Page 26 of The Single Dad Dilemma

“You called for help.”

I pull open my passenger-side door and lift her into the seat, then pull the seat belt over her and click it in. Then I round the truck and climb into the driver’s seat.

The engine comes to life as I look over at Darcy. She’s slumped over, her right cheek pressed against the window. It’s probably cold and feels good. I remember that exact scenario from my drinking days.

“Darcy, can you tell me where you live?”

“Ummmm. My house is white and—” She hiccups. “And it’s got blue shutters.”

“Do you know the address?”

Her head lobs back, mouth gaped open a little, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Darcy?” I put my hand on her shoulder, gently nudging, but I get no response.

Great. Where is her friend? Wasn’t she supposed to be out with Lyric? Not that I could ask her about it. If I can’t get her address out of her, I doubt I can pry anything else out. For now, I’ll have to hope Lyric is both safe and also not the kind of friend who would abandon Darcy at a bar when she’s in a vulnerable state.

I pop the truck into reverse and back out, realization hitting me. There’s no other option than to bring her back to my house.

As I pull out onto the road, I make a mental note to ask for her address later. For emergencies—hopefully not like this—in the future.

She’s slumped over in her seat, hair all down in her face. I’m tempted to reach over and tuck it back behind her ear, but I keep my hand to myself. She’s wearing sexy ripped jeans with a short black top that exposes the most teasing little strip of skin. She’s put some soft curls into her hair, and I imagine at the beginning of the night, she felt cute and excited.

Hopefully she had some fun before it went to shit. I still don’t know why she asked for help or who that guy was, but he seemed to know her at least on some level. He said he’d text her, after all. Yeah, I didn’t love that part. Okay, I hated that part. Actually, I loathed the whole fucking interaction and the fact that he exists. But whatever.

I pull into my driveway and cut the truck, putting my hand on her shoulder again to see if she will come to. Nothing, again. I get out and shut my door behind me as quietly as I can. Then I pull her door open and gently balance her against my shoulder as I unclip her seat belt.

I scoop my arm under her bottom, deciding it will be easier to carry her in if she’s over my shoulder. It’s almost a fireman’s carry, but not quite. Her center of gravity is a little lower, like she’s perched on my arm instead. But it does the trick. I’m careful not to grab anywhere I shouldn’t. Any halfway decent dude can help a woman without groping her if they try hard enough. I’ve just found that there are too many who don’t try at all.

Without hesitation, I carry her back to my bed and deposit her onto the mattress. Her body curls up into a fetal position almost immediately. The only thing I remove are her shoes, then I flip the blanket over her and tuck it around her.

Her hair is still a mess all over her face. My fingers twitch at my side. I breathe out, reaching before I can change my mind. This internal turmoil is getting on my nerves.

My index finger grazes the supple skin of her cheek. It’s flushed pink and a little splotchy from the alcohol. But she’s not any less beautiful. We’ve all been where she is right now. No judgment here.

I tuck the loose strands back out of her face one at a time, until the curtain of hair is gone and I can see her whole face. I pull her glasses off and place them onto the bedside table. Thinking ahead, I retrieve a glass of water and a bottle of acetaminophen from my bathroom and place them next to her glasses. And for good measure, I put a small trash can right next to the bed, too. Vomiting is synonymous with nights like this. I wouldn’t judge her.

I pause at the door, taking one last look at her as I breathe a little easier, the panic I first felt while reading her text dissipating. She’s safe. I retreat to the living room and pick up my mess of pizza boxes and beer bottles. Luckily for me, my couch is pretty comfortable. This won’t be the first time I’ve slept on it. Of course, most of the time I fall asleep here it’s just because Lou isn’t here and I’m lazy as fuck. I fall asleep watching trash TV late into the night.

There are several questions I have for Darcy in the morning. But for now, I change into a clean pair of shorts, pull the blanket from the back of the couch, and settle onto my bed for the night.

I would tell you that I don’t spend the minutes before falling asleep replaying the night. I would tell you that I don’t rub my thumb and index finger together, still feeling the strands of her hair between them. I would tell you that I’m not wishing I was lying back there in that bed beside her.

But I won’t. Because I’d be lying. And that’s some scary shit.

THIRTEEN

DARCY

The first few moments you realize you’re awake can often be filled with a sort of glum “damn, I’m awake” disorientation. But that’s not true of the mornings after you drank way too fucking much. No. Instead, those first few moments are like you died and woke up in a hell of your own making.

My stomach retches as I belch fire. Whiskey-flavored fire. Which is enough to make me want to puke on its own. Couple it with the fact that I don’t feel in control of my own body, and I’m ready to start praying to gods I don’t believe in to end it all.

A familiar scent wafts, hitting my senses and causing a whole different wave of panic. This smells like Ridge. Am I dreaming? I definitely feel awake, even if I can’t open my eyes just yet.

I pull the blanket up farther, covering the bottom half of my face. This blanket… feels… like it’s not mine. Oh, no. Okay, think. What happened last night? Lyric left… I know I said I was staying. A flash of Tyler at the bar hits me. Tyler showed up. We were talking and he got me another drink and then… son of a bitch. That bastard overserved me. Oh my god, I’m not at his place, am I?

Slowly, I reach out and pat the bed next to me to see if there’s another person. But there’s no one. A sigh of maximum relief escapes me.At least I didn’t do that dumb shit.

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