing but a stranger greets me. I haven’t made this walk in so many years. The last time I did, I was running away from Devon, desperate to get my next fix and not let him see it.
I know I ruined everything good I had in life. I know I deserve people not to believe me, but I have been trying so damn hard, and it just isn’t fair. Donna’s a complete and utter fucking bitch, out to destroy anything and anyone in her way; yet, she has the world. I made one mistake and was pulled under, and now that I’m trying to keep fighting to keep my head up, no one comes when I scream.
The park is at the end of the two blocks from my house. Walking distance was a must when my parents moved into our home. The schools are all close by as well, another plus for them. They wanted everything within close proximity and got exactly that.
I sit down on one of the swings and tilt my head back as I push the swing back and forth with my legs. Trees dot the park, but not as thick as I remember when I was a kid. I think some have been cut down, or maybe I had just been so little, and they had seemed so many. It used to look like a forest to me, but now it looks like a garden of trees.
Laughter drifts over to me, and I skid to a stop, whipping my head around to see the group step into the park. The streetlights have popped on now and cast them into shadowy figures, but I recognize the stumbles as they stagger, their bodies barely able to keep them upright. I know the signs well. My heart picks up speed as I get up from the swing and start to make my way back out of the park. During the day, it’s a place for little kids to enjoy. Not a care in the world for them. At night is when the creatures appear. The drunks and druggies. Their minds only on the next high, the next drink. They don’t care for anyone or anything else except what they want.
I know from experience. I used to frequent this park when my mind was in a haze or a blur. I don’t exactly recall what I used to do, but the few times I woke up on the children’s equipment, most of the time butt-ass naked, told me that whatever it was probably wasn’t pretty. I don’t want to recall them. I don’t want the memories to pop back in and make me drown in them. I used to force myself to remember things, and in doing so, I landed myself in hot water from the pain that came with remembering.
“Hey, pretty thing,” a voice slurs, too close for comfort.
I turn to face him and take a hefty step back, wanting distance between us.
He shakes a bottle in front of me. The liquid content within sloshes against the sides, and I take in a whiff of the intoxicating scent. My stomach flips, and fingers curl into my palms as I take another step back, but the drunk steps forward in place of it, keeping the same distance between us.
“Want a drink, pretty thing?” he hisses and shakes the bottle again.
A little of the liquid spews from the top and splashes over his hand, intensifying the scent. I do. I really do want a drink, but I don’t say so. Instead, I take a step back. I know that if I don’t keep trying to get away, I’m going to cave. He takes a large step toward me, closing the gap between us, and jerks his hand. The booze splashes across my front, but I lurch backward, out of his reach as he tries to grab at me with his free hand. I spin on my heel and run, my eyes on the corner of the street that would lead me back to my childhood home.
My father jumps into my mind. Owen drifts across. Phantom promises of safety echo inside my head. Laughter rings behind me, drifting away as I push myself further from them. The ass is too drunk to come after me. I stumble to a stop only when I finally reach my parents' lawn and bend over, clutching my stomach as I gasp for breath, feeling like I want to vomit from running so far and so fast. My head spins, and I have to close my eyes, trying to grip myself together to keep from fainting. My shirt is sticky and wet.
“Gracie.” My father’s voice is sharp.
I whip my head up and straighten up, feeling the heat of the run on my cheeks. “Daddy—”
“Don’t,” he says flatly and holds his hand out, but his eyes aren’t on mine. They’re on my soaked shirt, and I know in my heart the scent that is wafting off me. “Take it.”
My eyes fall to the breathalyzer he’s holding out to me. “I’m not drunk. Some ass spilled his drink on me.” I know, though, even as the words fall from my lips, that he won’t believe me.
Nobody will. I’ve spoken these words more than three times in the form of lies. Now that it’s the truth, it’s hard to believe.
His eyes meet mine. Disappointment flashes through them, unrelenting, though. So, I step forward to him and see my mom standing behind him on the porch. She has her arms crossed over her chest, and Devon’s next to her, holding my purse. Both are staring down at me. I catch Devon’s eyes. In the dim of the porch light, only sadness glitters in them, but it’s enough to tell me; I’m alone this time.
I force my eyes to pull away from him and dip my head, letting the breathalyzer enter my mouth. I breathe into it and wait for the hundred minutes it takes to log the content. Or at least, that’s how long it feels. I don’t know why I’m on edge. I’m not drunk. I’m not high. I’m nothing, yet it feels like I should have something to be guilty for.