Amidst the explosive grunge scene in 1993 Seattle, Riley Brooks finds herself broken after an abusive relationship with her first love comes to an end. Struggling to put the pieces back together, she has a chance encounter with the friendly, but eni...
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Nothing says "good morning" like waking up to the sight of your father looming over you with blood-shot eyes and a twitchy mustache. His words were muffled, lost in my groggy haze, the stale scent of morning breath and cigarettes wafting towards me in puffs of putrid air. The threads of unconsciousness unraveled from me, peeling back like clouds clearing from a dreary Seattle sky. I wasn't ready for it.
Sleep was my sole respite from this fucking nightmare my life had become, but it was elusive and short-lived at best. It seemed like even if I managed a few hours, there was only a small chance it would be restful. It depended on whether my subconscious decided to torment me with my past.
Ironically, the good dreams with Ryan hurt worse than the bad. There were so many nights I woke up raw, my eyes swollen, old wounds ripped wide open. If only things had been different. If only he were different....
"Riley," my father repeated with a more stern intonation, snapping me to attention.
I pawed at my heavy eyelids, hearing my lips grumble nonsense as I propped myself up on one elbow.
"I need your help," he said, raising his eyebrows in a rare display of vulnerability. I squinted at him through the blur of exhaustion. This was not something my father said to me. We seemed to have the mutual understanding that I was not reliable or even competent.
"Yeah?" I croaked, pulling myself up into a sitting position and stretching out my arms and legs.
"I've been on the phone with your mother."
A surge of panic pulsed through my veins.
He held up a hand. "Don't worry. She's fine. She just made me wake up behind schedule. Remember when I made that joke about you being my little assistant?" He chuckled wheezily. "Well, turns out I wasn't kidding. Here's your first task."
I clutched at the thin sheets with clammy hands. My father's and I's definition of "fine" were very different. "What do you need?"
He nodded toward the end table, where a stack of folders were fanned out on top. "I need you to give the boys their itineraries while I hurry and pack up. I'm sure they're on the bus at this point, but you know their room numbers just in case."
My stomach heaved, sending hot, acrid bile scorching up my throat.
No, no, no, no, no....
His brows furrowed. "What? I think it would be good for you to finally introduce yourself. I know you're, err.... shy, but you've gotta come out of your shell at some point. You're almost 22. Speaking of, you'll have to tell me what you want to do for your birthday later."
I gulped hard, staring up at him. "But dad..."
He threw up his hands. "But what, Riley? But what? You've had excuse after excuse after excuse." He jabbed a finger at me. "Damn it, I've already had to deal with your mother today. Don't you start in on me too."
