“Answer me, son.”
Frank Charles Caldwell.
Even my father’s name could bring fear into someone with how stern and clipped it sounded.
“He started the shit,” I said without any remorse, but my father held up his hand and shook his head. It was clear he didn’t want to hear the real story, and instead went off the word of a prominent member of the town, even if it was nothing but lies.
“I don’t want to hear it. This isn’t the first time you’ve gotten into this kind of trouble, and it’s not even the worst of it. I know it won’t be the last either. This is how you’ve been for years.”
This melancholy feeling slammed into me, and I instinctively moved away from my father as if tentacles had wrapped around me and were pulling. I didn’t let it in though. I was used to him talking down to me, never listening to what I had to say. Maybe that was why I did the things I did, got into fights, got in trouble with the police, did everything and anything to feel something other than this hole that had grown and festered inside of me.
“Mr. Davis said you stole Maxwell’s wallet, then proceeded to instigate a fight, which lead to him almost getting a broken nose. You’re lucky he’s not pressing any charges.”
I snorted at the story that had been told to my father. “Did he happen to also tell you that Maxwell was harassing a girl at the park? Did he tell you that he copped a feel and assaulted her, which led to her slugging him in the face and that’s why he almost got the broken nose?” I shook my head. “To be honest I should’ve kicked his ass until his legs were broke.” My father stayed silent. “And the wallet situation—” I shrugged, lifting my hand and rubbing it along my cheek, feeling the stubble start to come back in from my morning shave. “I don’t need to steal anything from that prick.”
I could see that he didn’t believe me by the way he narrowed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and shook his head.
“Always stories with you. One day you’re not going to catch a break. One day you’re going to get sent away or locked up, and that’ll be good because finally you’ll learn to stay out of trouble.”
Well, fuck you too, Dad.
With that, he turned away from me, grabbed his keys off the counter, and headed out the front door. I stood there for a moment just staring out the kitchen window, feeling my annoyance and anger rise. My father would believe a virtual stranger over his own son.
I turned and froze, seeing Rochelle, my stepmother, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She had a sympathetic look on her face, never breaking her focus from me. I didn’t want her to feel bad for me, didn’t want anything from anyone.
After my mother passed away I’d learned to crawl into myself. It was my safe spot, one where no one could touch me, one where the hurt couldn’t find me. And over the years I let that grow into the black hole that now consumed me.
I walked past her without saying a word and grabbed my running shorts and sneakers. I headed out the back door. I needed to get out of here, go for a run until I could barely walk, work off this extra aggression.
I saw Catherine climbing out of the pool and immediately froze, this instant reaction in me at her presence, at the very sight of her.
“Hey,” she said softly and walked over to her lounge chair to grab her towel. I tried not to stare, but the way the droplets of water moved down her body had everything in me hardening, tightening.
“Hey.” My voice was rough as fuck.
“What’s wrong?” She had the towel wrapped around her slender form, but it did nothing to hide her from me. In fact, it showed her curves, the terrycloth molding to her perfect shape.
“Just the same old shit.” She knew how my father was. Hell, she knew how I was.
“I’m sorry,” she said but it wasn’t laced with sympathy; instead, it had this underlying tone of understanding.
Seeing as I was working hard—when I wasn’t a menace, that is—saving up to get out of this hellhole, away from my father who made me feel like shit more times than not, I kept pushing through the thick bullshit. But then I’d think about leaving Catherine and something inside of me would tighten painfully. I didn’t want to leave her, and how fucking crazy was that?
My stepsister, the girl I’d lusted after for the past two years, the person I’d never even told how I felt.
The girl I’d fallen in love with.
Shit.
I ran my hand over the back of my head and gave her a sheepish smile, not wanting to drag her into the mess that was my life.