Page 17 of Bozo

I turn to look at him, really look at him for the first time. He's changed in the months he's been gone. There's a hardness to his eyes that wasn't there before, a confidence in the set of his shoulders. But underneath it all, I can still see my best friend.

"It's not that simple," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I'm not eighteen yet. I can't just leave."

Connor's eyes flash with anger. "Like hell you can't. We'll figure something out. I'm not letting you go back there."

As we approach my street, panic rises in my chest. "Con, you have to take me home. If I don't bring him the beer?—"

He cuts me off. "No way. You're coming with me. We'll deal with your dad later."

I shake my head, my entire body trembling. “Please,” I whimper. “God, Con, please. I need to go home.”

He watches me. “Fuck,” he snarls. “Fine, but I’m coming in too. I’m not leaving you alone with that piece of shit.”

Connor pulls up in front of my house, his jaw clenched tight. I can see the tension radiating off him as he kills the engine.

"You don't have to do this," I say softly, clutching the six-pack to my chest like a shield.

He turns to me, his eyes blazing with determination. "Yes, I do. I'm not leaving you alone with him again."

We get out of the car, Connor staying close to my side as we approach the front door. My hand shakes as I reach for the knob, dreading what awaits us inside.

The living room is dark except for the flickering light of the TV. Dad is sprawled on the couch, snoring loudly. Empty cans litter the floor around him.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe we can just slip past him...

But as I take a step forward, my foot catches on an empty can. It skitters across the floor with a loud clatter.

Dad's eyes snap open. He lurches to his feet, swaying dangerously. "Where the hell have you been?" he slurs, stumbling toward us.

I shrink back instinctively, but Connor steps in front of me. "Back off," he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

Dad's bloodshot eyes narrow as he focuses on Connor. "What the fuck are you doing back?" he slurs.

"You’re lucky your daughter hasn’t called me before now. You touch her again, Joe, and we’re going to have a bigger problem than we already do. I’m not letting you hurt Grá again," Connor says, his fists clenched at his sides. He’s geared up for a fight, but I don’t want anything to happen to him, and stupidly, I don’t want my dad to get hurt either.

Dad's face contorts with rage. "You little shit," he snarls, lunging forward. But his drunken state makes him clumsy, and Connor easily sidesteps him.

"Grá, go pack a bag," Connor says, his eyes never leaving my father. "You're not staying here tonight."

I hesitate, torn between fear of my father's wrath and the desperate desire to escape. Dad turns his furious gaze on me. "You're not going anywhere," he growls.

Connor steps between us again. "Yes, she is. And if you try to stop her, I'll call the cops. How do you think they'll react to seeing those bruises?"

Dad's face pales slightly, but his anger doesn't subside. "You can't take her," he spits. "She's my daughter."

"Some dad you are," Connor retorts, his voice dripping with disgust. "Grá, go. Now."

I don't wait for another word. I dart past them, racing up the stairs to my room, ignoring the pain that radiates throughout my body. With shaking hands, I grab a duffel bag and start shovingclothes into it. I can hear muffled shouting from downstairs, but I try to block it out.

As I'm zipping up the bag, I hear a crash followed by a pained grunt. My heart leaps into my throat. I rush back downstairs to find Connor standing over my father, who's sprawled on the floor, clutching his jaw.

"Let's go," Connor says firmly, grabbing my arm and steering me toward the door. I cast one last glance at my father, a mixture of fear and pity churning in my stomach.

As we step out into the darkness, I hear my dad's slurred voice behind us. "You'll be back," he calls out. "You've got nowhere else to go."

Connor's grip on my arm tightens as he leads me to his car. "Don't listen to him," he mutters. "You're never going back there."

We drive in silence for a while, the streetlights casting intermittent shadows across Connor's face. I can see the tension in his jaw; his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

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