Take Me On

“Interesting. I’ll keep that in mind.”


The more time I spend in this house, the crazier I become. The aura of my uncle is embedded in the paint in the walls, a fine layer on the floors, hanging from the ceiling. It lurks and consumes and digests. Sometimes I find myself wishing he’d choke while he eats, fall asleep at the wheel or just drop dead.

I toss the onions into the hot oil. “I think I’m becoming evil.”

“It’s the house. If we survive until we graduate from high school, everything will be fine.”

Mom walks into the kitchen with Maggie on her hip. Music blares from the earbuds stuck in my sister’s ears. Even though my sister is eight, she clings to my mother like a toddler. Maggie isn’t immature; she’s afraid of evil. She should be scared, instead of being numb like me.

My mother settles Maggie into a chair. “Have you seen your father?” In her jeans and black Roadhouse shirt, she’s seconds away from stepping out the door to start her second job.

After my acceptance to the University of Kentucky, he’s been akin to a ghost. One more thing I’ve screwed up. “He’s probably still at the library. Dad’s really trying for a job.”

Mom sucks in a breath like she’s going to talk, then stops before slipping paper and crayons in front of my sister. “Please take care of Maggie while I’m gone.”

Jax snatches a piece of raw potato. “With my life.”

“Making sure she doesn’t hear yelling, eats her dinner and goes to bed will suffice. I’m hoping none of you will be reduced to life sacrificing.”

Jax chuckles. “Just saying.”

“You’re a good boy.” She pats Jax on his arm. “And you’re one of Dad’s favorites.”

Jax pops the potato wedge into his mouth and the grin on his face speaks volumes. Mom kisses his cheek, my cheek, then Maggie’s and is out the door. Somehow the room loses warmth.

“You know I’ve seen your dad a couple of times up at the strip mall.”

The knife in my hand pauses. “He’s probably wasting time before the bus shows.”

“He could be going to the bar.”

I viciously slice through another potato. “Have you seen him there?”

He’s silent as the blade of the knife thumps into the wooden board with each stroke.

“We don’t have the money for it,” I say. “And Dad doesn’t drink. At least not like that.”

“Beer at the bar is cheap.”

I slam the knife down and round on Jax. “My father wouldn’t give up.”

“Not the enemy.” He picks up my sister, who sits staring at us wide-eyed. “Come on, Mags. Let’s hide in the basement.”





West

The principal suspended me for the rest of the day because I slammed Matt into a wall. I chuckle. That would have gotten my ass expelled at Worthington.

At the breakfast bar in my mother’s kitchen, I pile high another layer of ham and smash the bread on top. Haley’s been on me about weight. She’s threatening me with hours wrapped in plastic in a sauna if I don’t stop eating high-calorie garbage. I’ve got five more pounds to drop and ham shouldn’t kill me. The sandwich melts in my mouth. After the tournament, I’m eating everything in sight.

I’ve got thirty minutes before I have to head to the gym to train for the evening with Jax and Kaden. Haley’s taking the night off to watch her younger sister.

The rumble of wheels causes me to halt midchew. Rachel came home yesterday and I’ve managed to avoid her. I glance at the back door, the sandwich still in my hand, but Rachel’s fast in her wheelchair and I wouldn’t make it out without her noticing. She rolls into the kitchen and our eyes meet. My throat constricts and I have to force down the food in my mouth.

She doesn’t say anything as she coasts past me to the fridge. I shift my weight as she attempts to maneuver so she can open the door. Her movements become crisp and her eyes narrow on her wheels. I step toward her and she snaps, “I can do it.”

I step back and toss my hands in the air. Everything inside me twists as she moves the chair forward, backward and forward again until she can finally open the damn door. Her eyes fall to the right and my heart sinks when she lowers her head.

The housekeeper forgot to store drinks on the lower shelves. Just fuck.

She slams the refrigerator door and rolls over to the windows. Rachel blinks rapidly as she looks out at the garage. That building was her home. Whenever she became frustrated or mad or lonely, she went out there and tinkered with her car. Besides the fact she can’t drive anymore and that her beloved Mustang became toast in the wreck, Rachel can only touch a closed hood.

Rachel lost her home.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s bad enough I’ve lost the ability to walk or stand, but did I have to lose you, too?”