Chapter 6 - The Driveway Showdown
He followed us all the way to my subdivision.
I watched his grill in my rearview mirror—tailgating aggressively, flashing his high beams once as we turned onto my street. June noticed him when we were three houses away from our driveway.
“Mom,” she whispered, her voice tightening with immediate panic. “That’s Dad.”
“Stay in the car when we pull in, June,” I said, my voice dead calm despite the adrenaline surging through my veins. “Keep your seatbelt on and lock your door the second I step out.”
“Mom, don't yell at him, please—”
“I’m not going to yell, baby. But nobody terrorizes you. Not even your father.”
I pulled into my driveway, bringing the car to a stop near the front walkway. Scott didn't pull into the driveway behind me; he swerved violently against the curb, cutting his engine, and slammed his door before his truck had even stopped rocking.
“Lock the door, June,” I commanded.
I heard the sharp *click* of the central locks just as I stepped out into the drizzling rain and shut my own door behind me.
Scott was marching up my lawn. He wasn't wearing a jacket. His tie was loosened, his hair disheveled, and his eyes were wild and bloodshot. He looked like a man who hadn't slept, who had spent the morning watching the walls of his life crumble around him.
“What did you say to Becca?” he roared, pointing a trembling finger in my face as he closed the distance. “She packed two suitcases and left for her mother’s house this morning! What the hell did you tell her?”
“Keep your voice down, Scott,” I said, standing firmly between him and the passenger side of my car where June was watching through the glass. “You are on my property.”
“You poisoned my wife against me!” he shouted, stepping closer, completely oblivious to Mrs. Gable across the street, who had just stepped onto her porch to grab her mail and stopped to stare. “You showed her personal financial documents! Where did you get those? That’s private information! That’s illegal!”
“Forging my signature to steal forty-three thousand dollars from our daughter’s college fund is illegal, Scott!” I fired back, my voice cutting through his hysteria like a scalpel. “Using our daughter as an unpaid babysitter to fund your lifestyle is disgusting! And calling her this morning to tell her she’s responsible if Becca has a miscarriage? You are a sick, pathetic coward.”
Scott’s face flushed an ugly, mottled crimson. For a second, his hand twitched at his side, his fist clenching, and my heart hammered against my ribs.
“She is my daughter,” he hissed, leaning in so close I could smell the stale, sour coffee on his breath. “Today is my court-ordered Tuesday dinner visitation. The decree says five o’clock, but school is out, and I am exercising my rights. Unlock that car, Holly. She’s coming with me right now.”
He took a step toward the passenger door.
I moved immediately, blocking his path, placing my hand flat against the center of his chest and shoving him back with every ounce of strength I had.
“Do not touch this car!”
“Get your hands off me!” he screamed, lunging forward to grab the passenger door handle. He yanked on it violently, but the lock held. Inside, June shrank back into her seat, pulling her knees up to her chest, her face pale with terror.
“June!” Scott yelled, banging his fist against the tempered glass window. “Unlock the door! Get out of the car right now! We are going home!”
“Scott, stop!” I reached for my phone, hitting the emergency speed-dial for 911. “I am calling the police!”
“Call them!” Scott bellowed, completely unhinged. “Tell them you’re violating a custody agreement! Tell them you’re keeping my kid from me! June! Open this damn door!”
The front door of the car didn't open.
Instead, the passenger window rolled down. Just two inches.
Scott froze, his hand still raised against the glass. “June. Come on. Get your bag.”
June looked through the narrow gap. The trembling in her chin had stopped. Her eyes were red, but the terror that had paralyzed her all morning had shifted into something else. Something older. Something steady.
“No, Dad,” June said. Her voice was small, but through the open crack, it sounded as clear as a bell in the damp afternoon air.
Scott blinked, stunned. “What did you say?”
“I’m not coming with you,” June said. “You told me I was selfish. You lied to me about Copper, and you lied to me about the baby shower. You took my money, and then you blamed me for Becca leaving.”
“June, I was upset, I didn't mean—”
“Don't bang on my mom’s car anymore,” June said softly. “Please just go away.”
She pressed the switch. The window glided up, sealing shut with a solid, airtight thud.
Scott stood there in the rain, his hand hovering in mid-air, looking at his twelve-year-old daughter who had just quietly, definitively shut him out of her world.
Behind him, at the end of the street, the low wail of a police siren began to rise over the neighborhood trees.
Mrs. Gable was still standing on her porch, her phone pressed to her ear.
Scott looked at me. The bravado, the rage, the bullying arrogance—it all drained out of his posture, leaving behind an exhausted, ruined shell of a man who realized, all at once, that he had finally pushed too hard.
“You destroyed this family, Holly,” he whispered bitterly.
May you like
“No, Scott,” I replied as the black-and-white cruiser turned the corner onto our street, its red and blue lights flashing against the wet pavement. “You did that all by yourself.”
***
