Takedown Teague (Caged 1)

She cringed a bit and took another sip of her wine. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“I’m going to be a father,” I said quietly.

“Not if you expect to live under this roof.” Dad sneered. “My roof, my rules. You think you two can survive playing house together without my support? I don’t think so. You have no idea what it’s like out there in the world.”

He sat back and drained his glass before setting it down next to his plate and calling for Mrs. Carter to bring back the bottle.

“Your father is right, Liam,” Mom told me in her quiet, no-nonsense voice. “You still have a year of high school, and you can’t support yourself and a family.”

“I guess I’m going to find out,” I said. My hands trembled as they picked up the maroon linen napkin from my lap and placed it on the table. I stood slowly, glanced once at my mother, and walked out of the dining room and out of the house. The distinctive thump of my shoes against the stone steps echoed in my head.

“If you leave here now, you will never be welcomed back!” I heard him yell from the front porch.

Without looking behind me, I yanked open the door to my Lexus and headed down the mile-long drive to the high brick walls and gated entrance that had always shielded me from the world outside. I drove beyond them, leaving behind everything I had ever known.

My hands tightened into fists and ended up crushing the cigarette between my fingers. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the past out of the present before I opened them again and was met with the back view of the apartment building.

I saw cracked wooden shutters in need of paint and repair; crumbled bricks, litter, patchy grass, and a couple of broken beer bottles lay next to the steps of the back entrance. All around was a high, chain-link fence, which seemed to be a common theme in every aspect of my life now.

I resisted the urge to punch the dumpster. I knew from experience that I would only break a knuckle, and I couldn’t afford to do that. I had to be able to work this week. Instead, I drew in a few long breaths, pulled out another smoke, and then hot-boxed it on my way back into the building.

By the time I opened the door, the troublesome thoughts were gone from my mind. Tria had finished up the cleaning and was shoving various toiletry items into Buckingham Billfold. I glanced around at the empty apartment to see if we missed anything.

“I think this is it,” Tria said as she walked out of the bathroom. “And forty minutes to spare! I better get at least some of that deposit back.”

“You will,” I said, trying to reassure her. I had no idea if the landlord ever gave anyone any deposit back, but I could probably stop by and offer a little persuasion.

I heaved the last of the boxes up into my arms, and Tria opened the door for me. We split up long enough for me to take stuff upstairs and for her to return the key to the landlord. I dropped the boxes next to the kitchen table and surveyed the stuff.

There really wasn’t much, which was good because there weren’t going to be a lot of places to put it. Tria’s books took up as much room as anything, and I wondered where we were going to put those since I didn’t have any kind of bookcase. I considered the plywood and cinderblock nightstand I made out of shit I found lying around, and wondered if I could use similar materials to make Tria a place for her books.

Th

ere was a soft knock at the door, and I went to open it.

“You don’t have to knock,” I said with a smile. “You live here!”

Tria looked down at the ground, and her face flushed as she laughed through her nose.

“Well…I wasn’t sure…”

“Be sure,” I said. I handed her the key I had made for her and stepped back to let her in.

Tria walked in for the first time, took about two steps inside, and then stopped. She was gripping the massive purse in both hands, and I realized she was probably looking for a place to put it down, but the coffee table was covered with all kinds of crap. Aside from that, one of my jackets was lying in front of her on the floor, and there were a couple of hand weights near her feet, too.

“Um…shit,” I muttered. “Sorry—I’ll get it cleaned up.”

I started grabbing pizza boxes and beer bottles from the coffee table and shoving them into the kitchen trash can. When I got back into the living room, I noticed a stack of magazines on the far side of the coffee table and quickly rushed over to shove several editions of Playboy and Hustler underneath the couch.

“I never really have anyone over here,” I told her as I scurried around to pick up whatever was all over the floor and potentially just as offensive. “I should have thought about this before…shit…”

I kicked at the corner of the magazines to shove them further out of view and then grabbed some more dishes off the table. With a couple of plates and cups in my hands, I headed into the kitchen. Dirty dishes were scattered all over the place, too.

“Liam…um…”

“Yeah?” I called out as I started shoving a bunch of dishes into the sink so they at least weren’t lying all over the counters.

“You…um…”