Wait Until Dawn by Bailey Bradford (chrysanthemum read aloud txt) 📗

Withdrawal wasn’t pretty or clean at all. “Oh, God,” Rich whimpered, feeling the last of his ego wither away.

“Everyone needs help sometimes, son,” his father said in a voice filled with understanding. “But yeah, I think you can get your own drawers off this time. Probably you can even get in the shower, but you should sit before you fall once you’re in.” He turned and left but didn’t shut the door. Rich didn’t have the energy to waste on it, either. He tugged his boxers down then carefully got in the shower, easing himself to sit on the now warmed fiberglass.

It wasn’t until he finished scrubbing the stench from his body that it dawned on him his father never had told him where he was being sent off to.

Chapter Three

Rich stared at the bags piled in the trunk of his sleek little Miata. The car used to be his pride and joy—the sunny yellow color would lift his darkest mood instantly. But that was before. Since shortly after he’d returned to Houston, Rich hadn’t wanted to even look at the car. He didn’t want to be happy, something he hadn’t understood until that very moment. Well, I’m for damn sure getting that wish if I can’t get out of this. Going through with this trip will leave me as far from happy as possible.

Rich pivoted on his heel and almost plowed into his father. He glared up at the man, then quickly adjusted his attitude before he got another ass chewing. Be calm, reasonable…

“I don’t want to go back to McKinton!” Rich mentally slapped himself upside the head. Sure, sounding like a seven year old throwing a tantrum was going to prove to his father how stable he was. He glanced at the dead grass under his feet and felt a certain sense of satisfaction that he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered. Petty, and dumb to boot, considering he was the one who’d killed the lawn he used to be so proud of. Rich sighed and forced himself to look at his father. “How could you think sending me back to the place that destroyed my life”—destroyed me—“is a good thing? How’s it supposed to help?”

“Son,” the older Montoya began, then stopped and shook his head. He traced the path of the scar along Rich’s face, and as much as Rich wanted to pull away, he didn’t. Couldn’t, not when his dad looked so sad, and older, as if the days he’d spent here had aged him a decade.

“It wasn’t the place that did this,” his father finally said, “or this.” He tapped Rich’s right hand. “Or any of these.” Rich felt a soft brush of fingers from his collarbone to his thigh. “That wasn’t a place, and it wasn’t your friends. A man did this, and you have to move past it. What you’ve been doing here isn’t helping, no matter what you think. You need to be around people who care about you, and if you won’t come back with me…”

Rich was shaking his head before his father finished. He loved his dad, but staying with him at his ranch in New Mexico would drive Rich insane. More insane. Rich absolutely hated ranching, and the hogs his father loved so much frankly scared the shit out of Rich. He’d even quit eating bacon after seeing those monstrous things. No way was he going to go help slop them, or whatever kind of work his dad would think he should be doing to keep busy. Even returning to McKinton would be better than that.

His dad snorted and patted Rich’s shoulder. “Those hogs won’t hurt you none, long as you’re careful. Be good for you to face your fears.”

Rich caught himself before he could roll his eyes. “I’d rather face those fears when they’re fried and topping a burger.” Not that he’d eat it, but his dad didn’t need to know that.

The man nodded as his lips twitched. “All right, then. You’re gonna go stay with that sheriff you were partners with when you were still with HPD.”

“What?” Rich took a step back before he could stop himself. His voice was a shaky as his hands when he spoke. “I can’t stay with Laine! It happened in his house, how can you think I could—”

“Hush, son, calm down.”

Rich gulped in air, trying to stop himself from panicking. He could not step foot in that house, not when he’d nearly died there.

“Richard, he doesn’t live there anymore. That whole place was torn down and he sold the land, moved somewhere close to some other friends of his, he said.”

The soothing voice his father used calmed him more than the words themselves. Knowing he wouldn’t even have to see Laine’s old house helped, too. He really didn’t care that his dad had told Laine about Rich’s attempts to cope. Rich was past the point of caring what anyone—besides his father, apparently—thought of him. All he did care about was getting this whole deal over with if he couldn’t get out of it.

“Okay,” Rich muttered. The agreement was good enough for his dad, who sighed and pulled Rich in for a hard hug.

“You call me when you get there,” the man ordered as he thumped Rich between the shoulder blades. “Shouldn’t take you more than half a day, and you start eating. You feel as fragile as a bird, all thin bones and—”

“Fine, I will.” Rich would eat until he weighed five hundred pounds if it’d keep his dad from making him feel like a breakable wuss. “I better go.” He gritted his teeth then forced himself to try to sound sincere. “Thanks for coming down here and taking care of me.”

His father tapped Rich’s chin and shook his head. “You don’t want to thank me, and that’s fine. You will. As for coming down here, how could I not?” He shrugged as he looked past Rich. “You’re my son, and when something tells me you need me, I’m