Page 115 of Sweet Caroline
I don’t move, my attention jumping between Caroline, herfather’s hateful smirk, and the crystal tumbler still held in his grip.
He swirls the whiskey again and I hate myself for wanting it so much. But I fucking do.
“Miles,” Caroline says again, digging her fingertips into my ribs to get my attention.
I finally snap out of it, but shame instantly cuts trenches into my guts. For being tempted. For being an addict in the first place. For letting this asshole bait me, manipulate me, and treat me like trash. Still, however fucked up her family is, the thought of taking her away from them to deal with my bullshit is a bridge too far. “Uh, no, I don’t wanna be the reason you?—”
“No,” she says, cutting me off, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’mnotmaking you go through this again.” When she clasps my hand tight, I let her lead me out of the room, down a long hallway, and into the massive foyer. My coat is shoved into my arms and the front door opens to a blast of icy wind. Darkness cloaks us as we cross the driveway to Caroline’s car and I welcome the jarring bite of cold, the spatter of rain on my cheeks. Anything to put some distance, some new sensation, between me and what just happened. Whatalmosthappened.
As I slump into the passenger seat, I try not to cry. Or rage. Or scream. It wouldn’t change a damn thing if I did, anyway.
I can’t fight this. Can’t tell Pete off, can’t keep the woman I love. None of it. Not with my livelihood at stake.
Losing my job would be exactly the kind of stressor that tiny voice in my head would love to exploit. He only wants one drink, and I’m terrified that, unemployed and unable to pay the bills, he’d get what he wants.
Because, of course, it’d never be just one.
Caroline takes angry swipes at her wet cheeks, then guns it out of the driveway, throwing me back into my seat.
Jesus, this little electric car cango.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Slow down.” Eyes wide, I brace my forearm against the door and my throat tightens as the memories flash through my mind.
Dark. Rain. The pair of police officers on our front porch.
“Slow the fuck down, Caroline!”
As if snapping out of it, she eases off the accelerator and the car slows to a less-frenetic speed. “Oh my God, I shouldn’t have?—”
“You fucking scared me.” Heart pounding, I try to reason my way back to calm, clenching my fists to stop my hands from shaking.
Speed hadn’t been a factor, the investigators had told us.
But still.
“Sorry! I’m— I just wanted to get as far away as I can from—” With a pinched frown and tears in her eyes, she wrenches her attention back to the road. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. We’re okay,” I say, though we both know it’s not and we’re not.
Long seconds pass before she speaks again. “Dad was way out of line.”
I don’t argue.
“He’s been difficult plenty of times before,” she adds. “Coercive. Controlling even. But I’ve never seen him be outrightcruellike that. Maybe he didn’t know about you being in recovery. I didn’t tell him.”
“No,” I say, my voice low. “He knew what he was doing.”
I’d seen it in his eyes; it was no accident. Plus, he admitted he’d looked into my past the night of the fundraiser. Offering me a drink had been a blatant power play.
She sags against the headrest. “I should never have brought you here.”
“I would’ve come anyway.”
Confusion shadows her face. “You can’t tell me you wanted to be around these people. My Dad. Fletcher. All the?—”
“No.” I shake my head, cutting her off. “Fuck those assholes. I wanted to be aroundyou.”
“Miles…” My name on her lips sounds tired, and she grips tighter to the steering wheel.
