Page 56 of Ghost Of You
But just as I'm about to fall into a deep sleep, a loud bang echoes through the house. I jerk awake, and Laelia shoots up beside me, her face filled with worry. The sound is unmistakable—someone is pounding on the front door with alarming force.
“What the hell?” I mutter under my breath as I slide out of bed, grabbing my joggers and pulling them on in a rush. Laelia clutches the duvet to her chest, her wide eyes tracking my every move.
“Stay here,” I tell her firmly, reaching for the baseball bat that always rests beside my bedside table. It’s a precaution I never thought I’d need, but now, it seems like the right choice. “I’ll be right back.”
I walk out of the bedroom, my heart thudding in my chest as I make my way down the stairs. The banging continues, relentless and aggressive. Who the fuck is knocking on our door like this at this hour?
Peeking through the side window, I spot a soaking wet figure hunched over, its back turned to the door. The person looks to be about six feet tall, but the way they're slouching suggests they're in pain. As I study the figure more closely, they turn around and bang on the door again, and that’s when I recognise the face.
It’s Brian—Laelia’s alcoholic, drug-addicted father.
I let out a heavy sigh, wiping a hand over my face as I lean the baseball bat against the wall. This is the last thing I expected tonight, and definitely the last thing I wanted. Reluctantly, I turn the key and open the door, coming face-to-face with Brian.
“What are you doing here, Brian? It’s 1:30 in the morning,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm despite the irritation simmering beneath the surface.
His brows furrow, and he takes a step closer, reeking of alcohol. “If I want to see my daughter, Killian, I will see my fucking daughter!” he shouts, his voice slurred but filled with anger.
I blink, taken aback by the venom in his words. Who the fuck does he think he's talking to?
“Excuse me?” I retort, my own temper flaring.
“You heard me! Where’s my bitch of a daughter? She owes me money!” he hisses, his eyes narrowing as he stares me down.
I take a closer look at him, noticing the blood on his knuckles and the fresh bruise forming around his right eye. He’s been in a fight, and from the looks of it, he’s come out on the losing end.
“Laelia owes you nothing, Brian. And like I said, it’s 1:30 in the fucking morning. Go home,” I shout back, trying to close the door, but he wedges his foot in the gap.
“Get my fucking daughter or I’ll knock your fucking door down. Don’t test me!” he threatens, clenching his fists.
That’s when I catch the overpowering stench of alcohol on his breath. He’s not just drunk; he’s wasted.
With a deep breath, I pull the door open again and fix him with a stern look. “Don’t come to our house and start making fucking demands. You’re in no place to do that. If I were you, I’d turn around, go home, and never come back—or I’ll call the police.”
Two can play this game, and part of me hopes he’ll back down. But I know better. Brian’s never been one to walk away from a confrontation.
His face turns an ugly shade of red as he grits his teeth. “Last chance, worm. Get. My. Fucking. Daughter, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
His threats are empty; I already know I can take him. He’s fragile, drunk, and strung out on who knows what. He’s a man with a raging addiction to cocaine and heroin, a man who thinks he can take on the world in his state. But he’s come to the wrong fucking door tonight.
Before I can react, I hear the sound of footsteps rushing down the stairs. I turn to see Laelia, her face pale with shock as she pulls the door open further, coming face-to-face with her father.
“Dad?” she asks, her voice trembling. “What are you doing here?”
Brian’s lips curl into a sinister smile, revealing his broken, yellowed teeth. “I’ve come for the money you fucking stole from me. What kind of vile human steals from their own father?” he spits, his words dripping with bitterness.
Laelia’s face falls, her confusion evident. “Stolen money? What stolen money?”
“The house. My house. The money you stole by selling it,” he slurs, swaying slightly on his feet as the alcohol starts to take its toll.
Laelia looks at him, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “Dad, you signed the house over to me. You told me to do what I wanted with it because you were moving in with your girlfriend and it was what Mum would have wanted.”
A year ago, Brian had wanted nothing to do with the house. It was left to both of them by Laelia’s mother, with a fifty-fifty ownership split. But Brian wanted out—he wanted to start fresh with his new girlfriend. He’d told Laelia that her mum would have wanted her to have the house, to do whatever she wanted with it, even if that meant selling it. And that’s exactly what Laelia did. She used the money from the sale to put a deposit on our house, pay for a holiday for us—despite my insistence on paying my share—and saved the rest.
“To hell with your awful skank of a mother. It was my house! I want my fucking money!” Brian roars, his voice cracking with rage.
I’ve heard enough of his bullshit. Stepping in front of Laelia, I clench my fists, ready to put an end to this once and for all. “You have two fucking seconds to get off our property, or I’ll drag you off myself,” I threaten, my voice low and dangerous.
Brian laughs, a cruel sound that grates on my nerves. “Pretty boy thinks he can take me. What are you going to do, eh?” he taunts, taking a step forward.