Staring at me, he studies my expression for a moment. He must realize that I’m dead serious, which only makes him laugh. The sound is harsh, and I brace myself for another blow.
It doesn’t come.
“Get the fuck out of my house, Rafael,” he tells me. “And if you think you’re ever getting another cent from me—or the Pavones—you’re more of an idiot than I thought. You should get out of New Bristol while you can.”
“That all you got?” I challenge him. “A few punches and a petty threat? I don’t need you, old man.”
This time, I’m the one who throws the punch.
It catches him in the jaw, and he stumbles back from that. “You’re fucking dead to me,” he snarls. “Now get the fuck out before I show you what it means to fuck with me.”
I realize I don’t mind the idea of being dead to him.
I wish I’d had that realization a long time ago.
I shoulder-check him and storm out of the bedroom, and the beer can hits me in the back. I ignore it, leaving the house and slamming the door behind me.
The car is in my name, one of the few things that my mother had done right by me, and I’m grateful for that much, at least.
I send a text to Pandora.
River
My dad might be calling your dad about me. I’m dead to him now, apparently.
I don’t know why I’m texting her about it. I’m going to head back to Dyschord. I have the rest of the year to come up with a game plan for how to get through the next three years. The street fights pay well, but notthatwell.
Whatever.
I’ll figure it out.
Pandora
Huh. Okay. You want me to putin a good word?
River
I’d like to not end up dead in a ditch somewhere, so that’d be nice.
I’m heading back to Dyschord. Want to grab food before I go?
I want to see her.
So badly, I want to see her, even though she’s partially the reason I just had that showdown with my dad.
Honestly, it was less climactic than I thought it would be, though if I hadn’t defended myself, I have no doubts that it would’ve turned out worse.
Black eyes would’ve been the least of my problems.
I wonder where my mother is.
Did she finally get the courage to leave him? To walk out and leave him behind forever? The fact that she hadn’t contacted me at all stings.
It more than stings.
It downright hurts.
I should be glad she’s out, but empty bitterness grips me tight. Why now, when she’d had so many chances to leave before? To leave withme?
