There’s Wild, Then There’s You (The Wild Ones #3)(32)
Author: M. Leighton

He nearly falls twice. Once while attempting to bend and speak to someone we pass, and a second time at the curb. I feel more sympathy for Violet with every minute that passes.

When I have him tucked into Violet’s passenger seat, I climb into the backseat. She’s already inside. I can see her watching me through the rearview mirror, her expression still visibly unsettled. She says nothing on the way to her father’s house, so I don’t either. He fell asleep within a minute or two of getting on the road. I figure she’s trying not to wake him.

She turns onto a quiet street lined with small, square brick houses and drives all the way to the end. At the bend of the cul-de-sac, she pulls into a driveway and cuts the engine. Without a word, I get out and open the passenger door, ready to help her dad out.

“Wait until I can get the door open, then bring him,” she instructs. I nod, watching her scramble up the cracked sidewalk to the plain white front door.

She digs something out of a bush (a spare key, I presume) before she opens the door, cuts on a light, and then hurries back down the walk to the car. “Dad, we’re home,” she says, jostling his shoulder to stir him. He doesn’t even break stride in his snoring. “Dad,” she whispers more sharply. More snoring. “Dad, wake up. You need to come inside.” Violet shakes his arm again, a little harder this time, but he just snores that much louder. Finally she turns to me, the pink spots on her cheeks visible even in the low light from the streetlamp that sits at the curb two houses down. “Guess he’ll be sleeping out here tonight.” Her smile says she’s not happy about it, but that it’s nothing new. And I hate it for her. I hate that this is what her life has been filled with for who knows how long now.

“Do you mind?” I ask as I nod toward him.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself. He’ll be fine out here. It’s not supposed to be very cold tonight.”

“I can get him inside. Just back up.” Her mouth opens and she starts to argue. I put my finger over them. “Not a word,” I tell her. “Let me help you.”

I see both the gratitude and the humiliation in her eyes. But she gives in, taking a few steps back and gesturing for me to have at it.

I grab her father’s legs and turn him in the seat, setting his feet out of the car and onto the ground. I take one of his arms and pull his upper body forward, enough so that I can get my shoulder into the meat of his belly. I pull on him and lean back to stand at the same time, hauling him up in a modified fireman’s carry.

I hear his grunt when the pressure hits his stomach. I just stay still until he can adjust. When I hear his breathing return to that deep, even cadence it had before, I walk slowly up the walk, carrying him through the front door and into the small living room. I turn to get further direction from Violet. She’s right on my heels, scrambling to shut the door and then get ahead of me. She leads me down a short hall to another small room. A bedroom this time, one dominated by a queen-sized bed and a dresser that sits against one wall under a window. She pulls back the covers and pats the mattress. I bend, gently depositing her father a few inches from the edge. I hold on to his hand as I move away so that he doesn’t flop back before Violet can get his shoes off.

Once they’re tossed onto the floor, I ease him down on his back and then pick up his legs and put them up on the bed, straight out from his body while Violet adjusts his pillow then tugs the covers up over him.

Quietly, we make our way out of the room. I hear her sigh as soon as she shuts the door behind us. She doesn’t look at me, but keeps her eyes facing forward as she leads me back out into the living room.

Finally, nervously, she turns and asks, “Do you want something to drink?”

“Violet,” I begin.

She hikes a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the kitchen. “There’s beer or soda. Or water, if you’d rather have that.”

“Violet,” I begin again.

“Or if you’re hungry, I’m sure there are still some snacks in there. Or I could fix you something.”

“Violet!” I say more sternly, taking hold of her shoulders. She stops and stares up at me with her wide, innocent eyes.

“What?”

“Stop. I don’t need anything. I don’t need you to take care of me. Why don’t you sit down and let me get you something to drink, okay?”

“It’s no trouble. I can—”

“Violet, sit. And that’s not a request,” I say as gently as I can.

Her eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t look mad. Just surprised.

“You don’t know where anything is,” she argues.

“I’ll find it. Now sit,” I repeat, pointing toward the sagging old sofa.

I make my way through the house into the galley-style kitchen. I find glasses and the fridge easily enough, of course. There’s a case of Sprite in the bottom of the pantry, so I take a can and crack it open. I open the freezer for ice and find a bottle of vodka stuffed in on its side by the frozen dinners. I get some ice for each glass, add a splash of vodka, and fill the rest with Sprite. I figure Violet could use a little calming, whether she knows it or not.

I carry the glasses into the living room, cutting off the kitchen light with my elbow. Violet is sitting on the couch, her bent arm on the back of the cushion, her head resting in her palm. When she looks up at me, I notice that she seems tired. More so than she had at the meeting.

I sit beside her, handing her a drink. “This has just enough of a kick to relax you.”

She sniffs the glass and then frowns. “Thanks, but I don’t need anything.”

“Maybe not, but trust me, you look like you could use it.”

“Are you saying I look bad?”

I give her a derisive smirk. “You could never look bad. I just mean you look tired. This will help you relax and sleep.”

“But I don’t want anything to help me relax.”

“You don’t have to forego every little thing in life, on the off chance you could get addicted, Violet. For most people, it doesn’t work that way. One drink, one time isn’t going to kill you.”

“I know that. It’s the circumstances. If I just wanted one that would be different. I don’t want to need one. Becoming dependent on it is the problem.”

“So you steer clear of everything that you feel like you need?”

“Of course not. I mean, there are necessities in life. But there’s a danger in wanting something too much or liking it so much you feel like you need it.”