He winks. “You never forget the good ones.”
“Sam works with Eden, you know… at Broad Street Beans.”
“Really?”
He nods. “They work a lot of the same shifts.”
She must have watched me walk into the coffee shop and sent Eden in her place.
But why?
We had a good time that night. She knew the deal and was okay with one night of sex. Now, I need to find out why she’s avoiding me.
Chapter 6
Sam
Gripping the grocery bags, I reach into my pocket for the key to my father’s house. My fingers tremble as I flip through the ring, fumbling with each. Nerves rock through my body while I stare at the row house where I grew up in the Mayfair section of Philadelphia.
I hate this house.
And I hate what awaits me inside.
Every Saturday, I have to confront my father. He’s an embarrassment, a poor excuse of a man, and can barely take care of himself. I pay the bills on time. There’s only ever food in the refrigerator because of me. And he’s the reason I have to work three jobs.
My father makes enough money working for the gas company that I don’t qualify for grants. But he spends it on beer and cards—the two loves of his life. I received a partial scholarship for my grades, and it helps, but not enough to make my tuition more affordable.
As I push the front door open, my stomach lurches at the smell of cigarettes. The smoky scent fills my nostrils the further I make my way inside. I want to run away screaming. But I force myself to do my daughterly duty.
This is my obligation.
He’s my responsibility.
The once-white walls are now a yellowish brown, the carpets frayed and scorched in various places. My nostrils burn from the thick cloud of smoke in the air. I hate this fucking house.
“Wake up, Jim,” I yell at my father, who’s passed out drunk on the living room couch with a lit cigarette between his fingers. It’s burning at the ends, the ash so long it’s fallen onto the carpet. “Get. The. Fuck. Up.”
My anger surges through me, coursing through my veins like poison. He turns me into a person I don’t like. I turn into a raging monster every time he’s near. Seeing him unshaven, dirty, and in clothes with stains repulses me.
How is this man related to me?
How did I come from him?
When I was ten, the doctor diagnosed my mom with cancer. My dad fell apart after she died and abandoned me when I needed him most. His lack of parenting forced me to grow up faster. I lost both of my parents the day my mother died. Except this bastard is still alive, still breathing by some miracle.
I drop the groceries on the coffee table, the cans at the bottom of the bags waking my asshole father from a sound sleep. He blinks, his eyes closing for a few seconds before opening them again. I have the same denim blue eyes, but his are bloodshot and glassy. He rubs the sleep from them, rolling onto his side to prop himself up on the arm of the couch.
“Savannah?”
He slurs his words, my mother’s name slipping from his chapped lips.
“No, it’s me. Your daughter… Samantha.”
He blinks again, attempting to sit up straight. Slumping against the arm of the couch, he presses his palm to the side of his face to keep his head up. “Oh, Sam. I wasn’t expecting you.” He tries once more to get up from the couch and fails.
It’s pathetic.
He’s pathetic.
