Dad started getting calls from the school. I was missing too much of my education and eventually, he stopped bringing me along. He’d leave me at home, and at first, it was terrifying. I was scared of the dark and had a few abandonment issues no thanks to my mother. As the years went by, I got used to it, and now, it’s our normal.

Dad leaves and I take care of myself. We’re happy and it works for us both. He stays out of my hair and I stay out of his, while also loving each other fiercely. It’s an effed up relationship, but it’s our own personal brand of effed up, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

These days, I guess it’s fair to say it’s more of a surprise when he’s home rather than waking up to find him gone.

I get into the kitchen and my eyes instantly start scanning for the note that, no doubt, will be hiding somewhere around this mess that I’m going to have to clean up after school. You know, if I ever make it to school. Actually, considering the whole clothes situation this morning, I might have to do a few loads of washing as well.

I find the note and let out a deep sigh as I take in the two fifty dollar notes sitting on top. Damn. Two fifties. That means he’ll be gone a while.

I pocket the money, knowing I’ll be slipping it into my ‘get the hell out of Haven Falls’ stash that I keep hidden under the floorboards in my room and come to terms with that fact that I’ll probably be eating noodles for the next few nights.

I snatch up the note and scan over it as I dig through the cupboard for something quick and easy to eat so I can save myself a little time.

Squish,

I booked a big job.

Won’t be back until Friday, possibly Saturday.

Buy yourself something to eat and stay safe.

Lock the doors and call me if you need me.

Love you.

Dad.

I stuff the note into my back pocket along with the money before letting out yet another sigh. When dad says he’ll be home Friday or Saturday, what he means is, he’ll be home by Sunday night, at best. He’s an optimist. The glass is always half full where mine is usually half empty. Hell, it’s usually so empty, it’s bone dry.

Dad never takes into account the fact that something always happens when he’s out on the road. No matter what, something will happen. It might be engine trouble or a flat tire. Not to mention, there’s always a cop who thinks the worst of truckers, pulling them over and inspecting their loads like assholes. I mean, yeah, sometimes it might be necessary and occasionally they find someone smuggling something, but for the most part, these guys are just trying to earn themselves a dollar for their family and get from point A to point B in peace.

I can’t help but look at the time. Shit. I really have to go.

I stuff a bagel in my mouth and balance it between my teeth with the intention to eat it on the way. Grabbing my bag, I sling it over my shoulder and pat down my pockets to check I have the keys and my phone before pinching my jacket off the back of the couch and hauling ass out the door.

The drizzle continues and I shelter my head as best I can from the rain, but to be honest, it’s really not that bad and I don’t have far to go until I’m reaching dad’s old pick up.

I hastily unlock the door before tossing my bag across to the passenger’s side and clambering in after it. The door is slammed shut and not a moment later, I’m jamming the key into the ignition and giving it a firm twist.

The old pick up rumbles for a moment before promptly dying. I groan and try again knowing that sometimes it just needs an extra kick in the morning. “Come on,” I whine as it fails on me again. Why does this shit always happen when you’re running late?

Third times a charm, right? I turn the key once again with a cringe as a sinking feeling settles itself in the pit of my stomach. Naturally, the old pick up tells me to fuck off and go find some other way to school.

I slam my hands down on the steering wheel and fall back into the driver’s seat as the frustration gets the best of me. “Damn it,” I growl before slamming my hands down again.

I open the door and hurry around to the hood of the old pick up, hating just how big this thing is. It’s not like I need a step ladder or anything, but a couple more inches of height would help in situations like this.

Tags: Sheridan Anne Haven Falls Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net