Page 10

I shiver as the cold permeates through my thin tee. It’s long sleeves, but it’s also an oversized, slouchy, off-the-shoulder top meant for lounging—not creeping around cold back alleys to see what mess my father has gotten himself into this time.

The irony of the situation doesn’t fail to strike me. I’m sneaking out to follow my dad and find out what shady stuff he’s up to rather than the other way around. Isn’t it the dad who’s supposed to worry about where his daughter is sneaking out to late at night?

I stay just far enough back that he can’t see or hear me. I know it’s dangerous for me to be following him. My dad is a terrible drunk and gambling addict. He’s always meeting up with shady characters in alleys to pay back money and conduct other unsavory deals.

He hardly manages to work a week at a time. He usually has to take off a day or two each week to recuperate from hangovers. Every time he gets sober for a day, he promises me that he’s done with the drinking. Done with the gambling. That’s he’s going to be the dad I deserve.

He really tries. His heart is in the right place.

He just can’t do it, though.

Ever since my mom died when I was eight years old, he’s been a shell of the man he once was, drowning himself in drink and then gambling in desperation to try to come up with enough money to make ends meet.

It’s a sad, endless cycle.

I suppose some daughters would hate their dads for being that way.

But I can’t because I know he’s still heartbroken over Mom. By the time they found out what was wrong with her, the cancer had all but eaten away at her body. She only survived for six months, leaving my dad a young widow and me motherless.

My dad turned to drinking to dull the pain. Me? I was just a kid who tried to take care of herself and be as little of a bother to her dad as possible so as not to cause him more pain. When I got older, I started doing the best I could to take care of him, keeping the house clean, cooking dinner from whatever I could scrape up around the house, doing the laundry.

I got a job as soon as someone would give me one so I could help put food on the table. I don’t make much waiting tables, but sometimes the tips are good enough that I have enough to pay the light bill when Dad comes up short.

Even though I’m eighteen and could move out and get my own place now, I choose to stay with Dad to help him out. Who would take care of him if I wasn’t there? Besides, he’s the only parent I’ve got left.

Despite everything, I love my dad.

He’s not a mean drunk. He never yells at me or throws stuff. Instead, he drowns his sorrows in his beer, or when he’s really looking to get wasted, vodka. I realize he’s drinking to try to forget.

It doesn’t work, though. He always ends up sobbing into his beer, looking at pictures of Mom. Ten years later, and he’s still mourning her like the day she died. They had a love that was special.

I remember how happy we used to be when Mom was alive. The walks we used to take in the park, the trips to the beach, movies on the couch. We were the perfect little family. I was a child borne of love.

And I knew my father loved me. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me with such regret and how he apologized to me over and over again for not being the type of dad I deserve. I always tell him it’s okay. That I understand and that I love him too.

But I also see the pain in his eyes when he tells me I look just like my mother. The woman he still can’t get over losing. I have her same chestnut hair and green eyes.

He tells me I’m beautiful just like her.

No wonder he drinks all the time. I’m a walking reminder of everything he lost.

I know he’d be angry with me if he knew I was following him, but he held me just a little too tight tonight when he gave me a hug and told me that he’d always love me no matter what. An ominous tingle had gone up my spine at his words, and something just hadn’t felt right.

So here I am, peeking around the corner and watching as my dad stands there wringing his hands in obvious nervousness.

“You’re late,” a deep voice speaks from the shadows, and my heart jumps in my throat as my father jumps and then turns toward the shadows where the voice is coming from.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Davenport, sir.” My father shuffles from foot to foot.

“Well?” the voice prompts.

“What?” my Dad asks, his eyes squinting into the darkness as if he’s trying to spot the voice.

“Do you have the money?” The voice is obviously irritated now.

My heart plummets. Why? Why does my dad keep borrowing money from these back alley loan sharks? I wonder how many hundreds he’ll be set back this time. It’s crazy. He’ll borrow a small amount and have to pay double—sometimes triple—back in interest. Sometimes he actually has good luck with his gambling and can afford to do it and still have some left over. More often than not, though, he ends up broker than before he ever borrowed.

“Uh, well, see, uh, Davenport,” my dad stutters, and my heart goes out to him, “I don’t have it right this moment, but I’ll?—“

Dad is cut off when the voice growls, “Do you know what happens to people who don’t pay me back on time, Hackman?”

“Uh, yes, well,” Dad runs a hand along the back of his neck, “I’m aware of the policy. I just need a little bit more time to, uh, to come up with that kind of cash.”

“I don’t do extensions,” the hard voice says. “You know that, Hackman.”

Dad drops his head, and his shoulders slump in defeat.

I hear a gun being cocked, and my heart skips a beat. No! Not Dad! He’s the only parent I’ve got left!

I act on instinct and jump out from behind the corner where I’ve been hiding and run in front of my father, screaming, “No! Don’t shoot! I’ll pay it! Whatever it is, I’ll pay it!”

“Lily!” I see the shock on my father’s face and ignore it, my chest heaving, my heart beating a thousand miles a minute in fear.

Dad grabs my arm. “Get out of here now!” he orders me, his voice frightened for me.

“You,” the voice quips. “Who are you?” I look toward where my father has been looking, where the voice is coming from. I can barely make out a form, much less a face.

“His daughter,” I answer as bravely as I can, raising my chin. “Whatever he owes you, I’ll pay it. How much is it?”

Another deep rumble from the corner as the shadow speaks, and my jaw drops at the sum. How in the world did my dad accrue that much debt? It’s not hundreds—it’s thousands . “It’ll take me years to pay that off,” I don’t mean to speak my thought out loud, but I do.

“I’m not running a charity,” the voice spats. “Payment is due now—in cash or blood. Seeing as how he doesn’t have cash…”

I try to think quickly before blurting, “Take me instead!”

“Lily!” my father protests with an anguished cry.

“You would take his place?” the voice asks slowly, almost curiously.

“Yes,” I nod, though I can’t keep myself from trembling. “As—as collateral,” I add, thinking quickly. “You can keep me as collateral until he pays it off.”

“Lily, no!” my father is adamant. “I won’t let you do this!”

“This will give you time,” I speak to my father lowly where only he can hear. “You can do it. I know you can. It’s the only way, Dad.”

I sound more confident than I feel. Dad will come through if it’s me, his daughter, on the line. Won’t he?

“Done,” the voice rumbles.

A form materializes from the shadows, and I have to bend my head back to look up at him as he steps into the dim light of the alley.

He’s huge and hulking, the muscles bunching underneath his shirt. His face is hard like he’s made of granite, and a jagged scar runs down the right side of his face from his hairline clean down to his jaw, twisting his lips and puckering some of his skin. The other side of his face is smooth, flawless, and arguably handsome. He’s like an angel and demon all in one, and I feel my heart pounding in my chest.

His hand comes out to wrap around my upper arm, and he hauls me to him, my dad still protesting, begging him to let me go.

He snarls at my father like a beast, “You’ll get her back when you’ve paid your debt. Until then, she’s mine.”

Then, he’s dragging me away.

I hazard one last glance back at my dad, his tormented face the last thing I see before everything goes black.