The Return

Chapter Ten

Scarlett

There was a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting on the table in front of him. He had his head in his hand and was mumbling something unintelligible when Scarlett walked in. The kitchen was lit up by an overhead light. He hadn't bothered to turn on any of the wall lights. It cast a dull glow on his slouched figure.

Her stomach dipped. It was 3:15 A.M., and Scarlett Leighton spent the night staring at her ceiling. She couldn't sleep. It wasn't easy playing a mental game of spin the wheel with disbelief, shock, anger, and grief as her only options.

The only time she managed to dose off, she had a nightmare; officers raiding their home, her father in cuffs, and Jenna-Sue a sobbing mess.

It was only a matter of time...

She wanted to turn around and bolt for her bedroom, lock the door and pretend she didn't walk in on her father drinking his problems away.

That never worked. If he wanted to forget, pills were the ideal route...

She tried to take a few steps, but her legs refused to cooperate. He stopped her.

"You don't have to run from me like I'm some kind of monster, I'm not." Ruben Leighton growled straightening.

Nausea tightened her throat.

Scarlett pointed a finger over her shoulder. "I needed a cup of water," She brought a hand to her parched throat. "It's pretty late, I think I should be heading back to bed."

"You don't have to wait for me to vanish to do that," He grumbled. Scarlett had seen her father angry. The time she wrecked his Toyota Highlander in the school's parking lot when she was sixteen, or the time she came home with an F in chemistry in Junior year. "You know what," He reached for the bottle and filled the empty glass. "Take a seat," He waved her over. He didn't look angry. If anything, the shadows on his face were flecks of disappointment, of regret.

On hesitant legs, Scarlett walked up to the kitchen table.

He slid the glass over to her.

"Oh, I don't..."

"I'm not dumb, Scar, I know you do worse than bourbon."

How?

"I was your age once..." He nodded toward the archway leading to the living room. "And I looked in the closet. I know you had a party."

Shit.

She took the glass in her hands. Bourbon on the rocks. She finished it in a single swallow.

"Look, I don't mind you having fun with your friends. I want you to know, those people you call friends will hurt you one day."

She didn't doubt it.

In the end, he was right. The people she tried to fit in with didn't care about changing their dynamic to welcome her. She was fighting a one-sided battle trying to be a part of Lincoln Lane's iconic throuple.

Her stomach bottomed out. She clutched the glass between her fingers feeling the cold from the ice bleed out. Vivid details of her nightmare rushed forward and she couldn't help glaring at her father, resentment a dull flame in her eyes.

"I made a mistake," He wasn't looking at her. Rather staring at a stain on the floor. It looked like red wine. She missed a spot. "A stupid fucking mistake," He shook his head. "It never should have happened in the first place."

"It did," She whispered. She couldn't trust her own voice and the last thing she needed was to wake Jenna-Sue. Her skin was too hot and too tight. "Do you regret it?"

He turned to her. His eyebrows drew closer. "How can you ask me something like that?"

"Answer the question."

"Of course, I regret it." He bristled. "If I could turn back time, I would look over those damn scans ten times."

She slid the glass back to him.

His movements were animated. In a thoughtless action, he bottomed the bottle and filled her glass.

"Why didn't you?" Her fingers thumped against the table.

He hesitated. "I don't know."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"It's late, Scar, go to bed," He made a move to get up from the table.

She slammed her fist against the stained wood. "You ruined this family, Dad, the least you can do is give me a fitting explanation." She said through gritted teeth.

"Some guys at the hospital were giving me shit about losing my edge... they said the hospital was going to drop me if I couldn't keep up to my reputation."

She glanced out the kitchen window. It was still dark out. She couldn't help the wave of anguish that crashed through her. "So, you endangered the lives of two patients and caused the death of one of them?"

His eyes begged for something she couldn't give him.

She wanted him to assure her that it was the hospital, that they were placing the blame on a scapegoat. That he wasn't capable of causing the death of another human being.

"You showed them, huh?" She pushed off her chair and reached for the glass. She chugged it.

"I'm sorry,"

She shook her head. "It's a little too late for that."