I let out a long, slow breath.
Neither of them would return to check on me now. Still, I stuffed some pillows under my blankets in a shape I thought would vaguely resemble my body. I tiptoed to my bedroom door and pressed my ear to the wood. Faint sounds from downstairs filtered through. Some TV show with lots of shooting. My dad’s gruff voice from time to time.
I crept to my window and slowly eased it open. The ledge was narrow but it was only a few steps and a short drop to the roof over the screened-in porch. From there, I could slide to the edge, jump down on the rain barrel my mom kept at the side of the house and to the ground. I’d tested this route a few times and never had a problem.
I pedaled my bike quickly toward the main road leading to Hills Park. It would be a trickier trip for Jensen but as I silently glided my bike into the darkened grove of trees, I could barely make out his silhouette by the swings.
I skidded to a stop, hopped off, and dropped my bike on the ground.
“What took so long?” he asked, holding out his fist.
I knocked my knuckles against his. “Needed to make sure my parents weren’t going to check on me.”
We walked to the swings in silence and chose two near the end. Mine squeaked on each downswing but no one was around to hear it, so I kept going, pumping my legs faster and faster until my stomach flipped and my toes almost caught the leaves of the highest branches hanging over the swing set.
“Everything all right?” he asked after I slowed to a gentle sway.
“Nah, I fucked up big time this afternoon.”
I explained the situation and he stared up at the stars thoughtfully.
“Your parents won’t let you hang out with me if they find out,” I said to break the silence.
“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“You’re more of a brother to me than my own brothers.” He shrugged. “Nothing you do will ever make us stop being friends.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“But, jeez, how dumb are you?” He grinned and kicked some sand at my feet.
After we called a truce on the sand war, he turned serious again. “You think I’m ever gonna hit that growth spurt everyone talks about?” He glanced over. “You have.”
“Of course you will. Plus, you’ll put on muscle from all that farm work. Girls will be crawling all over you.”
He gave me a wide-eyed stare in return. “Yeah, sure.”
After a few seconds, he jumped off the swing. “I better get back.”
“Be careful.”
I watched him ride into the night before taking off for home.
As soon as I was safely inside my room again, I grinned in the dark. Sneaking out was a rush. Sneaking back in with no one noticing was even better. I hoped Jensen made it inside his house as easily as I did.
I stood there patting myself on the back for getting away with my little adventure.
A noise echoed down the hallway.
A slap?
I held my breath, waiting to see if I’d hear it again.
My father’s voice. Low, but insistent. That crazed, quick speech that came whenever he was in one of his rages.
Another crisp smacking sound. My whole body flinched.
I threw my jacket on the floor and marched into the hallway.
Yelling. Much clearer out here. I couldn’t make out all the words but no doubt they were mean. I caught ‘bitch’ and ran faster.
Another slap. A sob.
Mom.
The voices were distinct but still far. Not in their bedroom. Downstairs.
My feet missed the first few steps. I hit the landing hard, waited a beat, then charged down the rest of the stairs.
No.
Mom on the floor, crawling backwards like a hunted crab. Blood spilling from her busted lip.
My father looming over her, preparing to strike her again.
This was my fault. No doubt the trouble I’d gotten into earlier sparked this brutal fight.
A bolt of rage shot down my legs and I rushed my father, slamming into his side. Anything to tear his attention away from my mother. So she could get away. Call for help.
“Get away from her!” I roared.
In my fury, I shoved him a few feet away from my mother. His shoulder slammed into the wall and he grunted in pain.
Better him than my mom.
Slowly, he shook off my attack. His wild, crazy eyes fixated on me as if he couldn’t believe I had the balls to come after him.
His expression was darker than I’d ever seen before.
I’d grown a few inches and put on muscle from helping out at Jensen’s family’s farm and playing Pop Warner football. But it was nothing compared to my father’s height, bulk, and sheer cruelty. He had enough mean built up inside him to use The Undertaker’s signature tombstone piledriver move on The Undertaker himself without breaking a sweat.