Page 126 of Off-Limits
I was right,it wasn’t going to be that easy.
After the wake at the adjoined dining area of the church, Lewis continued getting absolutely fucking blotto, hence why I am driving him and Dottie back to his place while Arrie sits beside me.
I fucking hate this house.
Putting all of my disagreements to the back of my damn mind, I drive in silence, listening to Dottie as she tries to reason with her dad, with a clenched jaw that I know I will be feeling for days to come.
When we pull up at the front of the house, I release a heavy sigh, I hear Arrie do the same beside me. Opening the truck door, I walk around and open it for Lewis, knowing I will have to help his sorry ass out and into his house because Dottie won’t be able to do it herself.
Lewis tumbles out of the truck when I open the door, and I only marginally manage to grab him before he fucking hitsthe ground. Groaning with the impact, Lewis slurs something I can’t decipher, and I grumble in return.
“Why couldn’t you keep it together for one fucking day, Lewis? Your wife is dead, and your daughter is mourning her damn mother.”
“Fuck−fuck you, Woods, you−you are the last one toooo bloody talk. If God could see you now.”
“Don’t push your luck, Lewis, I am barely holding on for your daughter and mine, asshole.”
He mumbles something else under his breath, but I pay no notice to it because this prick doesn’t deserve my energy. Staggering through the door, the scent of marijuana and stale alcohol assaults my senses. Screwing up my nose, I walk through the house on muscle memory, finding the backroom where he and Mani always sat.
Dumping him on the wicker lounge, I step back and wipe my hands on my pants. The girls file in behind me, and I don’t even have to look at Dottie to know she’s exhausted.
“How in the fuck am I going to afford this place?” Lewis slurs, before continuing on his rant. “Dottie, you−you need to help me. I need some money.”
I clench down on my jaw, my hackles rising at the audacity of this man and the lack of shame he possesses. I open my mouth, but a warm hand snakes around my wrist, calming me.
I don’t need to look at the person holding onto me to know who it is.
“Dad, we can talk about this tomorrow. I have to head back to the hotel, but I’ll be back in the morning.”
Lewis grumbles something incoherent, his eyes fluttering open and closed.
“Be a good girl and get your pops his blood pressure pills and pain meds.”
She sighs beside me, releases my hand and walks offtoward the bedroom. Arrie and I lock eyes, and I can tell she is struggling to keep her mouth closed, just as I am.
At least five minutes pass and I start to wonder where Dottie is, but when I hear the bedroom door slam, followed by loud, angry footsteps, I swivel around to see her stalking in with a furious look on her face, and paper scrunched in her left hand.
She’s laser focused on her inebriated father, that I don’t think she even sees me or Arrie in this moment. As soon as she reaches him, she kicks his foot, jolting him and he snorts awake, his eyes trying to focus on his daughter.
“What in the actual fuck is this, dad?”
Something tells me shit is about to get real.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
DOTTIE
Iam absolutely fucking livid.
How fucking dare he do this to me, and to mum, and think he was going to fly under the radar. Did she know? Who the hell cares. This shit is ending tonight, whether I’m ready for it or not.
No one can say I didn’t try, but it fucking hurts just the same.
I read the paperwork over and over, trying to decipher if what I was reading was the truth, or if I was misunderstanding the contents. Besides a fatty liver and high blood pressure, my dad is fucking fine.
I don’t know why it surprises me that he lied to me, but somehow it hurts more than ever, especially when I continue siphoning through the endless paper in my mum’s drawer. I’m not sure why I opened this one, but I felt compelled to. Maybe she was sending me a sign, telling me not to continue falling for his bullshit.
Shuffling through the other paperwork I find more lies,going as far as mum being a carer for him for his “terminal illness” which his doctor signed off on.
