I'm well into the main room by the time Jim comes rounding the corner behind me. He's shouting Ryan's name at the top of his lungs. I jump out of the way and let Jim pass. My hands shake at the sudden change in demeanor. Holy crap. Maybe Mrs. Marsh was right and Ryan's had a problem with bullying in the past. Maybe this is the straw that's breaking the camel's back of Jim's temper, because that's the only thing that can explain this sudden investment in a kid he largely ignores. For the millionth time since I've met the boy, I feel for him. Every kid needs a soft place to land, even if that soft place is a little screwed up. My heart breaks knowing that Ryan's softest place is with his grandmother, who isn't really that gentle with him.
As Jim disappears into the game room, I rush behind his increasing pace and do my best to ignore the men who now clutter up the main room. Even Rage, Jim's dad and the club's president, is in there. Rage doesn't like me, but he doesn't seem to dislike me, either. I'm half-convinced the only person on this planet he does like is his wife, and even that is tentative.
"You like picking on people smaller than you?" Jim shouts from the game room. I nearly fall over my own feet running after him. Once I'm able to tear my attention away from the curious onlookers, I'm thankful to find that Jim's at least slipped on a pair of loose fitted jeans so he's not exposing himself to everyone, including my poor kid.
Ian's wide brown eyes meet mine from across the room. They're filled with tears, and when he looks away, I gasp at what holds his attention. Jim's clutching Ryan, who's about a third his size, tightly on the back of his neck. Ryan's eyes are filled with tears, and he sucks in a pathetic little sob.
"Stop crying and tell me what you did."
"I, I--" Ryan stutters but doesn't actually make it past that before Jim squeezes his neck tighter.
I motion for Ian to come to me, but he's frozen in place, his eyes glued to the horrific scene before us. My feet and hands itch to pull Ryan away from his father. Jim's angry, angrier than I can explain, and definitely in no place to be talking to much less touching his kid.
"I'm fucking sick of you bullying other kids."
I can't pretend to know Ryan's history or what's causing Jim to snap like this, but it feels so extreme and way too intense. Ian doesn't have any bruises on his body, and he's walking fine. I'm upset that my boy's had a rough day, and I hate to think about Ryan treating my boy badly, but even I wasn't angry enough to be screaming at him. And it's my kid he was mean to.
"Jim, stop." I say.
He doesn't hear me, or he's effectively tuning me out, but either way, he keeps pinching Ryan's neck. Tears continue to stream down the boy's face, and Jim is in full-on bully mode. Watching the way he deals with his son's poor behavior gives me a damn good idea of where Ryan learned to bully people from. Christ, Jim can't expect Ryan to learn to peacefully resolve his issues if his father's first response to everything is to be a bully himself. I have to do something. I won't stand by and watch this boy be treated like this, and I don't care how much trouble it gets me in.
I rush forward and push Jim off of Ryan. Jim stumbles backward half a step, before righting himself. He's right on me, his chest pressing to mine. I have Ryan shoved behind my body. The boy buries his face in my back and uses my shirt as a tissue to dry his eyes.
Jim blinks in confusion as he stares down at me. He's not exactly scowling or glaring. The arch of his brows and parting of his lips is something else entirely. I just can't put my finger on what it is. He's still all wild and angry and frustrated. I don't know what to do with him right now, so I tread carefully.
"You were hurting him," I say in defense. "And you're scaring Ian."
Jim's eyes slide over to Ian, but the movement is uneven, like his brain is giving his body orders it can't quite follow. When his eyes come back to me, I signal for Ian to come to me, and this time, without Jim's angry eyes on him, he does. Ryan scoots over a few inches, and Ian joins him behind me. They're both so tall and yet so young at the same time. I can tell the difference between Ian's sure grip on the waistband of my jeans and Ryan's tentative one.
"You're high," I hiss.
"And you're beautiful." He reaches up and cups my chin in the palm of his hand. I keep myself still under his touch, refusing to lean into him. A couple years ago I might have been desperate or stupid enough to fall for his shit, but not now.
"Did you hear? They're making me VP, babe."
"Yeah, I know," I say. This is not the conversation I want to have. I want to yell at him for pawning his parental responsibilities off on me. I want to draw a line in the sand, telling him that I have my own shit to deal with. I don't need his, too. But this isn't the conversation we're having. He's seen to that.
"Then why are you mad?"
He's slowly slipping into madness. I've never seen Jim like this before, but he's taken something, and it's screwing with him big time. When I first got here, he was extra aggressive and pushy, and then he flew into that insane rage. Now he's slow to respond, and he doesn't even seem to remember why I'm angry with him. If I had the energy, I could strangle his stupid ass right now.
"The boys shouldn't see you like this," I say and take a step back. "I'm taking Ryan with me tonight. Get yourself cleaned up and be a fucking parent."