I love you. You know I do. Don’t leave me alone. Okay?”
“Okay.” What else can I say? She’s my
mom. My mom.
Her fingers draw circles on the back of my hand and she refuses eye contact. “Stay with me tonight?”
This is where Isaiah drew the line. Actually, he drew the line further back, forcing me to promise I’d stay away from her altogether after her boyfriend beat the shit out of me. I’ve kind of kept the promise by moving in with my aunt. But someone has to take care of my
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
26
mom—make sure she eats, has food, pays
her bills. It is, after all, my fault Dad left.
“Let’s get you home.”
Mom smiles, not noticing I haven’t
answered. Sometimes, at night, I dream of her smiling. She was happy when Dad lived with us. Then I ruined her happiness.
Her knees wobble when she stands, but
Mom can walk. It’s a good night.
“Where are you going?” I ask when she
steps in the direction of the bar.
“To pay my tab.”
Impressive. She has money. “I’ll do it. Stay right here and I’ll walk you home.”
Instead of handing me cash, Mom leans
against the back door. Great. Now I’m left with the tab. At least Taco Bell Boy bought me food and I have something to give Denny.
I push people in my quest to reach the bar, and Denny grimaces when he spots me. “Get her out, kid.”
“She’s out. What’s her tab?”
“Already paid.”
Ice runs in my veins. “When?”
“Just now.”
No. “By who?”
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
27
He won’t meet my eyes. “Who do you
think?”
Shit. I’m falling over myself, stumbling over people, yanking them out of my way. He hit her once. He’ll do it again. I run full force out the back door into the alley and see nothing.
Nothing in the dark shadows. Nothing in the streetlights. Crickets chirp in surround sound.
“Mom?”
Glass breaks. Glass breaks again. Horrible shrieks echo from the front of Mom’s apartment complex. God, he’s killing her. I know it.
My heart pounds against my rib cage,
making it difficult to breathe. Everything shakes—my hands, my legs. The vision of what I’ll see when I reach the parking lot eats at my soul: Mom in a bloody pulp and her asshole boyfriend standing over her. Tears burn my eyes and I trip as I round the corner of the building, scraping my palms on the blacktop. I don’t care. I need to find her. My mom…
My mom swings a baseball bat and shatters the back window of a shitty El Camino.
“What…what are you doing?” And where
did she score a baseball bat?
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
28
“He.” She swings the bat and breaks more
glass. “Cheated.”
I blink, unsure if I want to hug her or kill her. “Then break up with him.”
“You crazy ass bitch!” From the gap
between the two apartment buildings, Mom’s boyfriend flies toward her and smacks her face with an open palm. The slap of his hand across her cheek vibrates against my skin. The baseball bat falls from her hands and bounces three times, tip to bottom, against the blacktop.
Each hollow crack of the wood heightens my senses. It settles on the ground and rolls toward my feet.
He yells at her. All curses, but his words blend into a buzzing noise in my head. He hit me last year. He hits Mom. He won’t hit either one of us again.
He raises his hand. Mom throws out her
arms to protect her face as she kneels in front of him. I grab the bat. Take two steps. Swing it behind my shoulder and…
“Police! Drop the bat! Get on the ground!”
Three uniformed officers surround us. Damn.
My heart pounds hard against my chest. I
should have thought of this, but I didn’t, and HC TITLE-AUTHOR
29
the mistake will cost me. The cops patrol the complex regularly.
The asshole points at me. “She did it. That crazy ass girl took out my car. Her mom and I, we tried to stop it, but then she went nuts!”
“Drop the bat! Hands on your head.”
Dazed from his blatant lie, I forgot I still held it. The wooden grip feels rough against my hands. I drop it and listen to the same hollow thumping as it once again bounces on the ground. Placing my hands behind my head, I stare down at my mom. Waiting. Waiting for her to explain. Waiting for her to defend us.
Mom stays on her knees in front of the
asshole. She subtly shakes her head and
mouths the word please to me.
Please? Please what? I widen my eyes,
begging for her to explain.
She mouths one more word: probation.
An officer kicks the bat from us and pats me down. “What happened?”
“I did it,” I tell him. “I destroyed the car.”
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
30
Ryan
SWEAT DRIPS FROM MY SCALP and slithers down my forehead, forcing me to wipe my brow before shoving the cap back on. The afternoon sun beats on me as if I’m simmering in hell’s roasting pan. August games are the worst.