Page 34 of Skeletons in the Closet

He shifted to face me. Dad and I shared many features, but not as many as I shared with the late Grandpa Boone. The most prominent difference was our size. The day I’d surpassed the oldman in height and weight was the day things got worse. He’d had something to prove as the smaller man and made a show of displaying his dominance.

“What did I tell you about visiting your grandmother?”

I stayed quiet.

“Answer me when I ask you a question.”

I refused.

He pointed with the half-empty bottle. “I told you to respect my fucking house.”

I hadn’t disrespected it, but there was no sense arguing. Leroy Krause was gearing up for a fight. When Dad got in a mood, he invented problems so he could smack me around. He’d been doing it my whole life.

“I pay her way around here,” he said. “I put a roof over her head and ensure that good-for-nothing nurse comes seven days a week to look after her. It’s me who feeds her. Not you. I ought to be told when you plan to come into my house.”

“She’s my grandmother, and you don’t give two shits about her.” The minute the mumbled words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. The impulse to back talk had always gotten me in trouble.

Dad whipped all the way around on the couch, half falling off the end before righting himself. The beer bottle tipped and spilled its contents on the furniture. He didn’t notice. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

A muffled ringing sounded from my pocket. I didn’t move to answer it. Dad and I were in a stare-down that wasn’t going to end well. I sensed Mom’s presence at the door to the living room, but she vanished again just as quickly, not wanting to get involved. She’d never gotten involved. When her husband took a notion to discipline his son or make an example out of him, Mom turned her back like it wasn’t happening.

“You best walk out that door and not look back.”

“I’m moving her to a nursing home. Ain’t nothing you can do about it either.” It was hot air, nothing close to a threat, and Dad knew it.

“Oh yeah. And how’s it you’re gonna do that? You think that shit business you’re running’s gonna pay those bills? You ain’t nothing like your grandfather Boone, that’s for sure. At least he had half a brain. You’ve got shit for brains. Always have, always will.”

“Must run in the family.”

“What was that?”

“You should get your fucking hearing checked,” I muttered too low for him to hear.

The incessant ringing was driving me insane. I tore the phone from my pocket and read the screen. Tallus. Goddammit.

“I said you’re the one with shit for brains. Boone should have had your abusive ass locked up when he had the chance,” I spat before connecting the call. “It’s not a good time,” I barked into the phone before Tallus could get a word in.

“Well, hello to you too, cuddle bear. You’re more of a scorpion. Anyhow, make it a good time, Guns, because I might have information.”

“You call me shit for brains to my face, and I’ll have you taken down a peg,” Dad shouted.

Things were getting ugly fast. I needed to leave. Growling into the phone, I repeated, “It’s not. A good. Time. I have to—”

Dad whipped the beer bottle across the room, aiming for my head, but I was prepared and ducked before it made contact. The glass shattered against the wall, beer splashing everywhere, glass exploding.

“Don’t you ignore me.”

“Maybe you’d have hit me if you weren’t so fucking drunk, asshole. Go on. Try again. I fucking dare ya.”

“You always were a smart-mouth brat.” He grabbed one of the empties by his feet and threw it with less coordination. It went wide, shattering against the wall three feet from where I stood. Dad growled and reached for a third.

“Put it the fuck down. I’m leaving.”

I ducked into the hallway and aimed for the side door as a third bottle hit the wall. The cool night air blasted me in the face when I got outside. I hustled to the Jeep, tugging my keys out as I ran. A second later, I was in the driver’s seat, heart pumping poisonous fury through my veins. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to scream and break my fist on a wall. But the ugliest part was the murderous heat engulfing my brain and turning my reasoning center to mud.

My biggest fear in life was that I would someday kill my father and feel no regret.

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