I swipe her phone off the table and hit redial. A generic voicemail picks up. I disconnect the call and hit redial again. And again, the stress of the phone against my ear building to an unbearable pressure. If he’s sleeping, if his ass is still home and he did forget, if he tries to give me one fucking excuse, I’m tearing into him. I press redial. Six attempts, seven, on eight I’m ready to give up, until . . .

“Hello? Yeah?” Two coughs, then the sound of bottles clinking together comes through the phone. “Shit,” he mumbles, groaning. “My fucking head. Christ, what time . . . who is this?”

My breathing grows thick, scratching against the back of my throat.

His fucking head. Bottles. This asshole is hung over.

I turn toward the window, keeping my voice low, but unable to confine the rage to my tongue. It coats my words like fresh tar sticking to pavement.

“You fucking piece of shit. You’re home? Do you have any idea how crushed your daughter is right now? She’s fucking waiting for you, asshole, and you’re just now waking up? Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?”

He moans. More bottles clank together. “Fuck, I . . .” Sighing, a mattress creaks through the phone before his bullshit excuse. “Look, I wanted to come. I was going to. I’m just . . . I can’t be nobody’s fuckin’ dad, you know? It ain’t me.”

I angle more toward the window when two patrons walk into the diner. My mouth presses against the phone. “No, I don’t fucking know. I don’t know how you could act excited to meet your own daughter, get her fucking hopes up, and then tear them down like this. If you didn’t want to be ‘nobody’s fuckin’ dad,’ you shouldn’t have arranged to meet her, motherfucker. She said you were excited and shit. What was that, huh? Was that all a lie?”

“Man,” he mumbles. “Every time I talked to her, I was gettin’ high. I don’t remember half the shit I said. It was mainly her talkin’ anyway.”

I see red.

“You know what? It’s fucking better this way. I’m glad you’re not here. You don’t deserve to know her. You never will. Don’t ever call her, don’t reach out to her, even if you’re fucking sober, you hear me? I’ll never let you anywhere near her. And if I ever fucking see you face-to-face, I’m going to cause you more pain then you’ve ever felt. You understand?”

He chuckles sardonically. “Threatening a druggie isn’t going to do you much good. I’m slowly killing myself anyway.”

“Not soon enough, asshole.”

“Tell her I’m sorry.”

“Go to Hell.”

Click.

I stuff the phone into my pocket and push from the booth, heading toward the bathrooms. My fist connects firmly with the women’s room door, rattling it.

“Beth?”

I step inside. I don’t give a shit if there’s other women in here. That’s my last concern.

Beth turns her head as she stands in front of the sink, her fingers wiping underneath her reddened eyes. “Reed?” Her small voice echoes in the tightly spaced room. She takes a cautious step forward, taking the hand I’m holding out to her.

“Let’s go home.”

I leave a fifty on the table for Doris. She never got to bring us anything besides drinks, and I wasn’t going to screw her out of a tip.

The clouds shift quickly overhead, darkening the sky as we walk across the lot, hand in hand. Thunder claps in the distance, the wind whips around us, blowing Beth’s shirt up to reveal her flat stomach. The first few drops of rain pelt against my forearm as I open the passenger door.

“Storm’s coming. A bad one, by the looks of the sky. Hurry, get in.”

“My phone?” she asks, suddenly realizing she doesn’t have it.

“It’s here.” I touch the pocket of my jeans.

She settles against the seat, allowing me to buckle her in. Her eyes are distant, losing focus on the dashboard as her body sags lifelessly, melting into the leather. If I could see her soul right now, it would look battered. Broken. On the exterior, she’s still Beth, minus the spark. No smile, no surfaced excitement. Internally, she’s a stranger to me. This isn’t my Beth.

I need to get her home.

By the time I reach the driver’s side door, the rain is steady, wetting my shirt, my hair, beading on my lashes. I wipe my hand over my face and start the truck. The gravel kicks up away from my tires. I get us onto a main road, avoiding the back ones because I know they’ll flood first if the rain doesn’t stop.

It doesn’t.

It comes down harder, thicker, like sheets of fog blanketing my windshield. My visibility deteriorates with each passing minute. Lightening slices across the darkened sky, illuminating the road ahead. A car nearly clips my front end when the driver hydroplanes.

Beth gasps next to me. Her knuckles white as she grips the harness.

I take the nearest exit, pulling into the parking lot of a Holiday Inn. I turn to Beth after parking under the awning attached to the main entrance.

“Are you okay with us getting a room for the night? I don’t think we should drive in this.”

She nods, keeping her eyes on the dashboard.

I pay quickly for a room. Beth doesn’t react when I climb back into the truck. Her head is still tilted back against the seat, her eyes still distant. Detached. After parking along the side of the building in front of our room, she allows me to help her down, burrowing against my side to shield herself from the rain.

We get inside the room.

I bolt the lock behind me, securing the door, wiping the rain off my arms as Beth moves toward the bed.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” I tell her, kicking my shoes off by the small table along the wall. My keys slide across the surface of the wood when I toss them.

Beth sits on the edge of the bed, her fingers tangling together in her lap, her head lowered.

I take her phone out of my pocket and place it on the quilted comforter. The bathroom door creaks as I pull it shut.

Cool water fills my hands from the tap. I splash it on my face, reaching back to squeeze the base of my neck. I stare at my reflection in the large, oval mirror above the sink. Dark smudges rim my eyes. My complexion washed out, paler than usual.

I need sleep.

After relieving myself and washing my hands, I open the door and find Beth standing next to the bed. Her hand clutching her phone. Her eyes narrowed, focused on the screen.

Fuck. Did that asshole call her?

I take a tentative step closer and she pins me with her stare. My feet stick to the carpet.

“I was texting my aunt to tell her I wouldn’t be home tonight, and I saw the last call I made, but I didn’t make it.” She looks at the phone again, then back at me. “Did you speak to my dad?”

Shit. Shit shit shit. Didn’t want her to know about that.

“Yeah.” My eyes stray from her face. I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans, suddenly nervous as hell. “I did. I called him while you were in the restroom. A lot. I woke him up.”

“He was asleep?”

“He was hung over, possibly high.” My gaze meets hers. I move, tangling my hand in her damp hair. “Beth.”

“What did you say to him?” A tear rolls down her cheek. She lowers the phone to her side, staring up at me.