Now it was back.
Just like his dad.
“P-pap said g-get his shotgun.”
She blinked in confusion. “What?”
“Sh-shotgun.”
She rushed out of the laundry room, her eyes wide. “No! I’m not getting his shotgun! Where is he?”
“Out… s-side.”
“Where’s your father?”
“Outside, t-too.”
“Where?” she asked, rushing down the hallway with Whip on her heels.
“P-pap wants his sh-sh-shotgun.”
“I’m not giving him his damn shotgun!” she yelled, sounding irritated.
Whip slammed on the brakes and stared at his mother’s retreating back as she continued toward the front door. A second later, he heard the screen door slam hard.
Whip turned, ran back to his pap’s room and spotted the shotgun leaning against the wall near the head of his bed.
He wasn’t allowed to touch it. Not unless Pap was teaching him how to shoot it. Sometimes they did that out in the woods using targets. If he touched it now, he might get in trouble.
But Pap wanted it.
Pap was the man of the house.
Pap would protect them. He promised he always would. He said he would make up for his useless nut seeds. Whatever that meant.
The long gun was awkward but not too heavy for him to run down the hallway with it. When he got to the front door, he heard raised voices outside.
Pap was arguing with Whip’s dad.
His dad sounded drunk. Again.
He shoved the screen door open with his shoulder and hurried out onto the porch.
“Let me pass, old man. I live here, too.” Bobby Byrne’s words were running together and he stunk like beer, even from where Whip stood.
“Get the hell out of here. You’re no longer welcome here. Told you that last time,” his pap yelled. “Tonya, you were supposed to bring me my damn shotgun!”
His pap liked to curse. A lot.
He also said he was ornery. Whip agreed once he learned what ornery meant.
“What are you going to do, old man? Shoot your own flesh and blood?” Whip’s father shouted, his questions slurred, his face red and his bloodshot eyes narrowed.
Whip didn’t like when his face got red like that. It always meant trouble. And not “good trouble” like his pap called Whip.
“If I have to,” Pap answered, his face now red, too. He glanced at Whip and held out his hand. “Bring that here, Whip.”
“Don’t you fucking dare, boy,” his father yelled.
“Tyler, take that back inside,” his mother ordered, also yelling.
Why was she standing so close to his father? She was within fist range. Didn’t she realize that?
“M-Mom!” he warned.
Pap turned on his heels and climbed the steps up to the porch, the hitch in his step worse than normal. Probably because of the arthritis his grandfather complained about often.
He rubbed his hip with one hand and held out his other, the knuckles also knobby from arthritis. “Give it here, Whip, and go back inside.”
Whip shook his head.
“Get inside. Now!” Pap shouted at him, grabbing the shotgun out of Whip’s hands and pointing toward the door.
His grandfather rarely yelled at him like that. Whip pressed his lips together and rushed inside. He stood just to the side of the door so he could see and hear what was happening, but not be spotted.
He didn’t want to get grounded. He hated when he was grounded because he wasn’t allowed to stay up late or play with his friends.
He watched Pap work his way slowly down the steps, putting the shotgun up to his shoulder and pointing the double barrels at Whip’s father. “Get out of the way, Tonya. If he doesn’t want to leave on his own, I’m going to help him decide otherwise.”
Whip’s mom stepped in front of her husband, her palms out in front of her. “No, Daniel, he’s not worth going to jail for.”
“Didn’t think you were smart, woman, guess I was wrong,” Bobby Byrne said. “He isn’t going to shoot me. The old man’s nothing but hot air.”
“Don’t try me, son,” Pap warned, taking a step closer with the shotgun still raised. “Tonya, get the hell out of the way. Doing this to protect you and Whip.”
“This isn’t how to go about it, Daniel.”
“Yeah, listen to my wife,” his dad sneered, then shoved her out of the way. Whip almost rushed back outside when she stumbled.
A noise bubbled up from the back of Whip’s throat when his dad rushed his grandfather. Before the old man could pull the trigger, he got knocked to the ground. Bobby Byrne kicked the shotgun out of reach, hauled Pap up by the collar of his flannel shirt, then hauled off and punched Whip’s grandfather right in the face.
His pap fell back to the ground in a heap.
“P-pap!” Whip screamed.
“That’s what you get for trying to keep me away from my wife and kid, old man. They’re not yours, they’re mine.”
Whip pushed the screen door open, ran out and down the steps. He sprinted up to his father as he was leaning over to grab Pap again. Whip launched himself onto his father’s back and hooked an arm around his neck, choking him as hard as he could. “L-leave him a-a-alone!”