No Second Chances Read Online Free PDF Page B

drinking made him miss things, and he wasn’t as sharp, mentally, as he used to be. He got frustrated, and then he got angry. He wasn’t a mean drunk, by any means, and had never hit me, though he’d shouted plenty. I knew he was angry at himself for not being able to control his addiction—especially now I was home and in the condition I was in. He wanted to be able to do more for me, but the drink was stronger than he was.
    “I just went to the drugstore to pick up my meds. It’s no big deal.”
    “Okay, good. Sit down and I’ll bring you some breakfast. Got to keep your strength up.”
    I did as he suggested, though it was closer to lunch than breakfast now, and slid into a chair at the dining table.
    He placed a cup of coffee in front of me, and I knew without tasting it that the beverage was full of sugar. I’d told him multiple times I didn’t take sugar in my coffee anymore—I hadn’t since shortly after I’d left home—but he kept forgetting and I didn’t have the heart to remind him again. A bacon sandwich—thick white bread, dripping with butter, and half a pigs’ worth of bacon—slid onto the table beside it.
    I forced a smile. “Thanks, Dad. Looks great.”
    I knew I would barely eat half of the food, and would have to dispose of the uneaten part without him noticing so I didn’t hurt his feelings. I had to watch what I ate now I wasn’t so active. I’d been told I would be fitted for a blade once my stump had settled down, but that wouldn’t be for another couple of months or so yet, and that was only if the funding for the blade came through. I was desperate to get back to running—I’d run six miles almost daily for most of my adult life—and the loss of this ability to do what I loved, and allowed me to de-stress, was as hard as the loss of the limb itself.
    “So …” I started, unsure whether or not I should broach the subject, but finding myself unable not to talk about it. “I bumped into Cole Devonport while I was out.”
    His head whipped around to face me, his thick, bushy eyebrows lifting. “Cole, as in the teenage boyfriend?”
    “Well, he isn’t a teenager anymore.”
    He scowled. “No, obviously not. You know what I meant.”
    “Yeah, sorry.” I twisted my coffee cup in my hands and then lifted it slightly to take a small sip, trying not to grimace at the cloying sweetness. “He asked how I was.”
    “So he should,” he said, gruffly. “That boy was ultimately the cause of … this.” He gestured to my leg.
    I sat up straighter. “Cole was not responsible for me losing my leg, Dad. I haven’t even seen or heard from the guy in over ten years.”
    “He was the reason you ran off and joined the Army.”
    “He didn’t drive a bomb-laden car into my post in Iraq.” I could feel my tone getting heated, my body tensed. Why did I still feel the need to defend Cole to my father, even after all this time? “And he wasn’t the only reason I left town.”
    His head lowered, his shoulders dropping. Immediately, I felt bad, a wave of guilt swamping over me, and not only because I’d brought up my leaving. Hearing that Cole had spent the last ten years in prison twisted my insides. I couldn’t begin to imagine what his life had been like.
    “I don’t want to have this conversation, Gabi,” my dad said, standing from the table and picking up his untouched sandwich.
    “What about your food?” I replied, keeping my tone softer.
    “I lost my appetite.” He threw the sandwich into the trash and then walked from the room.
    “Where are you going, Dad?” I called after him, frustrated once more. That seemed to be what my life revolved around now—just dealing with one frustration after the other.
    “I’m going to take a shower,” he called back.
    I didn’t reply, but my thoughts went to the bottle of vodka I knew he had hidden in the top of the toilet cistern. I figured his shower might take a while.
    I gave a sigh and turned my attention back to my