Game Changer (The Field Party)

“Not sure,” I replied, not ready to have this conversation with her.

“Ole Miss. It’s the best option. You have a better chance of standing out. You’re sure.” My father’s voice filled the room as he entered it and left no room for debate or conversation. He was final. What he didn’t realize was that I no longer gave a shit what he said, demanded, or wanted. I wasn’t a scared little boy trying to fight the monster by myself. I was a grown-ass man, and he was the reason I’d grown up so damn quickly.

“She was asking me,” I said, lifting my gaze from my glass to meet his eyes.

“And I answered for you,” he replied with a warning in his icy-cold blue gaze. Eyes I hated I’d inherited from him.

“I don’t need you to speak for me,” I shot back. The blaze in his glare was familiar. This time I’d put it there on purpose. If I continued to back down from him, he would believe he was all-powerful in this house. That he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it. I was done trying to keep him calm.

He walked across the room and stopped in front of me. Standing toe-to-toe, he didn’t seem at all concerned with the fact I stood two inches taller and my shoulders made his once-impressive ones appear thin. “I won’t tolerate back talk, boy. You’ll sit your ass down and shut the fuck up.” His voice was raised just enough to get his point across.

“No thanks… Dad,” I said without any fear. The anger boiling inside me had been building for years. I had contained it out of fear—until the fear had slowly faded as the hate began to overtake any other emotion.

His hand slammed my chest with what I was sure he meant to be forceful, and on a smaller man it would have sent him back a few inches. I didn’t budge. I conveyed my own warning while glaring at him.

“Asa, sit,” my mother said with the waver of fear in her tone that I knew so well. I didn’t want to scare her, but it was time he knew I wasn’t going to let him hurt her or me. His days of abuse were done.

He turned and as his hand shot out in my mother’s direction, I moved quickly. This ended now. Today. My hand clamped down on his arm and stopped it with very little effort. “Don’t touch her,” I warned him.

His eyes shot back to me. Disbelief, fury, and the unbalanced crazy that stirred under the surface all shined in his gaze. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, boy?” he roared this time. No attempt to control his voice level.

I tightened my hold on him, and for a brief moment I saw a glimpse of uncertainty in his eyes before the insanity took back over. “You aren’t touching my momma,” I told him.

“And you fucking think you are big enough to tell me what to do now? That you’re all grown up now and can handle a man?” He laughed then and tried to pull free of my hold, but I proved my point and held him without release.

“Yeah, I reckon I do.” I was taunting him, but that wasn’t what this was about. I wasn’t out to get revenge. I was out to change this psycho my mother wouldn’t leave. If she was determined to stay with him, then I was going to have to make sure he left her alone.

His laughter was gone, and an enraged snarl was on his face as he tried again to free his arm. Using his body, he moved toward me and I quickly reached out to grab his other arm. He fought against me and made a growl as he tried with more strength than I expected to get free of my control.

“You will regret this,” he said in a twisted voice.

“I only regret waiting so long,” I replied calmly.

“Asa, please,” my mother begged as her hand touched my back. I felt her slight tremble and I hated upsetting her. She’d had enough distress in her life. I didn’t want to be the cause for more upset.

“Shut up, bitch, and stop stinking up the house with that shit you’re trying to cook,” my father roared at her.

I had been going to let him go and deal with his reaction. I had started to tell myself that for my mother I had to ease the situation I had incited. Until he had called her a bitch. A switch inside me that I didn’t know existed flipped. My blood pounded in my ears as I stared at the man in front of me. He cursed again, and I knew my hands were tightening on his arms in a vise meant to cause pain. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted his mouth shut. I didn’t want to hear him speak. I didn’t want him to be free to touch my mother. He didn’t deserve her.