Page 75 of Four Times Taken

"Those parasites don't know when to stop. If you give him, there's no guarantee it will keep him from harassing Lily. He'll just find a way to keep coming back for more," Ryan finished.

"Eric, what do you think?" Ethan asked. "Eric?"

"Huh?" I looked up from the message, my heart in shambles.

"I can't believe you'd rather be on your phone. What the fuck could be more important right now?" Ryan asked.

Clearing my throat, I shoved my phone back into my pocket. "Nothing. I agree with Ryan. Paying him off isn't a solution; it's a problem," I said, hiding the devastating news I'd just received.

My father had been diagnosed with PTSD, along with my mother. They found this out recently when he thought my mother was an enemy and pulled out a gun. She, realizing she was unarmed, ran for cover. They'd both been retired a little over a year and hadn't shown any signs of the condition. My parents hadn't been violent toward each other in the years I'd known them. They'd always treated each other with respect, which is why when their neighbor heard the commotion, they called the police.

He was held overnight and met with a mental health professional. My mother, who had to be coaxed out of the bathroom after having a nervous breakdown, was also admitted into psychiatric care until she could advocate for herself.

Guilt found a breeding ground inside me. All of this occurred over a series of weeks, and I had no clue. My mother accepted the hospital's offer of a live-in nurse since they could only be released into the care of someone who could keep an eye on them and monitor their recovery. The nurse thought it would be a good idea to come down and visit them.

I'm at a fork in the road, and I'm not sure which path to take. I haven't seen my parents in months, and the thought of having this all happen to them without my knowledge. What if the gun had been loaded and he'd shot my mother? What if he'd managed to break down the door? She could be dead right now, and he could be in jail. I've already not spent much time with them and haven't thought much of it until this moment.

But Lily. Her life could also be in danger, I can't leave her here to face this all by herself. She's not by herself, I'm reminded.

The bathroom grew hotter, and my stomach turned. I didn't want to leave her, but I knew she'd be in good hands with Ethan, Matt, and Ryan. A small flutter of relief made its way through the storm inside my body, and it dawned on me how grateful I was that I'm not the only man in her life. In moments like these, I appreciated that this could be a long-term dynamic for all of us. Not just a one-off.

Because the truth is, I had to visit my parents. And as long as the other guys didn't do something stupid like kill the guy, I'm sure everything would be okay, because just like me, they won't allow a single hair on her head to be harmed.

Still, I hesitated to respond to the text message. Not right now, not until we brainstormed a way to remove that man from her life, without committing a crime, of course. What the fuck were they thinking?

Chapter 48

Lily

"What kind of pussy spell do you have those bitches under?" My father chuckled, the stink of his cigarette and alcohol breath wafting through the air.

Already, I'm a kid again. When people say that, it usually comes with feelings of being young, light, free, imaginative, having much less 'adult shit' to worry about. That's not the case with me. My life is much better now. It's taken me this long to feel young, light, free, and imaginative. This past month opened me up to a new level of freedom that didn't exist for me before. Being a kid again means carrying around an unbearable suffocating weight on my shoulders, being filled with hate, resentment, and fear. Needing to escape. Being helpless. Drowning in too much adult shit.

"What the fuck are you looking at? I'm starving. Go make me something to eat," he grunted, soiling the new sofa with his filthy swamp ass.

Taking a deep breath past the boulder in my chest and inhaling the odor of the past, I crossed my arms across my chest. "No."

He shook his head and pointed his cigarette toward me. "You know, I've been giving you enough chances." He chuckled; it's a humorless grating sound. "But if you keep pushing..."

"You'll what?" I tossed my chin up toward him. "Hit me? Go ahead. I dare you." I stepped to him with a sense of power and confidence made possible by the knowledge that I'm protected. He balled his fists up and jumped up from the chair, anger blazing in his eyes, making the veins in his face, neck, and floppy arms stand up. My confidence waned when his nose almost touched mine, and his breath alone threatened to knock me out. I hoped he couldn't feel the way my body was shaking as I tried to maintain the power slipping from my grip.

Surprised his hand wasn't already on me, choking the air out of my lungs or throwing me across the room, I continued, "You heard them. Their respect for my wishes may be keeping them away for now, but that restraint will go out the window the minute something goes wrong and as cocky as you are, I doubt you can take on four grown men. After all, your strength is only reserved for women, isn't it?"

His breath was hot on my face as he raised both hands, bringing them close to my head. I stopped breathing as his palms brushed up against the strands of my hair. His eyes were wild, and his pulse was loud in my ear; the veins in his wrist puffed up like tiny fucking tree branches or something. He yelled in my face, blasting me with his spit, before dropping his hands to his side and backing away, almost stumbling from the force of rage rocking his body. My breath rushed to the surface, and my heart started beating again. Fuck, the crippling fear I'd forgotten about rushed back, and I re-experienced every moment I thought Marco would kill me, when I thought my father would kill my mother. I'm frozen, unable to use my lips to shout for help.

My stomach turned over a million times, but I hoped to hell I'm retaining my composure, and he couldn't smell the fear dripping off my body.

"Yeah, well, those little bitch boys won't be there to protect you all the time, will they? We'll see what happens when it's just you and me," he said.

Clearing my throat out of fear that my voice would betray my portrayal of courage if I tried to speak, I straightened my shoulders. "They won't leave me alone with you around. So I suggest you leave unless you want to live with all of us. And before you mention calling the cops again, may I remind you that you broke things off with my mother and moved out to live with another woman five years ago? You have no conjugal rights to this house." I found the dining room chair I left in the center of the room earlier and took a seat to tame my wobbling legs.

He laughed and held his hands up, waving them around in mock fear. "Nice try." He flopped down on the sofa he had no place being in, imprinting memories of him on it just like the last one. I glared at him. "May I remind you..." he mimicked me.

"That Petal and I didn't get divorced?"

Petal's my mother's name. Her family had a thing for flower names for the girls, and they passed the tradition down to me. My father always thought it was stupid. I'm surprised she managed to convince him to let me keep the name in the first place. I imagine he said something ignorant like, 'I don't care what you call the bitch. As long as she can cook and clean when she grows up.'

"What do you mean you didn't get divorced?" I balked.

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