Hard to Break

We hang up and I lean over, lifting my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. I start panting, trying to breathe through the panic. A hard hand curls around my shoulder but I don’t look up.

“Sweetheart.”

It’s Le

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out except a broken sob.

“Qui

He spins my chair slowly around and kneels in front of me. He captures my face in his big hands and forces me to look up at him. Tears are ru

“Twenty-two th-th-th-thousand, Le

Le

“We can’t fix it.” I laugh bitterly. “We’re behind, we’re never going to get that much money in such a short time.”

“Yes we are.”

I jerk my head and see Oscar, Jace and Matty standing at the door.

“Guys,” I whisper.

“We’ll do a car wash, say it’s to raise money. The locals will be all over that,” Matty says.

“We’ll do a deal. We have a heap of tires out the back that need to be used. Free tires with a full service,” Oscar puts in.

“We’ll talk to businesses, see if any of them are willing to make a donation,” Jace says.

My heart breaks, because these guys will go to the ends of the earth to save this garage. It’s just as much their home as it is mine. I know I need to dig deep and fight for this, but right now I feel so damned empty I can’t breathe. I open my mouth to answer when, of all people, my father stumbles in.

Yes, stumbles.

He falls through the door and his hand lashes out just in time to stop him from falling. When he’s managed to steady himself, he looks up and smiles a twisted, drunken smile. “Well howdy ta-eam.”

Jesus.

He’s smashed.

“What’re you doin’ here, Rob?” Le

“Just comin’ ta check out my garage.”

“Your garage?” Oscar snorts. “Don’t insult us, Rob.”

My dad’s eyes find mine and he gives me another wonky smile. “Hulllllo, love. Not goin’ to give your old dad a cuddle?”

I stare at him and something inside me snaps. It just snaps. I storm forward and my hands lash out in front of me and land on his chest. Then I shove him with all my might. He falls backwards in slow motion. Le

He yells out in pain but I’m too far gone. I see red, my head is pounding, my body is prickling all over as I storm towards him. When I reach him, I lean over and scream in his face. “How dare you come in here! How dare you come in here, drunk! How dare you have the nerve to call this place yours! It isn’t yours, it’s mine. I am the one who has worked here trying to keep it afloat. Don’t you come in here, when everything is about to fall to pieces and have the nerve to do it drunk!”

I leap over him when I’ve finished screaming and run out. My heart is pounding and my head is spi

One minute I feel guilty for being harsh to my father, the next I feel a wild anger that he’s so careless, and the next I want to hold him and make his pain go away. It’s emotional whiplash and every day I live with it, it gets a little bit harder. I want to understand, I want to run away, I want to help him, but I can’t be everything all at once. My mind is a mess when it comes to him, and I honestly don’t know how to change it.

My mental fog clears slightly when I hear a distant voice calling out for me.

I don’t stop. I’m having a panic attack. I’m familiar with panic attacks; I’ve experienced them all my life. I usually have them in private but this one is full force and there’s no stopping it, public or not. I push past a few more people, tears ru

My ears are ringing so loudly I can’t hear who it is that’s calling my name. I can only feel arms tight around my waist. Then I’m moving quickly, being shoved through the crowd until I’m set down at a quiet table outside a restaurant. There are hands in mine, someone is kneeling in front of me, talking to me but I can’t hear what they’re saying.

I just want it all to go away.

I close my eyes, panting, gasping for air and trying to bring my bound hands to my chest, which is so tight it feels like I’m having heart failure. Someone starts rubbing my back furiously and that feels … nice. The pressure eases my breathing and slowly, as reality comes back, I hear the voice talking to me.

“You’re all right, just keep breathing.”

I drop my hands to my sides and my eyes flutter open as my breathing goes from a deep pant to short but fairly deep breaths. My eyes focus on the man kneeling in front of me and I gasp, skittering backwards in my chair.

Tazen Watts is in front of me, crouching down, one hand wrapped around my body, rubbing my back. His eyes are concerned. He’s got an alarmed look on his face. His lips are gently parted and his eyes are narrowed, making a little crinkle form on his forehead.

I don’t want his concern.

“Hey, you doing okay there, angel?”

“I’m,” I gasp, “fine.”

I try to stand but my knees wobble and I go crashing back down.

“Whoa there. You need to sit.”

He turns and flicks his fingers, and a moment later a waiter comes over with a glass of water. Tazen takes it, nods and turns back to me, placing it in my hands. He curls his fingers around mine and for a moment, my breathing becomes shallow. But it’s because of the feeling of his hands on mine, and not from my panic attack.

“Drink it. It’ll help. Trust me.”

Trust him? He wants to take something from me that I’m not ready to give up—I understand his need to buy my garage, but I want him to understand how important it is to me. He doesn’t see that. I jerk my hand and the glass, and water sloshes over the side and lands on my lap. His eyes hold mine as I bring it to my lips and sip it.

“You have panic attacks often?”

I lean in close, having gotten myself together enough to leave. I stare at his lips and his eyes shoot to mine, a strange attraction sparking between us. I ignore it and lean closer, then I tilt the glass forward and all the water in it spills out and lands all over him. He leaps backwards and I stand, staring down at him with cold eyes. “I have them when assholes come into my life and try to take everything I love away.”

Then I step past him and rush off down the sidewalk.

Tazen Watts will get nothing from me.

Nothing.

CHAPTER THREE

By the time I get home that night, I’m emotionally exhausted. My eyes are heavy and burning. My chest feels like there’s a two hundred pound weight lying on top of it. My legs ache with every step I take towards my front door. I am dreading going in there, but not because I’m afraid of how my dad will react. It’s because I’m ashamed over how I reacted.

He might deserve a lot of things, but he didn’t deserve my verbal or physical assault. I shouldn’t have behaved the way I did and because of that, I am swimming in guilt. It’s like beating up a wounded puppy. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. My attacking him only makes me the bad guy. I should have held it together, kept myself calm. My actions did nothing to change the situation; in fact, they did nothing to him except confuse him more.