Rivals?

Chapter 32

Daniel's POV

As I pull into the driveway, my heart sinks to see my dad sitting on the ground, talking to himself. I sigh and put my truck in park. Before taking my keys out, I sigh and push down the pain that want to escape so badly.

"Son." My dad says as I get out of my truck.

"Hey," I say, shoving my hands in my side pockets. 

"You left me. Again. No warning." He says, picking his beer bottle off the ground and taking a long sip.

"You were passed out when I got home. So, I left." I breath.

"Fuck you." He mumbles.

"What?" 

"I said fuck you," he turns to look at me. He chuckles. "Someone was a smartass to the wrong guy."

I limp over a few steps and bend down carefully to sit by him. I've always had to deal with his smart comments and aggravating words. 

He hands me a cigarette and a lighter. I light it and take a long puff before looking back at him. 

"You going to leave again?" He asks, looking back at me. 

"You going to stop drinking?" I ask, blowing the smoke away from him as he turns towards me more. 

"Funny." He says, ticking his tongue. 

I wasn't joking. 

"So what really happened to your face? Why you got a limp?" 

"Smartass to the wrong person," I say, putting out my cigarette. I stand up and head back for my truck, annoyed with him already.

I usually push those problems away. I don't speak of my father much. He doesn't really care much for me since Mom died. 

"You leaving me already?" He asks, looking tired. 

"I'm not leaving just you, I'm leaving my problems. Bye, Dad." I wave sarcastically and hop in my truck. I pull out and sigh as I ride down to the nearest hotel. 

I got a room with my card. I head to my new temporary home and plop down on the white hotel bed. 

I want to rip my damn hair out. I still have to find enough money for Lane. I sit up. I don't have much left on my card. At all. Dad isn't going to give me five-hundred damn dollars. Mikayla was supposed to be helping me by now.

No, stop. This isn't her shit. It's mine.

I can't drown out my worries and thoughts no matter what I do. My mind flickers back to Mikayla in the hospital room. My heart aches. 

"Damnit," I say, pacing back and forth. I need to drink or smoke or something to drown these stupid thoughts out. I want to be high. I want to get away, just for a couple of hours. However, I can't. I'm broke and I have too much on my plate. 

I have to go back to Dad. I need fucking money. I grab my coat, head back to my truck, and take off quickly. Once I get to the house, he's still sitting there, however, more beer bottles surround him. He stares at the ground and I know he won't notice if I sneak inside and steal some cash. 

I open the door and step inside the warm, surprisingly clean house. I sigh and walk over to my dad's room and I rummage through every drawer. I only end up getting three-hundred and fifty-five dollars. It's enough for now, so I shove it in my pockets and walk towards the front door. 

My heart drops as I see my dad standing like a beast in the doorway. 

"The hell you doing, Son?" He asks, looking pained. 

"Thought I'd come home for a refresher," I smirk. 

Dad gets mad. He walks over to me, slams me against the wall, and pins me there, his pale arm pinning my neck.

"Damnit." I struggle to breathe.

"What the hell are you actually here for?" 

"Drugs." I chuckle but quickly realize he's not in the mood for amusement as he tightens his grip.

"Give me whatever you stole. Now." He says, his eyes are so painful to look at. 

"No," I say, kicking him in the groin with my knee. The sudden movement hurts my bad leg, but I stand there and watch my dad stumble back in pain. 

He pushes me back on the wall again and punches me in the gut where I bruise has already formed. I wince hard and shove him off of me with one hand, the other one around my stomach. 

He charges at me but I quickly move over and kick him down. 

He tries to hit me again, so I kick him in the stomach. He bends over in pain and coughs continuously. I wince.

I just beat my own dad.

My eyes twitch and I limp out of the house with all the money still in my pockets. 

I driveway in guilt. I text Lane saying I got another portion of the money and quickly place my phone down as I drive. 

I picture my dad laying on the ground helpless and then I picture his drunk body passed out when I came home a couple of nights ago.

Then suddenly, I don't feel so bad anymore.