Page 57

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

DEAN

Tanner had one helluva game on Friday night, so after Clara June gets off shift this afternoon, we’re having a Saturday night celebration.

I’m celebrating the fact that I bought a ring and am going to propose to Clara June, and after we get done tonight, I’m going to ask her about going to my parents house tomorrow…

and once my parents have met everyone, all I need to do is… it.

“You sure?” I ask, my last attempt at trying to rope the boys into going to the store with me.

Rawley grabs a can of off-brand soda from the fridge and stops at the end of the hall. “I’m in-game, and Jo Jo is gonna call me in like, an hour.”

Tanner, from his spot splayed across the couch in nothing but boxers and one sock, yawns. “I was up til four in the morning talking to a girl on text. I’m gonna stay and nap.”

I look at Archie, my last ally. He grins. “I gotta poop.”

I tip my hat at them. “Alright then. Text me if anyone thinks of something they want.” Rawley nods and slides down the hall. I look at Tanner. “Rawley’s got his headset on. He can’t look out for Archie, but no going outside until I’m back, okay?”

Tanner rolls over, facing the TV where an episode of an old cartoon plays. “Okay.”

The house is still and quiet when I close the front door behind me.

The sky is blue, with a few gauzy clouds floating by.

The temperature is perfect, and birds sing from rooftops, a dog barks in a yard not far from here, and a little girl pedals by on a bike with pink tassels coming from the handles. A blue car passes by.

The day is beautiful and perfect, and it feels symbolic for what’s ahead.

“Looks like someone’s hungry,” the checker says as she slides the third bag of chips across the scanner.

I scratch at the side of my head as I watch a gallon of peach ice cream move past next. “Three boys at home.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Ahh, that explains it. I have one of my own. He’s only four but man can he eat.”

I laugh, thinking about how Archie is always hungry. “I know how that is.”

She scans a small cake next. “You celebrating?”

We technically aren’t, but because I’m planning to pop the question soon, and the boys are all good with it, it feels like saying no would be wrong. So I don’t. “Yeah, we are.”

“Yeah?” she asks, popping her gum as she scans the box of dryer sheets next. “Whatcha celebratin’?”

“Just how lucky I am, I guess.”

She makes a funny face, like the answer doesn’t quite make sense to her.

But it makes perfect sense to me. I push my cart out, load the groceries into the back of my pickup, and double-check my phone to make sure one of the boys didn’t think of something that they need at the last minute.

When I see no messages queued, I hop in the truck and head home.

I keep the windows down on my drive back, hoping the cool wind licking at the back of my neck will bring me some new ideas on how I should pop the question. I’m five minutes down a mental road involving a word puzzle and scavenger hunt when a blue car catches my eye.

The same blue car I’ve seen a handful of times, if I force myself to really place it. In fact, I just saw that blue car drive past the house before I left. Didn’t I?

I did.

And as I let off the gas nearer to Clara June’s place, I realize that blue car is parked at Clara June’s place. I pull into the driveway, throw my truck in park and jump out.

My heart sinks when I notice the front door is open just slightly. My feet move faster than I realized they would, and I’m at the front door, out of breath, in mere seconds. I push it open and see a man in the living room, holding Archie by the wrists in front of him.

He’s shorter than me, and has no muscle on his frame.

Above his lip is a mustache the color of coffee.

His eyes are lined with dark circles, and his hair looks like it hasn’t been cut or combed in over a month.

His clothes are dirty, and his hands are, too.

On his feet are steel toed work boots, worn and weathered, yet when I look at this man in his eyes, I know exactly who he is.

Archie spots me and lunges, but makes no ground as he cries, “Dean!”

Rawley, out of breath, lets his hands fall to his knees. “Dean, thank god.” He looks at Tanner. “Call 911.”

My mind is spinning. 911. The cracked door. The boys are… they’re scared. Even though Rawley shouts again, “We’re calling 911, fucker!” I can hear the fear in his voice.

Then the fucker speaks. “Get the fuck outta here McAllister, this is between me and my boys.”

I shake my head and move toward him, toward Archie, unafraid and unwilling to let anything happen to these kids. “You’re the guy who's been posing as a scout.” I look at Tanner. “Is that him? Does it sound like the guy who called you? The scout?”

