Who's Your Daddy? (38 page)

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

“Yes, you are,” I said. “Come on. We’re going.”

“No, we’re not. I’m not going
anywhere
.”

It wasn’t the defiance that made my jaw clench. It was the way he slurred the words.

“It’s okay.” The girl shot him an apologetic look. “You’d better go.” The condescension in her voice and eyes made me roll my eyes, and Ryan set his jaw as she sidestepped me and walked away.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Fuck you.”

Forcing myself to stay calm, I leaned in close enough to make sure he heard me. “You have two choices, Ryan. Either leave with me now, or you can leave with me after I let the cops outside know there are minors in this club.”

He rolled his eyes, but his scowl twitched with just enough nervousness to let me know he wasn’t sure if I was bluffing. “Go ahead.”

“You really want the cops to come in here, turn the music off, put the lights on and make sure everyone in the room knows it was your dad who shut the party down? Mom’s waiting outside right now. All it would take is a text message.”

He glared at me. “You’re an asshole.”

“Something like that,” I said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Rolling his eyes again, he muttered something under his breath and took a step, wobbling slightly.

“You okay?” I asked.

He jerked himself out of my grasp and tried to take another step, but faltered again.

“How much have you had to drink?” I said.

He glared at me again and slurred, “Fuck you.” The smell of alcohol nearly made my eyes water.

“Time to get you home.”

“Dad, I’m—”

“Do
not
fucking argue with me,” I snarled in his face. He recoiled, eyes widening a little. “Now let’s
go
.”

He took a step and stumbled. Gritting my teeth, I put my arm around his shoulders and guided him toward the stairs. He resisted, muttered something that the music censored, but with his compromised balance, he had no choice but to follow me. He stumbled again, putting his other arm out for balance, and I stopped until he was steadier.

When he was more or less stable, I kept going. Without a word, he followed me down the stairs, struggling to stay on his feet. Two or three times, he tried to pull away from me, but each time he did, his balance faltered enough to make him grab on to me for support. I never thought I’d live to see the day I found a silver lining to my son being too drunk to stand on his own two feet.

“Wait.” He stopped abruptly. I was about to snarl another command for him to follow me and quit fucking around, but the way his eyes darted around the room and his brow furrowed spoke of a spark of clarity that wasn’t there before.

“What?” I asked.

“Kristy.” The sound of her name seemed to shake him into some semblance of lucidity. “Shit, where’s Kristy?”

Oh, fuck
. “She’s here with you?”

“She was.”

I let the music drown out a groan. I wasn’t about to let Ryan out of my sight to go looking for her, but I couldn’t leave Kristy here. There was also no way I was getting both of them back to the car on my own, so I slid my phone open and sent a quick text to Julia.

Found them. The Temple. Need a hand
.

“Tell me if you see her,” I said to Ryan. “For now, stay here.”

“But I gotta…” He gestured toward the crowd. “I gotta find Kristy.”

“I’ll find her. As soon as your mother gets here so she can keep an eye on you.” I looked around. “What’s Kristy wearing?” Of course I knew what she looked like, but I needed something to look for. A landmark, a frame of reference to set her apart from all the other women who were heavily made up and barely dressed.

Ryan didn’t answer. I put my hands on his shoulders, squeezing just hard enough to get his attention. When he looked at me, I said, “What is Kristy wearing?”

His eyes lost focus. Then he said, “She’s got a red, um…a…” He gestured at his shirt, then the back of his neck.

“What?” I said. “One of those, what are they, a halter top?”

“Yeah. That.”

I scanned the room. Red halter top. Red halter top. Red halter top.
Where are you, Kristy?

Julia emerged from the crowd. I nodded toward Ryan.

“Keep an eye on him, would you?”

“Will do.” She took Ryan’s arm. That’s when I noticed my son had lost some color, and the way he clenched his jaw was the unmistakable prelude to getting sick. Julia must have seen it too, because she gestured toward the door and said to me, “We’ll meet you outside.”

“Good idea.”

My ex-girlfriend and my son disappeared into the crowd, and I went off in search of Kristy and her red halter top.

I was afraid she might have gone to one of the other clubs. Or, worse, elsewhere. With someone. Anyone. Not that I wanted her having sex with my son, but the thought of her going off with some stranger gave me chills.

I glanced at my watch. It was nearly two, which meant they’d be closing the place down and kicking everyone out soon. Knowing she was here, every second I couldn’t find her scared the hell out of me, and panic chilled my blood as I retraced all my earlier steps, walking past the bars, the rooms, the stairs, anywhere she might have been.

Where are you, Kristy?

Please be here, honey, please be here.

She was. Thank God, she was.

But she wasn’t alone.

They were in the corner of one of the side rooms, taking up about half of a small loveseat. With my stomach turning and my teeth grinding, I crossed the room, working my way past the crowds of laughing, pot-scented drunks. Just before I reached them, I had to swallow hard to keep from getting violently ill—and downright violent—when I realized some guy’s hand was under her shirt.
Way
under her shirt. She might not have been my kid, and she might not have been terribly high on my list of favorite people, but she was still a kid.

Using every bit of restraint I had, I tapped the douche bag’s shoulder. He shrugged sharply, the universal gesture for “fuck off”, and his hand climbed a little higher. Kristy squirmed against him, getting even closer, and my restraint was nearly at the end of its fraying tether.

I grabbed his arm just hard enough to get his attention. He flew back, his face contorted with fury and his mouth open to say something, but before he could, I growled, “Do you have any idea how old she is?”

