The line goes dead, and it feels ominous.
I drive home with an eerie sense of dread, hoping my father’s threat is all hot air but terrified it’s not.
27
KENDALL
“Mom!” West’s urgent shout reaches me in the kitchen where I’m cleaning up after dinner. “I need your help!”
“What’s going on?” I hear Stella ask as I jog across the kitchen toward the hallway. “Oh my God. What happened to your face?” she asks.
I race out into the hallway with my heart in my mouth, but nothing could prepare me for the scene that lies in wait. West has his arm around Vander’s back, and Vander is leaning against my son, clearly injured and on the verge of collapsing.
“What happened?” I ask, working hard to keep the panic from my tone as I approach them. I slide up on Vander’s other side, taking his arm and draping it over my shoulders.
“You should see the other guy.” Vander attempts to lighten the tone, but I’m not amused.
“Let’s get him to the bathroom,” I tell West before turning my attention to my daughter. “Grab the first aid kit from the kitchen and bring it to me.”
Stella runs off to retrieve it. Propping Vander up between us, West and I get him to the downstairs bathroom. Vander eases down onto the closed toilet seat, wincing and clutching his ribs. “My paintings,” he pants as West and I share a look. “I need to go back for them.” He moves to get up, but I shake my head.
“I need to check your injuries, and you aren’t in any shape to go anywhere right now.”
“Please.” Pain-stricken eyes latch on mine. “He burned at least half of them before I stopped him. I don’t want him to finish the job.”
“Van, your dad was passed out when we left. I doubt he’s getting up anytime soon.”
My head whips between West and Vander. “Your father did this?” I know he has hit him in the past and they have gotten into it when Vander shot up, bulked up, and learned how to use his fists, but this is on a whole other scale. “How did he even get a chance to do it? I know you are stronger and capable of overpowering him.”
Vander’s eyes darken with rage. “I came home from the gym, and he was in the garden burning my artwork.” A bitter laugh bubbles up his throat. “It was like I was thirteen all over again.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I was in a panic, trying to save my paintings, so I didn’t see him approaching with a baseball bat. He was going crazy, even more so than usual, and he really came at me, caught me off guard. He got a few hits in before I gained the upper hand and gave it back to him and then some.”
“He’s a prick,” West hisses. “All fathers are pricks,” he adds, snarling.
West refuses to speak to Curtis, proclaiming he wants nothing more to do with him. While I was relieved when Curtis moved out, it means I’m the one left to pick up the pieces. However, I prefer it that way because I don’t trust Curtis with my children’s’ fragile emotions. He’s too selfish to ever put them first. My kids are suffering, and I’m doing my best to support them as they grapple with their feelings.
“Why did he do this now?” I ask, feeling guilty I haven’t had much time for Vander lately.
“He lost the Turner Media account.” Vander peers at me through his swollen left eye. He has bruises all over his face, dried blood on his nose, and a cut on his lip.
“I heard about that. Greg has been like a demon at work all week, but what has that got to do with you?”Surely, Greg isn’t blaming Vander?He took Gayle Turner out on a date purely to appease both fathers, so he played his part.
“He blames me.”
“That is ridiculous, and I am going to tell him so. He can’t take his aggravations out on you!”
“No.” Van shakes his head as Stella comes into the room. “You can’t get involved, Kendall. You don’t know how far he’s prepared to take things. He’s pissed I got Mom away from him, and he’s determined to fuck up my life. He has declared war, and this is just the start. You can’t put yourself in the middle of it.” I didn’t know anything had happened with Diana, and guilt rears its ugly head again.
“Van is right, Mom,” West says. “He’s a fucking psycho, and I want you nowhere near him.”
“I can’t believe your father did this to you.” Stella hands me the first aid kit as she pins compassionate eyes on Vander. “He should be locked up.”
He should, but I tried that route before and ran into a solid wall.
“If you want to beat Gregory Henley, you have to play him at his own game,” Vander says.
“How do you do that?” West asks.
“I don’t know yet.” Vander shifts on the toilet seat, grimacing in pain. “But I’ll figure it out.”
