“You’re crazy,” I say. “And amazing.” And brave. So much braver than I am. I should have been the one protecting her, not the other way around.
I kiss her deeply, hoping it’ll lessen my shame, which only partially works, because when we part, I feel the hot threat of tears. “No one’s ever stood up for me. Not even my mo—”
She kisses me.
Not even me. My shame thunders loudly. I can feel it in my throat, threatening to spill. How can she be so much stronger than I am? I shove my humiliation aside—it’s like moving a physical mass—and I melt into her, forgetting about everything today, everything ever, until there’s nothing but her.
She holds my head in her lap stroking my hair. We talk about nothing, everything, for hours, until all is quiet upstairs. She can’t leave till he’s passed out. I don’t want her to leave ever.
? ? ?
“I really don’t—”
“I’ll be fine. I know how to avoid him,” I say to Jordyn as I walk her to her car.
She sighs, stopping herself from saying more.
“What?” I tip her chin up so she looks at me.
“I feel like anything is better than living like this. Even a group home.” Her eyes drop before she says “group home.”
I breathe in, count to three, and let it out. “If that were to happen, my whole life, as fucked up as it may be, would be ripped away from me. And I don’t know if I can handle that again. It’s bad enough to lose her, but to lose Captain, my home”—I hesitate—“you.”
She looks back up at me, frowning, still worried.
“It’s only for a few more months. And I’m really good at avoiding him. I’ve survived seventeen years and eight months. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
She sighs again, resigned. “I’ll let Henry know what happened with the fight and the suspension and the hospital, and tell him to take advantage of your . . . sabbatical, but you have to promise me you’ll use your words next time. No fists. Okay?”
I nod.
“Henry and Mom’ll be grateful you stood up for me. And I promise, no matter how much I might want to, and no matter how much it makes me feel like a total Lifetime movie girlfriend cliché, I won’t tell them about your dad.” She’s holding my face in her hands again.
“What did I ever do to deserve you?” I say. Then laugh. “I mean, speaking of Lifetime movie clichés.”
She smiles sadly. “You deserve everything, Tyler.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Henry calls right away. He tells me how grateful he is that I came to Jordyn’s aid and that he’d have probably “killed that little shit.” He’s also glad to have my help every day of my forced absence. So, thanks to Henry, I’m able to avoid Dad for practically the entire two weeks. Because I’m a coward.
The Saturday before the official start of winter break, I come home from work to feed Captain before heading over to Jordyn’s place, a regular thing now. Dad’s not home, so I can shower in peace. But when I open my bathroom door, he’s in my room, sitting on my bed, his shoulders slumped, staring at the wall.
Shit. I forgot to lock the door.
The music was turned up way too high and I didn’t hear him.
I eye the disaster he’s created—and it is definitely a disaster—trying not to be obvious when I glance over to the loose panel. But my hiding place is intact.
I towel off as I casually stroll over to the pile of clothes that used to be in my dresser. I can do this. I can face him. I can confront him. I pick out a pair of jeans and some boxers, pulling them on without bothering to shield my nakedness from him. I have a sneaking suspicion my dick is bigger than his.
Sure enough, he turns away, boosting my confidence.
“You want to tell me what the fuck you were looking for?” I say.
He just sits there. I don’t even realize what I’m doing when I pull him up from the bed and shove him up against the wall. It’s like it’s happening to someone else. My forearm pins his neck and I can feel the pressure all the way up my arm. My injured hand should hurt when he tries to pull my arm away from his neck, but I’m too pissed to feel it. His face is red and now I see that he’s crying. He refuses to look at me.
“You have no right!” It’s like all the shame and fear has suddenly turned into rage. My face is hot and my head is light. “I stay out of your shit. I work hard for mine. It’s about time you show me some fucking respect.”
He chokes out a laugh, or maybe it’s a sob.
“I hate you.” My voice is an intense whisper. My eyes burn. “The wrong parent died. I wish you’d just kill yourself already. You know how many times I’ve fantasized about that. About coming home to your body swinging from the railing. Yeah, I always picture you hanging because I hear it’s a slow, painful death. Once you kick the chair out you start to regret it but it’s too late.”
He still won’t look at me. Which is just as well. I don’t want him to think the tears I’m blinking back are anything other than pure rage.