My mother was on the floor, cowering by the toilet. My father, red-faced and vibrating with rage, bared his teeth at me. “Get out.”
“Like hell I will.” I pushed past him, ready for him to strike but knowing he wouldn’t. Not with a house full of people.
I knelt beside my mother. “What did he do?” Though her face was tear-stained, I didn’t see any marks around her mouth or eyes. No blood. She clutched at her middle, and I guessed he’d hit her in the stomach or ribs.
But she said nothing, as usual.
“What happened?” My voice came out rough, betraying the shaky control that had started to slip the moment I’d heard my mother’s stifled cry. I was home. We were under the same roof. I should have been able to keep her safe.
I tucked a hand under her elbow and helped her to her feet. She moved stiffly, her body hunching forward when she stood as though cradling pain.
Mom sniffed and swallowed, and I could see tightness in her jaw. “It’s alright, Cole.” Her bottom lip trembled as she spoke, and she shook her head, her eyes almost pleading. “I’m alright. He didn’t mean it.”
Her protection of him made me see red. “Bullshit.”
“You heard her.”
I turned to see my father taking a step toward me.
Once, the way his nostrils flared with the curling of his lip would have turned my veins to ice water. Pain would soon follow, and worse than the pain had been the fear that this time he wouldn’t stop. That this time, he’d kill me, and I’d blown my chance to run away.
Not anymore.
“Stop right there.” I held his soulless gaze, afraid now only of my vanishing self-control. “Back off or—”
“My house, Coleman.” His eyes narrowed in an ugly smirk, and for the millionth time, I thanked God that while the shape of our eyes was the same, his were a dull gray.
My blues were my mother’s and her mother’s. I didn’t have to see him every time I looked in the mirror.
“Don’t ever think you can push me around in my own house. I’ve never responded well to threats.”
Understanding passed between us. He was calling my bluff. Rubbing my promise of violence in my face.Are you going to shoot me now? With a house full of people?His taunting smirk seemed to ask.
I had my gun with me. It was upstairs in my suitcase beneath my pair of Nike Lunars.
I’d pictured doing it a thousand times. But, no. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t use it on him. Not in cold blood. Not because he didn’t deserve it. But because I didn’t. Thinking about it was one thing. A tempting and satisfying fantasy. But if I picked up that gun and blew him off the face of the earth for real, what would I be?
I didn’t think I’d still be me.
I’d be more like him. I’d be what remained of him. And I didn’t want to be that.
But it was time to get Mom and Ava out.
I squared my shoulders. “Judge McCarthy is looking for you.” It was a lie, but the flare of surprise I expected fired in his eyes. The man’s ego had always been in his back six. It ruled him even more than his rage. “Maybe we shouldn’t make your guests wonder why all three of us are hiding in the bathroom.”
He gave me a steely glare, one that let me know how much he missed the days when he could best me, and then his eyes cut to my mother. “Don’t come out until you’ve cleaned up the mess of your face.”
“Of course not,” Mom whispered, a sob in her throat.
The urge to choke him clenched my fists.
But before I lost it, my father gave us his back and opened the bathroom door. He stepped out and closed it quickly behind him, but not before I caught a glimpse of Elise.
Wisely, she’d moved away, back into the dining room, but our eyes met, hers wide with worry as she watched. Her tray, I noticed, was now empty. I lifted my chin to reassure her before the door closed her off.
I spun around to face Mom. She sagged against the bathroom counter, clutching her side.
“He pushed you down and kicked you in the ribs.” I wasn’t asking. I didn’t need to ask. I’d seen this before.