“I-I don’t know, sir,” Lucas stammered.
He released Lucas with a shove, sending him scrambling to where Willow waited for him. Clasping hands, they backed away slowly.
“Logan!” he shouted, between more swigs of vodka. “Where the fuck you at, boy? You better get your ass over here ‘fore I—”
With a heavy breath, I stepped inside the room. Our eyes met—his narrowed into slits, mine carefully blank.
“Creepy little shit,” he snarled. “You’re gonna get yourself shot, you hear me? You keep sneakin’ up on people, you’re gonna wind up on the wrong end of a gun.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied coolly. There was no talking to him, no engaging with him, and definitely no arguing with him. Whatever he said, no matter how ridiculous, no matter how ignorant, I simply agreed.
“Where’s your mother?” he continued. “She sleepin’ again—off takin’ goddamn naps while I’m out huntin’ down food for us all?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I don’t know—I don’t know,” he mimicked, the scent of alcohol on his breath washing over me and making me nauseous. “Neither of you know nothin’, huh? Two shit-for-brains for kids—how’d I get so fuckin’ lucky?”
“I’ll go look for her,” I offered, moving toward the stairs.
“You’ll stay fuckin’ put!” he thundered, knocking me back with a fist to my chest. “I’ll go get her—she’s my goddamn wife.” Shoving his bottle at me, he started shedding his winter gear.
“Clean this shit up,” he demanded, waving at the pile of wet clothing. Snatching his bottle back, he turned to the stairs.
One, two, three…
As his heavy steps ascended the old staircase, I began counting silently—knowing the fighting would start before I’d reach ten. It always started before ten.
Four, five, six…
And once the fighting began, it would be my responsibility to end it. No one else was going to willingly pry my father off my mother, and, in turn, get the shit kicked out of them for daring to interfere.
Seven, eight, nine…
“Logan?” Lucas whispered.
The sound of a door slamming echoed throughout the house. Heavy footsteps pounded the halls above us. Another door slammed, followed by muffled shouts.
“Do you think we should go up—” Willow began, her words cut off by the blast of a gun. Frightened, frantic screaming followed. Another gunshot, and more screaming, and then the screaming abruptly stopped.
Lucas and Willow’s gazes swung in my direction, wide-eyed and full of fear; I was already in motion, charging up the stairs. Mrs. Gleason, helped along by her grandson, nearly crashed into me as they hurried past me, their expressions stricken.
I paused at the top of the staircase; a hint of sulfur hung in the air, along with the acrid scent of burning. There was a muffled thump in the distance, growing louder as I raced toward the noise. Turning into the last room on the left, I stopped dead.
I saw the gun first—my father’s large caliber handgun, lying unattended in the center of the room. Mere inches from the gun was Willow’s dad, sprawled across the floor, his wide, unblinking eyes staring straight through me. There was a hole in the center of his forehead and another in his cheek, thin trails of blood dripping from each.
Across the room, my father was straddling my mother, his considerable weight dwarfing her small frame. His large hands were wrapped around her neck, shaking her violently, bashing her head into the floor, a pool of red growing beneath her.
“Cheating…whore…” he ground out. “Goddamn…whore…”
I charged him. Barreling into his side, I sent us crashing across the room. We rolled wildly, him grabbing at my face, me hooking my fist into his rib cage, each of us struggling to gain the upper hand.
His jagged fingernails scored my cheek, and as I flinched away, he gripped my throat. My air supply abruptly cut off, he flipped us, smashing my head into the floor, all the while squeezing my throat tighter. Everything went blurry and then black. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, and then—
A series of explosions punched through my quickly clouding thoughts. Pop-pop-pop—one after the other, their shrill echoes rang painfully between my ears. The grip on my neck loosened, the weight on my middle fell away; my hands went for my neck as I began to sputter and cough, gasping for air.
Blinking through blurry eyes, I found Willow standing over me. Frozen in place, her arms were outstretched, my father’s gun trembling in her grip, a trail of smoke rising from the barrel. Behind her, Lucas stood in the doorway, gripping the doorframe as if he might fall.
And behind me was my father.