That got his attention. “Uh.” He looked at her, then at me. “She said she’s—”

“If you’re in this club legally,” I said, “then she’s at least five years too young for you.”

His eyes widened. His hand very quickly vacated her shirt, and he slid away from her on the couch. “I didn’t, I had no—”

“Now get the fuck away from her,” I said.

He got the fuck away from her. I sat beside her on the couch.

“Kristy?” I said. “Come on, hon. It’s time to get out of here.”

Her head lolled to one side, and when she looked at me, her expression was half recognition, half…something else. Jesus, she was in worse shape than Ryan. Her eyes were glazed, lips drawn into a dazed grin.

“Mr. Morris,” she slurred. She leaned toward me, pawing at my shirt with one hand.

I grasped her wrist and removed her hand from my shirt. “Kristy, can you walk?”

“Mmm, I don’t wanna walk.” She batted her eyes, an expression that was ridiculous to the sober father of her boyfriend, but would have been an invitation and then some to plenty of other men in this place. Definitely time to get her out of here.

I started to get up. “Let’s go.”

“No, let’s stay,” she said in a playful, drunken voice. She damn near threw herself at me, grabbing my shirt and lunging onto my lap. I took advantage of her being off balance, and, with an arm around her waist, I got us both to our feet. She wavered worse than my son had, and her grasp on my shirt was suddenly more for balance than an intoxicated attempt at something more amorous. Her knees tried to buckle a few times, but I kept her upright, and carefully started out of the club.

“Come on, hon,” I said. “I’m taking you home.”

She slumped against me. Between her high heels and wobbling knees, she stumbled over every step, so I kept an arm tightly around her waist. As we worked our way through the crowd, an icicle formed along my spine. How many times had this happened before and how far had it gone? And how far would things have gone with this guy if I hadn’t shown up? And what about Ryan with that other woman?

For that matter, what kind of place was this if an obviously grown man—uniformed or otherwise—could leave with a young, inebriated girl without even turning any heads? I couldn’t help tightening my arm around her, as much to keep her upright as to shield her from all these people. A few guys leered at her, but all it took was one “I dare you” look from me, and they turned their attention elsewhere.

When we made it outside, I looked around and quickly found Julia and Ryan.

My son was on a bench, head between his knees. A low groan made my blood turn cold.

“He all right?” I asked Julia.

“Think it’s catching up with him,” she said.

I carefully handed Kristy off to Julia and sat beside Ryan. I put a hand on his shoulder. “You all right?”

Another groan.

“You want me to go get the car?” she asked. “I’m parked a block or so away, and I don’t see either of them making it that far.”

I sighed and nodded. She deposited Kristy on the bench, and she slumped against me.

“They’re both going to feel like shit tomorrow,” she said.

“Yeah, they are.”
I already do
. As she started to go, I said, “Julia.”

She turned around.

“Do you mind if I take Ryan home tonight?”

A mix of confusion and defensiveness furrowed her brow and drew her lips tight. “Why?”

I glanced at him, then swallowed hard as I looked at her. “I think he and I need to have a talk.”

Julia opened her mouth to speak, and I thought she was about to argue, but then her shoulders dropped, and she nodded. “Think you can get through to him?”

“I can try.” I forced my voice to stay steady. “Please, Julia. I need to do this.”

She chewed her lip. Then, “I’ll take Kristy back to her folks’ place. Do you think she’ll be all right, or should I take her to the ER?”

I looked at Kristy. She was definitely drunk and probably high on a few other things, but there were no red flags that she was in any immediate danger. Still…

To Julia, I said, “It might not hurt to take her in. Ryan’s fine, but she’s…I think she’s on something else. Better to play it safe.”

“I’ll call her parents on the way.”

I nodded but said nothing.

Our eyes met. This was probably the closest we’d come to cooperating as parents in a long time. Maybe there was hope for us yet.

Without another word, she turned and walked away. I alternately looked at my son and his girlfriend. As much as I wanted to be furious, I couldn’t find the energy. Part of me wanted to tell him he was grounded until the sun burned out, but truth be told, I had never been so relieved in my entire life. There would be time to hash it out tomorrow. At least I knew where he was, which meant I could stop imagining twisted metal and ominous phone calls.

Abruptly and clumsily, Ryan stood. I reached for him, but he took a few wavering steps away from me.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“What the fuck do you care?” he slurred.

A car cruised past, and I had visions of him stumbling off the curb and into the street. I eased Kristy back against the bench, and when I was sure she wasn’t going to fall or anything, I stood.

“Ryan, just sit, would you?”

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“Ryan, you’re drunk,” I said. “We’ll talk about this when you’re sober.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“How much did you have to drink tonight?”

He glared at me with bloodshot eyes. “Not enough.”

I reached for his arm. “Ryan—”

He jerked away from me, grabbing a parking meter for balance. “I don’t see what the fucking problem is,” he said. “Not like you don’t go do half the shit you tell me not to do.”

That hit me in the gut, but I tried not to show it. “Really? I go out and get shitfaced and fuck around with strange women?”

“Must’ve done something,” he slurred. “Or else Carmen’s the Virgin fucking Mary.”

I gritted my teeth. “Would you listen to me?”

“No,” he snapped. “You just came to get me because you and Mom can’t stand the idea of me breaking your precious curfews, you fucking hypocrites.”

“No, I can’t stand the idea of you drinking yourself senseless in a place like that. It’s not safe.”

He laughed, the uproarious howl of a drunk mixed with the sarcasm of an angry teenager. “Oh, right, this coming from you.”

“You’re sixteen years old, Ryan.” I gestured back down the street in the direction of the Temple. “You have no business in that kind of club.”