Starting With You

9. You don't have to hide from me. Not ever.

Teddy

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" My DAD'S arm windmills in all direction from his stool at the bar top, trying to dodge my attempts to escort him out of The Drinking Hole, his bar of choice.

When I got the call from Shirley alerting me of my dad's impending drunkenness, I was half-tempted to leave him there for once. Let the authorities deal with him when he's arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct.

Every time I rescue him, I swear to myself it'll be the last time. But it never is. I always go when I'm called.

My sister, Sarah, left for college after she graduated high school and never came back. She escaped our father's behavior, leaving the responsibility solely on my shoulders. She wrote him out of her life years ago and she regularly tells me I should, too. But I can't bring myself to do it. Maybe I'm enabling him. Maybe I'm making his life easier than it should be. But he's my dad. How can I just leave him? Even when I really, really want to. Even when I know I probably should.

"Dad," I whisper-shout in an attempt to avoid any further attention on us. I dodge his flailing arm and duck to the other side of him, where I quickly wrap my arm around his waist and tug him off the stool. I somehow manage to catch him before he topples over on me, and I begin walking us toward the exit. He attempts to drag his feet, but he's already unsteady from the amount of alcohol he consumed and he stumbles into a high top table.

"Hey, watch it!" a guy yells as the people at the table hurry to wipe up the spilled beer.

"Sorry, sorry," I apologize, my face heated, both from embarrassment and the effort it's taking me to keep my father on his feet. "Come on, Dad. Let's go."

When I try to lead him in the direction of the door again, he tugs out of my grasp and lashes out at me, a rogue arm pushing me hard. I lose my balance and fall onto my butt on the dirty bar floor.

The fight whooshes out of me and I consider giving up, but just then a pair of hands lifts under my armpits from behind and sets me back on my feet. I know who it is without having to look. I should have known he'd show up. He usually does when it gets this bad.

Shirley must have called him when she saw me struggling. I swear there's a chart she goes by. Drunkenness Level 1-4, leave Larry be. Drunkenness Level 5-8, issue warnings, stop serving him alcohol and call Teddy. Drunkenness Level 9-10, bring in the big guns.

Tonight was a big guns kind of night.

I take a moment to lean back against Jensen, feeling the heat coming off his hard body behind me. His hands slide free of my armpits and settle at my waist as he drops his mouth to my ear. "Teddy." His voice is a rough whisper. "Let's get Larry home, ok?"

I nod a few times, blinking the sudden tears away. I will myself not to cry. I refuse to cry.

When I stay rooted in place, Jensen moves around me and hauls my dad off the floor, where he must have fallen right along with me. He manhandles my dad with ease, making my attempts look pathetic, and I follow the two men out of the bar.

The night is cool, the breeze nipping at me. In my haste to leave my house, I forgot to grab a coat. It isn't warm enough to be outside with bare arms yet. I wrap my arms around my body like I'm consoling myself with a hug, as we walk to Jensen's waiting truck. He'd pulled up right outside the door, not bothering to park in the lot, leaving his truck running.

Although my dad lives within walking distance, Jensen stuffs my dad into the backseat of his extended cab truck. After closing the door, he turns to me, where I'm again rooted in place.

"Hey," he says softly, taking a step toward me. Without taking his eyes off me, he opens the passenger side door with one hand and reaches for me with the other. Then he helps me into the truck and buckles me in. He closes the door, rounds the hood of the truck, and climbs into the driver's seat.