I’m not a fighter. Not like Cade. I don’t have that inherent anger in me that he constantly struggles to control.
But I do know a lot about men like this, considering I was also raised by one. My dad was less physical and more of a drunk, if that’s possible, but still. I know right now that if I let him think he has intimidated me, he’ll run with it.
And even if I still feel young and small most of the time, I don’t look it. Not to people who don’t know me.
I take a firm step forward into his space until we’re eye to eye. I don’t reach for him, but I hold myself strong, close enough to him that my nostrils burn with the acrid scent of his cigarette. He stares at me defiantly for a few seconds, trying to decide if he’s going to fight me, I assume, and then it seems to click.
He remembers me. He was more fucked up last time he was here, but it looks like he remembers me tackling him into that counter hard enough to crack it before dragging his ass out of here with Cade’s help.
“This is still my house. You don’t belong here,” he says with a growl.
We’re going in fucking circles.
“It’s my house, you asshole, where I live while raising your goddamn children!”
Kris stalks over to both of us as she yells in a hoarse voice, grabbing Kyle by the t-shirt and hauling him away from me with a surprising amount of strength. She starts pushing him and hitting his chest in frustration. Not hard enough to do any real damage, but still escalating the situation to a violent place that I don’t want it to go.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, grabbing at Kris and pulling her off him.
She fights my grip on her and curses at me, but doesn’t hit me, so that’s something, at least. Kyle is staring at her with a predatory expression that I don’t fucking care for, and his girl is still leaning against the corner, watching the whole thing go down with a half-smile.
At least she has no interest in defending Kyle. That helps. She pulls a vape out of her pocket and takes a drag, filling the trailer with the sticky-sweet artificial smell of cotton candy, which is gross as hell, but it’s better than a brawl.
The tension running through Kyle seems to break abruptly.
“Why you gotta be like this? Why can’t you act fucking regular instead of being a crazy bitch all the time? I told you, Kris–” he leans towards her, raising his voice to yell the last part slow and loud like she can’t understand him, “I. Just. Need. A. Place. To. Crash.”
The patronizing aura pisses me off and it’s not even directed at me, so I’m not shocked when she lunges for him again and I have to snag her around the waist.
“Stop. Stop.” I pull her back. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
Kyle laughs. “We were together for twelve years and that woman was terrible at getting a rise out of me,” he says as he grabs his crotch.
I have officially been transported back in time and space into an episode of Jerry Springer. Just… no. No thank you. I decline.
Kris is yelling insults back at him, something involving him cheating on her with prostitutes and STDs that I’m so glad Cade isn’t hearing—although he probably heard it the first time it happened, which makes me sad about his childhood all over again. They holler shit over each other, back and forth until I can’t make out what either of them is saying, and the other girl seems content to watch them and keep filling the room with cotton-candy-scented vapor.
“Look!” I interrupt. “Kris, do you want to call the cops?”
“No!” All three of them yell it at me in unison like it was scripted, and I take a step back.
“Jeez.” I hold my hands up.
I know I could defend them if Kyle was being violent. But apart from his need to square off with me, he’s had a manic energy but only really seemed interested in yelling. Kris is the only person getting physical, and he didn’t respond with anything but more insults, so maybe that’s promising?
Either way, I can’t just beat the shit out of the man for no reason. I know I don’t have that in me. If he’s refusing to leave and Kris won’t let me call the cops, I don’t know what else I can do.
“Look, it’s fine, Silas. Can you just take the girls home with you? I’ll deal with this syphilitic piece of shit,” Kris says, her hands on her waist.
Kyle snorts like he’s laughing and flicks his crushed cigarette butt at her feet, adding yet another burn scar to the threadbare carpet, but doesn’t respond otherwise.
“Why don’t you come with me? I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“Fuck no. It’s my goddamn house. I’m not letting him lay around here unsupervised so he can sell anything that’s not bolted to the floor.”
Not sure she can talk, given her history with pawn shops, but still.
“It’s not safe, Kris,” I look at her, pleading.
