Mine To Keep (Love By Design 7)

“They said that might happen.” He twirled his chopsticks in the air and then stabbed a piece of chicken.

“What?”

“The postpartum stuff.” He shoveled another bite of food into his mouth, dismissing my point.

I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms. He was obtuse at times. “I’m not depressed, Evan.”

“No?” he said after jamming a coil of noodles down his throat.

“Just because I’m feeling a certain way, doesn’t mean I’m depressed. This is hard for me.” I’d suddenly lost my appetite.

“And?”

I shrugged, trying to explain the very thing I didn’t have words for. “I guess, I’m just sad.”

He sat up and put his chopsticks down. As quickly as it seemed he was dismissing me, he was now fully invested. “Okay. So what do I do to make it better?” Evan was all business now, but I didn’t have an answer to give him. He was going to think I was a crazy woman.

“I don’t know if there’s a way to make it better.” And that was the truth. How did you fix something when you didn’t know what that something wrong was? I felt a sharp pain behind my eye and rubbed the tender spot of my temple. Why did this have to be so frustrating?

32

Evan

Back to the past when football was life and dad was a dick…

“You little shit.” I felt my body shift in the air and the wall crash into me. My hands dropped my football gear and my mother whimpered in the background. My helmet rolled awkwardly away from me, the face guard stopping its motion.

“Weston, please don’t.” From the corner of my eye, I watched Mom reach for my dad but shrink back when his voice roared. The scared face of my sister was just outside my room, and I motioned for her leave. She was safer out of the fray. My brother, Brody, wasn’t home and thank God because he’d jump in and things would be worse.

“I will not have some punk asshole in my house, smoking dope and screwing some whore.”

“God damn it, Dad, what the hell?” It was then I turned to my room to find my dresser drawers upended, the mattress pulled back from the frame, and my sports trophies knocked over.

He held up a bag in front of my face, shaking it and snarling. “Nobody takes the Lord’s name in vain in this household.” He grabbed me by the back of my neck, which felt hot with anger and fear. I could lay him out flat, show him I wasn’t the frightened kid I used to be, but it would gain me nothing. He propelled me into the dining room, upending a chair with the clear direction to sit my ass down at the table.

He tossed the plastic bag on the table and it slid toward me, his expression a dam of emotions barely in check. “What is this?” He flicked the bag.

“Looks like a bag of marijuana,” I answered.

“Don’t get fucking smart with me.” He slammed my head down to the table, my cheek hitting the wood hard and my eyes focused on the bag in front of me.

“It looks like drug paraphernalia, sir.”

He let up but not before shoving me deeper against the table.

“And who does it belong to, Evan? Who the fuck was smoking dope in my house?” I could feel his spittle on the side of my face. I knew this could go one of two ways, and neither of them good for me. I stole a glance upward to see my mother, the epitome of June Cleaver, wring her hands together overcome with nerves. Her eyes were glassy and her lips trembled under my father’s harsh dictatorship.

I hesitated and he growled so close to my ear I feared he’d blow out my ear drum if I wasn’t more circumspect. “Whose is it?” he demanded but I clamped my lips shut.

My mother looked ready to wilt; the heat of his anger sucked out all the air from the room, effectively snuffing out my next breath and maybe hers too. I swallowed back a reply and said the only thing I could to protect us both the only way I knew how.

“It’s mine, sir. The pot is mine.” The second the words were out of my mouth, he resumed his vocal discord and started smashing the fancy dining room plates my mother inherited from her mother. The turkey serving platter shattered across the room until it took the energy out of him.

He composed himself like nothing had happened at all and then spoke. “You will cease this unholy behavior and work a

t the church afterschool from now on. I think a month will be sufficient.”

“But what about football practice?”