Me: Can you run a plate? CA 7KDL921.
The dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Danny: You in some shit?
Me: Same shit
He knows what I mean, so he won’t question it.
I set the phone on the counter and grab the medical tape from the cabinet. I wrap my knuckles and pull it tight.
The locker room door slams and voices flood in. The game must be over now. I walk out of the bathroom.
“We won,” Melrose says. “Three-two.”
“Good.”
“You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
My phone buzzes, so I pull it out.
Danny: Registered to Jeffrey Clayton. 2847 Orangewood Ave, Anaheim.
The name doesn’t ring a bell, so I stare down at it for a moment too long.Jeffrey Clayton, huh?
I could drive there right now. It’s not far. Maybe thirty minutes.
I could knock on the door. Tell her she doesn’t have to live like this. That there are shelters, lawyers, and people who help with this kind of thing.
But I won’t.
Because showing up at her house in the middle of the night after I just punched her dad is not the move. That’s how you make things worse. That’s how people end up dead.
I know that because I grew up in a house where men showed up in the middle of the night. Where doors got kicked in and voices got loud, and my mom locked me in the bathroom and told me not to come out no matter what I heard.
I know that because I was fourteen the first time I put my fist through a wall. Sixteen the first time I hit someone who wasn’t hitting me back. Eighteen the first time someone looked at me the way that girl looked at her dad tonight.
Scared.
But also resigned. Like this was just how things were. Like there was no point fighting it.
I’m not my old man.
I’m not the guy who kicks in doors and makes things worse.
But I’m also not the guy who walks away.
So I’ll wait. I’ll figure out the right way to do this. I’ll find her, and I’ll tell her what nobody ever told me.
That you can leave.
That it doesn’t have to be this way.
That the person you’re protecting is the one doing the damage.
Me: Thanks.
