Page 114 of Limbo

I catch the scent of bourbon on his breath. “Are you drunk?”

When he doesn’t answer, I ask Cate to get him a glass of water. I wait for her to run out before I grab him by the hair and lift his head up. “You have until she gets back to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“He showed up at practice and saw me miss a layup. A fucking layup, and all because I was distracted, watching his Father of the Year act with Coach. When I got back, he said he wasn’t paying for me to suck. We started yelling at one another, and—” He takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. “He burned it all. My jerseys. My shoes. Everything. All my stuff, it’s just … gone.”

The smell outside.

I shake my head, unable to process such an extreme reaction to an argument with a fifteen-year-old.

“He left, and I was so mad,” he says. “I went to Derrick’s, and we raided his dad’s bar. I’m sorry. I just…” Connor’s eyes plead with me, desperate for something but I don’t know what. “I hate him so much, Cal; it’skillingme.” He throws his arms around me and clings to me as if I’m his lifeline, shaking and crying. “I’m so sorry, Cal. I’m so sorry.”

My heart shatters into more microscopic pieces than I thought possible as I hold on to him, only to outdo itself when Cate comes in to see her invincible big brother falling apart in my arms. He catches sight of her and pulls away, wiping his eyes, but she’s already whimpering.

“Come here, Monster,” he says, voice trembling.

She climbs onto his lap and secures her arms around his neck, still holding the water glass. I grab it before it ends up down his back.

Blood drips off the ends of Connor’s fingers onto the carpet, and light catches on pieces of glass embedded in the cuts.

I stand up and set the glass on the nightstand. “We need to go get your hand taken care of.”

He braces with the injured hand as he gets up with Cate in his other arm and leaves a smear of blood across the mattress. She watches me over his shoulder while he carries her out. They disappear into the hall, and the panic sets in. I frantically glance around the room. Whether Graham comes home tonight or in the morning, there’s no way we can hide this. I can clean up some of the mess maybe, but the TV and wall mount and bloodstains—I have no idea how I’ll fix this, but I need to figure something out. Until then, I turn out the light and shut the door. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Connor holds Cate, waiting for me by the kitchen door. We’re about to walk out when the muffled sound of a truck’s exhaust cuts through the quiet house. Sheer panic flashes in Connor’s eyes, surely mirroring mine. This can’t be happening. We need to get the fuck out of this house.

I grab for my keys, and my entire body numbs. “I left my keys in Graham’s room.” The truck shuts off outside, and my mind races. “Go,” I tell him, turning the doorknob. “Do not come back inside, no matter what.”

Connor violently shakes his head. “No fucking way.”

“If I’m not out in two minutes, call Trey.”

He continues to tell me no until the truck door slams outside.

I open the door and almost push him out. “Go,” I whisper.

Graham stands near the bed of his truck. He watches us to figure out what we’re doing, so I smile at Connor.

“I’ll get my keys, and then we’ll go for a slushie.”

I calmly step inside and shut the door before I tear through the house. My keys are on the floor in front of the bed. I swipe them, already on my way back in the other direction, and close the door behind me. As I get to my bedroom door, Graham turns the corner into the hall. We both stop. His eyes drop to the keys in my hand. I jingle them around to further prove they are the reason I’m standing here.

Pins and needles cover every inch of my skin. The second he starts walking so does my clock. I need to get out of the house and to the car before he has a chance to react to the condition of his room. What happens after, I’m not sure. All I know is none of it matters if I don’t get to the car.

My heart pounds hard enough in my chest that I fear he’ll hear it. I take a step toward him; his first one stops my breathing. We pass each other, and I fight the urge to run. I hit the mouth of the hallway as his door creaks behind me.

“What thefuck!”

I race through the kitchen, knocking over a chair on my way around the table. The screen door bangs open so hard it doesn’t swing back, and cool night air hits my lungs. Connor, my anchor to safety, waits by the car.

Both my feet are out the door when my head jerks back. I cry out, more in shock than pain as Graham starts dragging me inside by the hair. Connor drops Cate and rushes toward us, but he won’t make it in time. I throw my keys in his direction, needing him to get himself and Cate somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from here.

Graham slams the door, and the hold on me releases, so he can lock it. The second it does, I bolt from the kitchen. I lock myself in my room and run to the window. The heels of my hands press up on the top of the frame, but it doesn’t budge, still painted shut after all these years. I shove up harder, the edge of the wood digging into my skin. My breath comes faster with each failed attempt.

Shit.

I search around for something to break the glass but freeze when my doorknob rattles. With nowhere else to go, I crawl into the blanket fort. It muffles Graham’s yelling and beating on the door while I dig my phone out of my pocket.

Trey answers on the first ring. “Jesus, Cal. Connor just called. Are you okay?”

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