Drea

The lights on a sleek black Tesla glow in the dark parking lot as Laz unlocks the car. Damn, even his car is sexy.

I head for the passenger door, but Laz surprises me when he steps around me and grabs the door handle.

“Despite the rumors, I am a gentleman.”

I raise my eyebrows and chuckle as I slide onto the black leather seat. “Lucky for us both, I don’t listen to gossip.”

His long, thick fingers curl around the top of the door as he stares down at me. “That’s a very good quality to have. In my experience, the gossip mill is a dangerous place to rely on for obtaining information.”

When he shuts me inside, I inhale deeply. Even his car smells amazing. The aroma is exactly like the delicious, spicy cologne Laz wears.

He jumps into the driver’s seat and cranks the engine alive, and within moments, we’re on the freeway, heading back to his family’s mansion.

He glances over at me and smiles. “You did really well tonight,” he commends. “There’s still a lot to work on—mainly the dancing—but I think you’ll get there, given we’ve only been working on it for a few weeks. You’ve got real talent, Drea.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to be nice.”

“I’m never nice unless I mean it,” he says. “It’s not in my nature. I’m more of a ‘call it like I see it’ guy. I don’t believe in blowing smoke up people’s asses just to save their feelings. If you’d sucked, I would’ve told you that.”

“But I didn’t hit any of the moves.”

He shrugs. “It was your first performance. You’ll figure it out. This is still new to you.”

“Let’s hope,” I say as my cell rings. I grab it from the pocket of my hoodie and check the caller ID. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

I press the green button, knowing the only time I hear from my father is if there’s a problem. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

“Dreeea.” He’s slurring, and it doesn’t leave any room for me to doubt he’s high on something. “Can you bring me some food? I thought I had some here, but I don’t, and I don’t have any money to buy anything.”

I close my eyes and lay my head back against the headrest. “It’s going to take me a while, but I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“You’re the best, Drea-Drea,” Dad says, using the nickname he gave me when I was just a little girl.

I hang up the phone and then scrub my hand down my face. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know how I get myself into these situations. And why do they always rely on me?” I mumble to myself.

“What’s wrong?” Laz’s deep voice catches my attention.

I sigh. “It’s my dad. He has an issue with taking care of himself. It’s gotten worse as he’s gotten older. I thought things would get better, but they haven’t. He relies on me more now than he ever has.”

“So what does he want you to do? Bring him food?”

“Yes. As soon as I get back to your place, I’m going to drive to the grocery store, pick up something for my dad and stepmother, and then drive it over to them. God knows, if I don’t take them some food, they won’t eat. It’s like having kids.”

“I don’t have anything planned for the night. If you want, I’ll take you to get that stuff and then drive it over to them.”

“I can’t ask you to do that. This is my problem. I don’t want to make it yours.”

“Really, Drea, it’s not a big deal. Remember, I have a file on you. Like a fucking stalker, I know more about you than I should, so I know what your dad’s been up to, and I’ve been in his shoes. I know he’s not in the best situation or in his right mind.”

I stare over at him. He’s unlike any man I’ve ever met, and his kindness doesn’t go unnoticed, but this is too much. I can’t ask him to do this.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t mind. Don’t feel like this is a burden to me because it’s not. Please let me help you.”

“How do you know I was thinking that?”

“It’s not hard to figure out. Seriously, it’s on the way.”

I laugh. “It’s not on the way, and if that file has my dad’s address, you already know that.”

He smiles. “True. But like I said, it’s no problem.”

“Fine,” I agree. “That’s very kind and sweet of you, but you don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to. I like being the one to do nice things to help you out.”

He grins, and my heart flutters.

Laz takes the next exit, and we spend a half an hour at the grocery store, gathering a few things for my parents. When I go to get out my debit card to pay for the purchase, he beats me to it and pays for the items.

“Thank you,” I tell him as he pushes the cart containing all the things we just bought. “That’s really nice of you.”

He shrugs. “It’s the least I can do. You’re helping me out a ton by being in this group, and I know you had to quit your job to be a part of it.” He pauses for a beat. “I don’t want you to feel like you won’t be able to get the things you need. Singing is your job now. I’ll help take care of everything else to keep you focused on singing.”

* * *

It’s been a while since I’ve been in this part of the city. If I’m being honest, I do my very best not to come here at all. It’s not that I hate my father or don’t love him, but it’s hard to deal with him. When he’s not using or drowning his misery in another bottle of Jack, he’s a decent guy—selfish but decent.

Growing up here with my father was rough, but when he married Candace’s mom, things went from shitty to downright hellish. Having two addicts in the house meant things like food and electricity came after their drugs of choice. Getting high was, and still is, their priority.

