Page 18 of Off-Limits
“Get your shit. We’re going out.”
Chapter Five
DOTTIE
We sit at a tapas bar just out of town, laughing and sipping sake as the chef chops the food and flings it at us. I narrowly miss egg in my hair and manage to land a piece in my mouth as well.
We fall into a fit of laughter when he grins at us and moves onto the next patrons. When our laughter dies down, we lean back in our seats and sit silently for a moment.
I see Arrie looking over to the corner of the restaurant with glassy eyes. There sits Adam with another female. He looks anything but interested in her, and when I see him watching Arrie, my feet move on their own accord.
“Dottie, wait!”
I ignore her and stalk over. He glances up at me from his chair, a raised dark eyebrow with his hands folded over his muscular chest, his tattoos peeking out the top of his dress shirt. He’s not scared of me, but he better think twice if he’s going to pull this shit. And that’s when I see it, the hint of a smirk.
“Dottie.”
“Don’t youDottieme, you piece of shit.”
The small smirk falls from his face, and I know Arrie is behind me. There is so much longing and pain in his grey eyes, it’s palpable. The air is suffocating, and the way the brunette’s eyes volley between us, she knows what I know.
There is something here. Tension, pain—love.
She shakes her head, stands up, and throws some cash on the table.
“I did not sign up for this. And just so you know blondie, we didn’t fuck. Adam, go home to your woman before you lose her.”
With that, she grabs her bag and walks out the restaurant. I watch her leave before eyeing Adam with a raised brow. His eyes meet mine, an apology lingering there, but I shake my head.
“You heard her. Take your woman home before I do something drastic and kick your fucking ass for hurting her.”
I turn around and kiss her on the cheek. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A tear falls, but she nods.
I throw a glare over my shoulder at Adam, and then I haul ass the fuck out of there.
Glancing down at my phone, I see it’s only seven pm. I decide to bite the bullet and rip the band-aid off. Calling an Uber, I give them the directions to the one house I hoped I’d never see again.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing outside my parents’ house. It was never a home. I can still hear the screaming, the fighting, still see my parents pulling each other’s hair until my father’s fist connected with my mother’s face, breaking her nose.
Blood everywhere, and when they took her to the hospital the next day, she told them she was helping dad puta door on the hinges and she lost her footing and it fell on her face.
She took that walking into a door excuse to a whole new level.
Disgust churns my stomach at how much she protected him. She lost everyone for him, but his family disowned him for her, too. So, I guess they’re even. Shaking my head, I fix my overalls and walk up the six steps that lead to the weathered weatherboard house.
I reach the security screen they had installed to stop the cops from breaking in every time they were raided, and glance at the fishtank next to it. My palms sweat as I lift my fist and knock.
“Hold the fuck on, I’m coming.” Comes my father’s slurred voice.
I close my eyes, hoping the prick behind my eyes stays exactly that.
The door opens with force, and my father catches himself before he topples over and loses his balance. He squints through slitted hazel eyes, his weathered face sprinkled with grey hair, and the scar on his lip from being keyed.
Emotions threatened to tear me asunder, the few memories of him actually being a father to me resurface, and I see the broken man within, the man who is desperately trying to hold onto this façade that he’s ok, when deep down he is the scared little boy his father left behind when he died when he was eleven.
“Dottie?” he slurs, a tear sliding down his face, and I curse the damn little girl inside of me who reaches out for him, the girl who wanted her father to see her, toloveher.
