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So dinner was a success, the men relaxed and, as soon as beers and cigarettes got involved, everyone calmed down. Conversation flowed and everyone was relaxed, apart from Brad who didn’t say one word during dinner, with only an occasional shared smile at whatever the boys were laughing at.

Layla had somehow convinced all of us to watch a football game. Something about having an agreement with Dad. Anyway, that’s how all of us ended up in the lounge around the television. Dad and Cyrus, as well as Tyson, spent what they called the first quarter groaning while Eve and I questioned Layla on every rule and who was who.

I really wished I didn’t have this habit but I did; I always knew where Brad was when he was nearby, so right now I knew he was standing directly behind the couch.

Layla was trying to light up another cigarette. It turned out Dad’s team was actually playing tonight and it just so happened that Cyrus and Dad went for the same team, which made for a lot of noise when they got behind or ahead.

They went from cursing at the television and saying how crap the coach was to guessing the next kick and then celebrating.

All of a sudden, Tyson was leaning between Layla and I who were on the floor in front of him. He was handing Layla a cigarette which was lit. She rolled her eyes and gave up trying to light hers and took the one he was offering.

Layla didn’t know it but that was my brother making a move.

I noticed that my brother pulled her between his legs, trapping her in. It wasn’t obvious but it was obvious enough for me. I picked up my empty soda glass and got up. From what I could tell, it was coming to an end and it was tie or something, so I knew everyone’s attention was on the game. Hell, even Eve’s attention was on the game now.

I walked into the kitchen and went to the medication drawer. I had gone over a week with no pain and now the pain was getting to the point of being unbearable.

“Is it too soon?”

I froze then slowly turned around, my eyes landing on Dad. He was keeping a fair amount of distance between himself and me. In fact, a lot of distance. He was in the opening of the door to the kitchen and the kitchen island was between us.

Was it too soon?

To be honest I didn’t know how I was ever going to speak to him again. Not because of what he’d done but because of what I’d made him do. I’d forced that reaction out of him. How could I look him in the eyes knowing what I’d have done? Guilt had been eating at me all week. All Dad did was love me and I was the one to use his love for me against him.

I looked up, meeting his eyes. I saw the nerves and I saw the slight panic. It was the type of panic that covered his eyes when he was in over his head. Never really happened much—Dad was always hands-on with us kids. Especially me, because I was the troubled one. I was the one who was positive a monster lived under my bed and in my closet.

I was the one who had carried on needing Dad to check under the bed and in the closet. I was the one that had him up nearly every night and I didn’t want Mum because I was positive Dad was the only one able to scare them off. I fell asleep in his arms at least six out of seven nights a week.

And come morning when I woke up, he would still be there even though I was sure sleeping in a six-year-old’s bed wasn’t the most comfortable way to spend a night. He never complained. And I made it worse by not letting him get me a bigger bed, because the more room I had the less safe I felt.

Yep, I think out of all us kids, I was the one testing Dad’s patience. Guess it has always been this way.

“I’ll go.” Dad started to back out of the room, accepting my silence as a yes, it was too soon. Finally, he turned around and started to walk away.

I didn’t want that. I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t need more space. I didn’t need more time. He always gave me strength, he always was reassuring me that I’d be okay, that everything would be okay.

“Dad...” One word came out and I was slightly surprised because the tears were falling fast at the thought of him leaving. Suddenly I really needed my dad. But I thought I had missed my chance tonight. My words had barely been above a whisper and clearly it wasn’t loud enough.

I was surprised when I saw him freeze.

Had he heard me?

Then again, did I want him to see me this upset? I turned just as he turned back around. It was better he didn’t see me this upset. I held a closed fist to my chest, clenching the pills which I thought would give me some pain relief. But the pain I was feeling couldn’t be numbed by medication.

“Hannah, are you okay?”

I opened my eyes; he had come back. Did I turn back and face him? Could I do it? Just when I was sure I couldn’t do it, I did; I turned around and was straight into my dad’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I spoke into his chest; a feeling of safety filled me as his arms wrapped around me. I couldn’t form another sentence.

I had buried my face into his chest and was sobbing. I don’t know how long we stood there. It was long enough for me to go from silently shaking and crying to my tears slowly drying. Finally, when it seemed like I didn’t have another tear in me, I took my head off his chest.

Then I realized something was missing. I looked up at him. “Where is your vest?” I couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t been in it. Nope. Mum rarely was allowed to wash it.

“Doesn’t matter.” He brushed off my comment while unclenching my fist. He frowned, seeing the pills. “Come on, let’s get you something that will actually take the edge off.”

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