short skirts ➳ l.h.

t h i r t y

t h i r t y :

Luke POV:

The bar helped to calm my nerves.

It probably wasn't the best idea to go and get drunk, especially since as of late, I've had a serious problem stopping myself when I start drinking. I usually have to call a friend to pick me up and take me back home.

I dare not to call Lottie.

The last thing I need her seeing is me falling apart.

Especially after I told her she was the only thing keeping me together. And in a certain way she is. But she's also tearing me apart.

After my late wife's suicide note confessing to an affair, everything that Lottie does with other guys scares the fuck out of me.

I don't want her to end up like her mother.

Gone.

I'm her father and I need to protect her from whoever is trying to hurt her.

And right now, that's Brandon.

Fucking Mr. Childress.

In certain ways, I really can't come close to comparing myself to him.

But I feel that Lottie likes me better in certain ways as well.

And so I wait.

I finished drinking at the bar right down the street from where Brandon does personal training and found my way into the liquor store right next to the bar afterwards, buying myself a bottle of rum to occupy me while I wait for the gym to close down.

I check my phone.

12:12

They officially close at Midnight.

I watch as people who were working out, walk away from the building and to their cars.

I try to stay in the shadows towards the employees exit as I wait for the familiar head of dark hair and blue eyes to appear.

I finish off the last of my rum, and keep the bottle in my hand, touching the glass with my fingertips.

And only minutes after the majority of the people who were working out late had left, I see the door from the employees exit open and to my luck, not only is the person Brandon, but the parking lot is nearly empty with the exception of a friend's car, and a body bag inside.

The gun is starting to pinch my skin under the waistband of my jeans, and the alcohol is starting to make me feel trigger happy.

I smile.

Screwing around with my step daughter has taught me quiet a lot. And that's not all bad. I guess.

Even through the haziness of the alcohol clouding around my mind I knew exactly what I was doing and why. My mind knew what needed to be done.

But the alcohol gave me courage. Something I didn't usually have.

It was nice to be fearless.

Even if it was for a short while.

"Can I help you?" Brandon asked out.

"Childress." I slur, but with confidence in my voice.

"Are you okay? Are you drunk? Do you need a ride?" He asks, generally concerned about me.

But he's lying. He's a fake.

I'm sure of it.

"I've seen what you and my daughter do." I say, glaring at him.