Read Every Part of You: Takes Me (#5) for Free Online Page A

few steps. “Don’t you ever touch me again. Don’t you ever look at me again. Don’t you ever fucking think of me again, do you hear me? I don’t exist for you, Elliott. You want to make me nothing to you? Fuck you. I’m nothing.”
    “You aren’t nothing, Simone.”
    But it was too late. She gave him the finger again, this time with both hands. Then she was beyond his reach.
    Then she was gone.
    *   *   *
    Elliott would not drink and drive. He wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of his father. But the second his car got into his garage he unscrewed the cap of the bottle of Jameson he’d stopped for on the way home. The first slug hit the back of his throat like a fire bolt. The second wasn’t much better. Eyes watering, the sting of it in his nose like the buzz of hornets, Elliott gulped one last shot and put the cap back on the bottle before he got out of the car.
    The world was already tilting when he pushed through the door into his kitchen. Bottle in one hand, he slammed the door behind him and moved to the counter. He meant to get a glass. Some ice. Hell, he might even cut the liquor with some soda just to keep himself from getting obliterated too fast. Getting blackout drunk would stop him from thinking of all the ways he’d fucked up with Simone, but it would also let him stop thinking about her. He didn’t want to stop thinking about her. He didn’t deserve to have that sweet oblivion.
    He deserved to suffer.
    He’d already kicked the chair, nearly breaking his toe and sending the chair spinning across the floor, before he realized it was out of place. He’d very carefully pushed in all the chairs that morning, as he always did, and this one had been a good foot from the table. The cupboard doors, too, were open. A dirty plate and fork in the sink instead of in the dishwasher. Crumbs on the counter.
    Elliott let out a grunt of surprise and took another drink. The alcohol was already burning through his system, setting him off balance. With narrowed eyes, he looked around the kitchen again, cataloging everything that was out of place.
    “Hey there, sonny boy.”
    Elliott had figured out it was his dad mere seconds before the bastard showed up in the doorway to the living room. He didn’t have a bottle in his hand, but the few days’ growth on his face and the mess of his hair, the red eyes, showed he’d probably been doing some drinking of his own. His clothes looked clean, at least. The last time Elliott had seen him, his father had looked like a hobo who’d been tossed off a train into a barrel of shit. Smelled like it, too.
    “What are you doing in here? How’d you get in?”
    “Key.” The old man grinned, showing teeth too white and straight to be his own. He gave Elliott a curious look. “It’s my house, for the love of Pete. You think I don’t know how to get into my own house?”
    “Who gave you the key?” Elliott paced to the counter, where he put down the bottle. He slammed the cupboards closed and ran the water in the sink over the mess of dishes. He focused on these tasks so he didn’t have to look at the man behind him.
    “Nobody gave it to me. I got it from the fake plastic rock out back.”
    Shit . Elliott hadn’t known about that spare key, but he didn’t put it past the old man to have harbored the memory of it. His father might be a drunk who couldn’t seem to remember his son’s birthday, but you could be damn sure he’d never forget where he put a spare key.
    “Your mother told me she let you know I’d be stopping by.”
    “She’s not my mother.”
    His father snorted. “She’s more a mother to you than anyone else ever was. Hell, she’s more a parent to you than anyone ever was, including me.”
    Elliott gripped the sink for a moment as the floor threatened to move under him. He closed his eyes for a second or so to get his equilibrium. He swallowed hot spit, but it didn’t wash away the taste of whiskey. “What do you want?”
    There was silence,