Free Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) by Shana Vanterpool Page A

with my eyes. It’s pretty fucked up that I have to do it, but that’s part of being a Bachmen. We’re fucked up.
    “On the house.” She fills my shot glass to the top again.
    “Sorry,” I mumble, tossing the drink back.
    “It’s all right, handsome. It’s not your fault.”
    I spin the empty glass around, watching the last drops of scotch spin with it. “I wasn’t going to hit you. I’d never do that. I’m just having a bad day. Not that that’s an excuse.”
    “I know.”
    “How?” I look into her tired blue eyes, maybe wanting to know deep down whether I am in fact my father. I didn’t think I was anything like him, but that’s the thing about lies. Often times we tell the worse ones to ourselves.
    “Because,” she says simply, “when your father wanted to hit something he hit it. A bat wouldn’t have stopped him.”
    She didn’t have to tell me that. I knew my father’s propensity for hitting things far better than she ever would. That brings me no comfort whatsoever. “What’s her name?”
    She smiles, her whole face lighting up at the mention of her daughter. “Hillary.”
    “That’s a pretty name,” I tell her because I know she wants to hear something nice. It’s the least I can do. She’s raised her kid on her own her entire life on a bartender’s salary. Her daughter isn’t in a bar guzzling down scotch still shaking from a nightmare that happened fifteen years ago. That’s an accomplishment in and of itself.
    “She’s a freshman in college. She wants to be a veterinarian.”
    “That’s cool.” I wiggle my glass and she fills it up again. “Have one with me?” I wait for her to fill her own shot glass before I clink it against hers. “Here’s to illegitimacy. Cheers …” I lean forward to read her nametag. “Patty.”
    She laughs humorlessly. “Cheers, handsome.”
    I gulp it down, letting the burn dull me. “Does she know about me?”
    “Hillary? Of course not. I did a good job at sheltering her. I’m sure she’s not the angel I think she is, but the fact that she can convince me is good enough. And don’t you go seeking her out, either. She’s fine not knowing you exist.”
    “I agree.” I had no desire to disturb another angel. She’d probably look at me in the disgust the same way Harley did.
    “Good.”
    I drink by myself for the rest of the day. The bar fills at noon, the factory workers coming to cut the edge during lunch, then it empties at one until it fills back up at five. I slip lower and lower on my stool.
    I drink until my nightmare’s gone.
    Until my memory can’t even remember what I’m trying to forget. Forty-something doesn’t charge me. When I get up to leave, I thank Patty with a nod, ignore the concerned look she gives me, and stumble out into the night. The gulf doesn’t reach this far inland, so the Texas heat sizzles up from the asphalt. It smells like home. Like tar, exhaust, and fear. I was always afraid when I was a kid. Nervous and jittery. I was the same way when I was a teenager, but it stopped controlling my life when I started drinking heavily in high school. I hold my hand out and watch it, daring it to shake.
    “Better not shake,” I whisper, watching my hand blur in and out of focus.
    My Corvette is where I left it. I’m shocked. This far inland isn’t known for benevolence. I should know, I was made this far inland. I try to shove my key in the lock, but the damn hole won’t stay still.
    “Go in!” I brace myself against the car. “Just go in. Please go in. Fucking eyes. Like I would sleep with her. Little Miss Perfect. What the hell did I ever do? I was seven. I’ll tell you one thing. This key’s too big.” I hold the key up to the street lamps. Yep. Too big. “When did my key get big?” Probably when Forty-something poured me my last shot.
    I’ll walk.
    I wonder what Justine’s doing. It’s been exactly twenty-four hours since I had any ass. Twenty-four hours too long if you ask me. I trip over my