It makes sense now. He’s been harassing Clara June about Tanner’s football career. Of course it was him calling both me and Tanner, not having a name, being difficult and narcissistic. He was trying to find a way in.

Tanner nods, but doesn’t say a word. Rawley stands in front of Tanner, and I can tell there was already somewhat of a scuffle. The neck of his shirt is stretched loose, and sweat peppers his upper lip. Troy’s shirt is stretched at the hem, and tears are stained on Archie's cheeks.

He reaches for me again. “Dean!”

Tanner’s hands are shaking, but he’s holding his phone. Slowly, I tell him what his brother already has. “Tanner, step outside and call 911. They’ll send the police.”

I look at Rawley. “Go outside with him.”

He shakes his head. “No. No way.” He looks at his father. “You are not leaving here with Archie. No goddamn way. Over my dead body.” I’ve never heard Rawley use that kind of language, but the situation calls for it, and I’m proud of how fiercely he protects his little brother.

I make a move toward Troy, because truth is, I can take him. He’s weaker, he’s smaller, and I am filled with the strength of ten men from how angry I am. How this man hurt Clara June and these boys, and how he thinks he can walk in and out of their lives. No way. Not on my fucking watch.

Rawley stops me mid-lunge. “He has a knife.” He lowers his voice and repeats himself. “He has a knife. I saw it in his boot when we were fighting.”

Archie wails, and Tanner reappears in the doorframe. “I called the cops.”

Troy struggles with patience, struggles with words. “Tanner, godda— Tanner, son, this is all going too far. Now, all I want to do is talk to you about your football career. That’s all. Is that so bad?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Tanner says.

Troy puts Archie in a headlock. “You will go get in my car this second.”

Knife or not, that’s it. I’ll get stabbed. I don’t give a shit. I will not let this piece of shit hurt these boys. No goddamn way. That is not the world I’m living in.

I move in on Troy, who shoves Archie to the ground hard. He wasn’t prepared, and isn’t able to brace himself, and I hear his little head knock against the coffee table, and the room fills with his wails of pain.

Troy swings, punching me in the face. I stumble back a few steps, but don’t try to hit him. All I want to do is get behind him, put him in a sleeper and get him outside, on the lawn, out of our home. The cops are coming, Tanner called them, so all I need to do is get him out of here.

I hate this man with every fiber of my being.

But I have three sets of eyes on me right now, and I’m the man who's gonna take care of their mama for the rest of our lives.

What I do in this situation, heightened, erratic and emotional or not, matters.

It matters more than what Troy does, and I know it.

He hits me again.

“Fight back, Dean!” Rawley shouts, edging nearer to us.

“Stay back, Rawl. Get out front. Tanner, take Archie to Mrs. Salingers,” I tell him, as blood trickles through my mustache and down my lips. The taste of pennies is fuel. If he can make me bleed, he’d make them bleed, too.

I move in on him, and get close enough where he’ll swing, only this time, I anticipate it, and duck, moving behind him quickly. I lock my arm around his throat, and he lifts his leg, reaching for the weapon in his boot.

Rawley took Tanner and Archie outside, but he comes back, and I’m glad he does.

“Rawl, grab his knife!” I shout. Rawley reaches, and Troy kicks, and connects with him.

That’s my fault. I should never have asked for his help.

The guilt that hits me immediately turns to violent rage, rage in which I must control for the sake of the boys.

I grab my wrist with my free hand as Troy claws at my arm.

I drag him through the house, keeping pressure on his airway, then toss him into the lawn where he crumples onto his hands and knees, coughing and sputtering.

I run back in, and help Rawley off the floor.

He doesn’t have a cut, but a bruise is forming along his hairline. “Are you okay?” I help him to his feet.

He’s disoriented for a moment then nods his head, and we run out front.

Troy has managed to get to his feet and is reaching for Tanner. “You’re coming with me, goddamn it! You’re my son! Get in the goddamn car, Tanner!”

I step between them, and press my hand into Troy’s chest. “I’m trying to do right by these boys and not let them see me beat you fucking senseless, but you’re testing me.”

Troy smirks, and looks between Tanner and Rawley on the lawn behind me.

“No need to fight. I came for my son, and I’m not leaving until my son gets in the car.”

I don’t know why, but it grates on my nerves that this man hasn’t acknowledged the fact that he has three sons, and yet he’s only here for one of them.