Every damn time my phone rings, I worry that someone is calling to tell me that my father died.

Laz parks his car along the curb and surveys the barren wasteland of the ghetto before him. “This is where you grew up?” Sadness rings through his voice.

It’s a familiar tone I’ve heard most of my life from social workers and teachers who had driven me home at one time or another, witnessing firsthand what my reality was.

I lift my chin. “Yep. Lived here since I was twelve. The government pays for it, so it was the one place we never got kicked out of for not having rent money.”

He nods toward rows of three-story apartment buildings. “Need me to come inside with you? It doesn’t look too safe out there.”

I grimace. The thought of Laz walking through Dad’s apartment makes me cringe. I did all the cleaning when I was there, but since I’d left, it’s been a constant wreck because Dad and Kathy are responsible for fending for themselves.

I pat Laz’s hand. “No. I’ll be fine. This will only take a minute. I’ll drop the food off, and then I’ll be right back.”

He threads his fingers through mine and gives them a little squeeze. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Besides, your car needs more guarding than I do,” I tease, attempting to lighten the situation while wearing my brave face.

Loading both of my arms with the bags filled with groceries, I hope this will be enough to last them for a while. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back, seeing as I’ll be busy with this group. I make my way through the apartment complex until I reach the entrance of building number four and trudge up the stairs to the fourth level to apartment 406.

Just like most nights in the apartment building, things are in full swing. Music is playing from multiple directions, children are laughing innocently in the dark, unknowingly surrounded by nothing but pain and heartache, and people are screaming. The noise envelops me as I walk down the hall. This is where I grew up. It’s the sounds of my childhood, and in an odd way, it’s comforting.

I stretch my fingers out and ball them into a fist. Trying to keep hold of the bags, I tap my knuckles on the apartment door. “You in there?”

Bottles clinking alert me that someone inside heard me and is making their way to the door. “Drea? Is that you?”

“It’s me, Dad. Hurry up. My arms are breaking.”

The door opens, and there stands my father, squinting at me like the light from the hallway is too bright and stinging. He holds his hand up to shield his eyes while wearing a battered, blue bath robe and a pair of shorts. From the looks of his greasy hair and soiled clothing, he hasn’t showered in quite a while. “Come on in.” He steps back to let me inside.

As I suspected, the place is a destroyed. Piles of dirty clothes are on the floor, and the smell is indescribable. My eyes flick to the kitchen where the trashcan is overflowing onto the floor. Dirty dishes are in the sink, and I’m sure mold is growing after having been there for weeks.

I shake my head. This place is a fucking disaster.

I glance around, and I don’t see one clear, flat surface to set these bags of food on. “Where should I put these?”

Dad looks around and scratches the top of his bald head. “Guess we can set them on the coffee table.”

He moves with a slow gait toward the center of the room, and when he gets to the table, he slides the junk sitting on it to one side. A syringe with an orange cap catches my eye.

My father needs some serious help, but nothing I say gets through to him. Nothing makes him want to change. He has to want to change for himself.

Some might say I’m an enabler, but when he calls me and says they need something, I find it impossible not to help them.

I set the two bags down and then put my hands on my hips. “There you go. Do you need anything else?”

Dad shrugs his bony shoulders. “You know, I could always use a couple of extra bucks if you have some cash on you.”

I roll my eyes and dig into my back pocket. I pull out a twenty-dollar bill and place it in his hand. “This is all I have. Make it last, and don’t spend this on drugs. You got me?”

He nods as he folds up the green paper between his fingers. “Yeah, yeah. I got you.”

I know he’s probably only telling me what I want to hear, but I’m going to pretend like he’s going to use that money for something he needs and not buy dope the minute I walk out of this apartment.

We stand in uncomfortable silence, but it’s always been awkward like this.

My dad and I really don’t have the best relationship. It’s like he finds it hard to talk to me or sometimes even look at me, but he calls me because he has no one else. Candace refuses to help them in any way even though her mother lives here, too. She says she doesn’t condone their lifestyle, and I know that’s her father talking because it’s the reason her parents divorced—her mother’s drug problem.

“I guess I should get going. I have someone waiting for me.”

“Okay, kid. Thanks for the grub,” is the only reply I get.

I’m sure most people would find it shocking that a father could treat his kid this way, but for me, this is the norm—get used and then tossed aside. It’s how our relationship has always been.

And just like that, our visit is over. He no longer needs anything from me, and I find it hard to talk to him.

I shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and take off, going back down the way I came in. I don’t miss this place. It no longer feels like home even though my father still lives here. Feels more like hell, a place filled with bad memories I hate coming back to.

I fold my arms across my chest as I walk down the sidewalk between two of the buildings, and a chill runs down my back the moment I hear footsteps behind me.