Inside of You (Jessa & Paxton #2) (29 page)

Chapter 2 - Danny

I stare at Maddie, at her sweet face that always looks about three years younger when she’s asleep. It’s because sleep is the only time she
 doesn't worry. Right now she looks like the three-year-old that clung happily to the center of her world – her mother. But in reality, she’s a six-year-old who knows something’s missing and carries a permanent expression on her face as if she’s pondering what that might be. I lean down and kiss her soft hair before turning off her light.

I cross the hall to Jason’s room where he is wide awake, reading a book about Big Sur. “Shut it down,” I tell him.

“But I’m almost done,” he protests. I narrow my eyes at him and he concedes, too easily if you ask me. “Okay, fine,” he says, closing the book and putting it on his bedside table. 

I should give him more rope. It bothers me that he never fights for what he wants but I guess that’s better than fighting for everything, even the things you don’t really want. I was a pain in my parent’s asses at thirteen. I guess I should just be grateful my siblings are so easy-going. I
 wouldn't know what to do with them if they weren't. I’m no good at this parenting gig, probably because I’m not a parent. But they've only got one of those left and he’s not worth a shit.

“Set your alarm for seven. I’ll bring you to the shop with me in the morning.”
 

“Awesome,” he says like it’s the best news he’s gotten all week and, sadly, it probably is. I wait until he’s got his alarm set then I shut off his light and harden myself to go deal with my father.

I walk down the stairs, looking over the banister into the open living space that is still filled with pictures of us when we were a family. The giant stone fireplace, that reaches from the floor to the top of the trussed ceiling, displays the last family photo we took. The five of us collide into a gigantic family embrace in front of our barn, turned mini-mansion. That picture represents the last good moment of the Donovan family; after the separation but before my mom’s death.

She’s only been gone for six months. Seems like a lifetime ago; everything has changed in those six months. Yet I still feel like she could walk out of the kitchen at any moment. When I think about it I almost feel sorry for the sack of shit who is passed out on the sofa. But then I remember what he did to her and how he is failing her children now. Why can’t he get his shit together?

I walk over to him and sling his arm over my shoulder before pulling him off the couch. Each time I do this he seems a little lighter than the time before and I wonder how long it will be before he withers away completely. When I was Jason’s age I thought my dad was a giant. His body was broad and strong from the construction business he built from the ground up.  Only last year did I surpass him in height and only by a small margin, which makes him at least six foot one. You wouldn't know it looking at him slumped over, passed out in my arm. I drag his sorry ass down the long hallway and into the guest bedroom where I throw him into bed, admittedly too hard, then pull the comforter over his fully-dressed body. 

Back in the living room I switch off the TV and grab the pile of empty beer bottles, taking them to the kitchen and throwing them in the recycling bin.
  As I walk out the back door I feel the familiar pinch of guilt because I’m not upstairs with Jason and Maddie. But what the hell?  I’m nineteen, I’m not even supposed to be in that house. I should be living with the guys, enjoying my last summer before heading off to college. But that’s not an option anymore. I’m never getting out of this small, southern Minnesota town. Not now.

It’s funny how bad I want out considering I spent the first sixteen years of my life planning my whole future here, with Emily.
Em had always been my whole life. I started telling my mom I was going to marry her when I was five years old. That last summer though, she changed. Everything changed.

She was always beautiful to me, not just to me but to everyone, but her beauty was approachable. She never cared about her hair or clothes, she had a wicked sense of humor and a reckless side, she was just like one of the guys; she was perfect.  None of that changed, but that first warm day of spring when we decided to brave the still-freezing waters of the Mississippi that ran through both of our back yards, she took off her jeans and t-shirt and I was instantly thinking of her in all the wrong ways. The girl had grown a smoking hot body over the past year. She still had her athletic build: long, thin legs; sculpted arms; tight stomach. But now her ass was full and firm, there was a slight curve to her hips and she no longer fit into her bikini top from the previous summer- not even close.

I always loved the girl, I loved everything about her, but now I wanted her-bad. I spent the entire summer trying to keep my hands off her because I was still good then. There was no reason to be anything but good. I took to fantasizing about the things I would do to her if she wasn’t my best friend.

Not only did I fantasize about her body but I fantasized about our future. Like a little girl, I thought about marrying her and building us a house on the river between her grandparents’ and my parents’. I dreamt about what kind of mother she would be to our kids. I was a hundred different kinds of pathetic.

I still am, I think, as I look at the bottle of Jack nestled in my hand. My sorry life is such a routine now that I can make it back to my cabin, open the cabinet, take out my Jack and have it one quarter gone without even realizing it. I hate it when I do this – start thinking about Emily. It’s my worst habit. More so, even, than the liquor and the girls. And, although I realize this, I can’t shake my last good memory of us. The one and only time I kissed her.

The tension had been growing between us all summer. My body felt like it was flaming if I slung and arm around her or wrapped her fingers up in mine. One night I finally said
screw the friendship
and kissed her, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I had kissed a few girls before, but this was no ordinary kiss. I can still feel her fat bottom lip in mine, I can taste the sweetness of her skin, I can feel her breath in my mouth and the way her tongue wrapped so perfectly around mine. It was a kiss that I felt through every damn fiber of my body. That kiss is better than anything I’ve ever felt. I’m still chasing that feeling, even if I don’t want to admit it to myself. I’ve kissed countless girls since then, I’ve slept with just as many, but nothing’s ever come close to that kiss.

The very next day was Apple Fest; the end of summer, the beginning of fall. It was the day her high, stupid-ass mother announced to the entire town that my dad was the father of her child. It was the day that my entire life fell apart. It was the day Emily became my half, fucking,
sister. I stand and start pacing the room, attempting to get that memory out of my head. But I can’t shake the look on Emily’s face as our eyes locked. The shock, the humiliation, the sadness.

They left the next day- Emily and Charlie. I never talked to her again. They started a storm that destroyed my family and then high-tailed it the hell out of here. For a few days, before I fully grasped what Charlie had done to us, I was more devastated that Emily was gone than I was by the fact that my dad had effectively tore my family apart.

My mom left with Maddie and Jason and moved back to her parent’s house in the city. I stayed behind. I told my mom I needed to get back to school and look after Dad, but the truth was that I wanted to be here when Emily got back. By the time I came to my senses, I realized my dad really did need me. The clean-cut guy I had always known as my father was turning into a raging alcoholic.

Every once in a while I find myself wondering where Emily is and if she’s okay, but then I remember that she doesn’t give a shit. She knew what happened and I never heard from her again. The fact that she exists is the reason that my mom is dead and my dad is a worthless piece of shit. Damn it, I really want to
hate that girl.

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