After grabbing a couple things from the basement, I headed upstairs for a beer to take to João’s place. I sure as f*****g hell needed it after today. I could still feel the sting of Imani’s slap and see the anger and hurt written all across her pretty face.
When I saw Mom and Dad sitting at the kitchen table, I cursed to myself and debated on leaving the house and getting alcohol on the go. One of the bars down in the slums would serve me something—they always did, didn’t care that I had recently turned eighteen.
Mom’s phone buzzed on the counter, and I balled my hands into fists, waiting in the doorway because I knew what was coming. It always came—always. I’d be concerned if Dad didn’t make a comment because that would mean he had drunk himself into an early grave.
alwaysDad lifted hi
