Page 14 of Catch the Sun

In my opinion, love is life’s most skilled assassin. And that’s because it hides in plain sight, well versed in camouflage and deception. It wears the face of that one person you would die for on the front line as you bleed out in the dirt, whisperingtheirname on your final breath.

No.

I will not go out like that.

I will never fall in love. Falling leaves you with broken bones and shattered pieces. Falling leaves you in ruins. And if you’re really unlucky, falling leaves you dead.

I don’t want to be conquered.

I don’t want to be overthrown.

I refuse, I refuse, Irefuse…

I refuse to be victim of love again.

Chapter 4

Max

A vase shatters against the wall behind me, missing my head by less than an inch.

I scratch at the tickle left behind by the near-hit before jumping into action and rushing into the bedroom. Dad stumbles toward the bed, leaning heavily on his cane.

“You’re a goddamn whore, Carol Ann!” he shouts at nobody.

He’s slurring so badly, it would be difficult to understand him if the words weren’t so familiar.

I step forward with a cautious gait like he’s a rabid animal prepared to pounce—which isn’t the worst analogy when he tries to drink himself into a coma.

My eyes track him as he tugs at his thinning hair. He’s aged. Dad had us later in life—making him recently sixty—but even still, he looks like he’s been dead for years, recently dredged up from a crud-laden coffin. Yellowing sclerae and blackened fingernails add to the zombie persona.

Finding my voice, I swallow hard and take another step closer. “Dad, it’s me. It’s Max. You should lie down.”

He swings his head back and forth, still fisting his hair from the roots while muttering gibberish under his breath.

“Dad—”

“Where is she?” he demands, looking up suddenly, his sick eyes darting around the room. “She’s with Rick, I know it. Tell her she’s dead. I’ll kill her myself.”

“Mom’s been gone for five years.”

“She’s with Rick.” His face turns crimson, the veins in his neck popping. “That backstabbing bitch!”

Glass shatters when he chucks an empty bottle of whiskey at the far wall. He doesn’t throw it in my direction this time, but I still jump back on instinct and almost trip over a booze-stained rug. I watch with hopelessness as he starts tearing apart the bedroom as if he’s looking for something…but what he’s really looking for walked out on him half a decade ago and never came back.

I shout for backup over my shoulder. “McKay!” I’m confident he put his earbuds in and can’t hear me. He’d already be in here by now, considering Dad is on a rampage and it’s a damn miracle the neighbors haven’t sent the cops over for a welfare check. “McKay…fuck!” I storm out of the room, and sure enough, I find my brother lying on the couch with an arm draped over his eyes, two wires dangling from his ears.

Anger burns me. I can’t blame my brother for blocking out the destruction going on a few feet away, but I can blame him for leaving me to deal with it all on my own.

Not like that’s anything new.

I stomp toward him and yank a wire from his right ear. “Asshole. Get up.”

He opens one eye, then the other, irritation shimmering back at me. “I’m listening to a podcast. True crime.” Throwing his arm back over his eyes to erase the image of me looming over him, he finishes with, “It’s riveting.”

I pluck the earbud from his other ear with double the force and fling both across the room until he’s glaring up at me. “You’re about to be living a true crime if you don’t help me calm Dad the fuck down. He’s going to kill himself.”

“Well, it’s just a matter of time, anyway.”

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