But old habits died hard, and fear of him was a habit I was still recovering from.
I wasn’t done with my speech, however, and while I’d never really expected him to take me up on the offer for treatment without announcing my alternative, I’d hoped I’d been wrong. “If you aren’t going to go into treatment, then you’re going to have to go back to jail.”
His face, which had been slack, tightened. “Jail? I’m not going back to jail. Fuck that.” His words were passionate, but the energy behind them was missing.
“Those are your options, Daddy. The police are waiting to take you into custody right now, but I was able to work out a deal. If you go to this treatment center and commit to the program, then the police will postpone your arrest until you’ve finished.” It was a secured facility, and the patients were generally there because they’d been sentenced by a court. If my father agreed to go, he’d sign away his rights to leave until the treatment was over.
My father sat forward, his head wobbling as he did. “You’re saying I could go to this center instead of jail?”
I glanced up at JC, who smiled at me in support. “No. I’m saying you’ll go to jail either way. But if you went back to jail clean, you’d have a better chance of getting out earlier. A better chance at everything, really.” I wasn’t stupid. The options weren’t that enticing. What was the point of being drug-free when he was only going back to the place where he’d gotten hooked in the first place?
There probably wasn’t a point. But it was the best I had to offer. If there was any part of him that cared to get better, this was his shot. A long shot, but the only shot.
He didn’t seem to see it that way. “I’m not fucking going to jail, Gwen.” There was a low rumble to his words, and I wondered if he was sobering up. “So get the fuck out of here with your offers and conditions. And I’m still coming back to see you. When I do, you’ll give me the cash with no strings attached.”
I rose to a standing position and reached for JC’s arm. My father’s threats were hollow but prickled at me nonetheless. I needed the support of my fiancé.
Staring down at the man who gave me half his DNA, I knew that anything else I said would fall on deaf ears. Still, it was my one chance to talk without fear of being smacked, and the words I wanted to say were for me, not for him. “You aren’t coming back to see me, Daddy. And I’m not giving you money. You are going back to jail because it’s where you belong, and not because I’m frightened that you’ll come after me. You can’t touch me anymore. Not physically, not emotionally. You can’t touch Norma or Ben either. Our lives are whole now. Without you. We are building careers and marrying and having babies and continuing the family that you started with Mom. But even though we have your name and your genes, we are not yours.”
I directed my next words to JC because they were as much for him as for the man on the floor. “I’ve learned that recently, in spite of how I was raised. Biology is not what defines a relationship. It’s love and sacrifice. That’s what truly makes a family.” That’s how I knew that JC would be an amazing dad, no matter who the paternity test showed was the father.
I turned my focus back toward William Anders, who was already slipping back into unconsciousness. “I’m not yours. And you are no longer mine. The police will be in shortly. Let’s go, JC.”
If the mention of police alarmed any of our audience, they didn’t show it. No one attempted to stop us as we carefully made our way through the hellhole back to the fresh air and the evening sky.
Once we were off the porch and the police were on their way inside, I fell into JC’s arms. “That felt good,” I said, even though I was shaking. “Thank you for helping me do this.”
He pulled back to look at my face. “I didn’t do anything but be here.”
“That was enough.” I jumped as another car backfired, then laughed. “I’m so edgy.”
JC didn’t laugh, though. He didn’t even smile. Instead he clutched his hand over the left side of his chest, his face stricken.
His expression had me instantly panicking. “What’s wrong? JC? What is it?”
“Gwen,” was all he said before he crumpled to the ground.
I went down with him, confused and concerned. Then I saw it—blood pooling out from between his fingers as his color went white. Still baffled at what had happened, it wasn’t until Drew ran up to us, calling over his walkie for an ambulance that I understood that JC had just been shot.