His father leaned back in his chair. “You skipped out on your responsibilities, and now you want to talk?”
Arguing with his father would only make it worse, so Lance ignored the prompt and dove in. He set the crinkled brochure on the table between his and his father’s dishes. “I’ve decided to jointhe Marines.” He wanted to be like the men in the commercials, sharp, strong, chins up and stances proud. Confident.
He wouldn’t get any of that if he stayed where he was.
Silence descended over the table. Disbelief and mounting outrage so heavy they were nearly visible. His mother had gone pale, her eyes wide and a hand over her mouth like she’d heard the most horrible news. But his father … his father was turning red.
Lance dug his fingers into the side of the table to brace himself.He won’t stop me.
His father slammed his open palm onto the table so hard the dishes shook and beer sloshed over the edge of his tumbler. “You want towhat? Are you out of your mind, boy?” He shoved to his feet, chair scraping the floor, both hands on the table and violence in his eyes. “Why in the hell would I ever allow a son of mine to run off and support this country with the state it’s fallen into? No! My answer is no! Howdareyou even bring that garbage into my home!” He snatched up the brochure and ripped it to pieces, throwing them at Lance like confetti.
Several pieces landed in Lance’s stew.
His father punched the table again. “You eat your dinner without another goddamn word, boy, and then you go outside and you work on that fucking generator until it’s fixed. No sleep, no breaks, no school, not a goddamn thing until it’s done!” His voice climbed with every word, bellowing as the words bounced off the walls. “And maybe then—maybe—I’ll consider not whipping you until your ungrateful ass is torn to shreds. You hear me?”
Lance curled his hands into fists and stood, meeting his father’s glare head-on. They were the same height these days and he was done letting his father treat him like an inconvenient toddler. “No,” he said. “I’ve already met with a recruiter. I’ve already signed up.”
His mother gasped.
His father opened his mouth to spit more venom.
“I’m eighteen,” Lance continued. “I can make this choice on my own. I’m not asking permission, I’mtellingyou. I’m going to join the Marines.” He drew a breath and softened his voice. “I was hoping we could talk about why, that we could talk it out and you would support me.”
It was a longshot. He’d always known it was a longshot. But for as rough as his life had been, he didn’t hate his parents. He just didn’t agree with their way of thinking.
“You’ve already decided,” his father repeated, his tone suddenly low and calm. The red faded from his skin, but the violence didn’t fade from his eyes. “And you think I give two shits about the fuckingMarines?” He extended his arm to point at Lance, nearly poking him in the eye. “No child of mine will ever join any military. I forbid it.”
Lance squared his shoulders. “You can’t.”
His father’s nostrils flared and suddenly he was shouting again. “Then get out! Get the hell out of my house, off my property, and don’t you dare come back! I see you here again, I’ll shoot you dead myself!”
Lance winced. It was precisely the response he’d expected, but still it stung. He dipped his chin in hopes that, at least someday, his father would see he wasn’t trying to be spiteful, and he backed away from the table. He tried to meet his mother’s eyes one more time, but she had turned to the side and raised both hands to her face, sobbing the way a person might at a funeral. The way she had at his sister’s funeral.
I guess I’m dead, then.
Lance turned without another word and walked to the door. He scooped up his stuff, slid on his backpack, and nearly toppled to his ass trying to yank the damn misshapen door open. He’d have left it open for his father to deal with, because maybe hewas a little spiteful, except Bolt would follow if the door was open too long.
He couldn’t take Bolt with him.
Chest aching, eyes burning, throat swelling shut, Lance struggled with the door one more time until it was closed. Then he picked up the sleeping bag he’d had to set down, jumped over the rickety steps, and ran down the driveway. He’d expected his father to lose his temper. He’d expected to be thrown out of the house. His father had always been of the ‘my way or the highway’ mindset.
Yet, somehow, it still hurt. Even though he’d known it was coming. Prepared for it the best he could. To see the hate in his father’s eyes aimed at him. To watch his mother turn away without even a goodbye or an attempt to talk one of them down.
To lose his home.
To have to leave his best friend.
“Shit,” Lance muttered, roughly wiping at his face in between his sloppy attempts to balance things on his bike. At least the bike hadn’t been stolen. They lived on the outskirts of the county, down a side road, and that meant when the sun went down it got real dark real fast. It meant there weren’t a lot of people around. It also meant the ones who did wander by were usually terribly lost or looking for trouble.
Finally deciding to sandwich the sleeping bag down low over his lap and loop the sack’s one strap at an angle around his neck and shoulders, so that the sack sat forward over the top of the sleeping bag and under his chin, Lance kicked off. It was awkward as hell riding that way, but he had no choice. His father would probably be pissed he’d taken the bike, even though it had always been Lance’s.
Stupid, stubborn old man.
Lance ground his teeth and peddled harder toward town. There were a couple weeks left of school. The recruiter had madeit clear he needed to graduate, with more than barely passing grades, if he wanted to be let onto that bus at the end of the month. As things stood, his grades were pretty decent. He was no rocket scientist, but he had more functioning brain cells than the morons on the football team. Probably put together. As long as he kept attending, as long as he stayed the course, he’d be okay.
And he was going to get on that bus.
He was going to make it.
