Page 36 of Before I Deserved You
“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” he announces with a stubborn tilt of his chin. For fuck’s sake. Of all the times to develop a backbone. If my heart wasn’t about to jump out of my chest, it might actually swell with pride.
“Listen to your brother, Jude,” our father sneers, a twisted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Jake and I have some things to work out, and you don’t want to be around for it.” He’s heavily dragging his words, and it’s then I notice the half-empty bottle of Jack sitting on the kitchen table. No glass. Straight from the bottle. I close my eyes in resignation when I realize the colossal mistake I’ve made. It’s always so much worse once he’s into the hard stuff.
“Just leave us alone,” my little brother wails, cowering behind me when the old man takes a threatening step forward. One can only be so brave when standing up to someone twice your size. I hold out a hand to ward him off and square my shoulders.
“Don’t you fucking touch him,” I snarl with as much bravado as I can muster, shoving Jude behind my back and holding him there with one arm.
“Or what? What are you going to do about it, huh?” He gets right in my face, standing so close I can smell the pungent fumes of whiskey on his breath.
“Just wait until he’s upstairs, please,” I plead, urging him to hold back until my brother is out of earshot. He doesn’t need to see this. He’s so damn young, and it’s my responsibility to shield him from the ugliness of the world, even if that means protecting him from the vicious monster living in our house.
“You have three seconds to get upstairs. I suggest you get moving.”
Jude clings to my forearm so hard his nails dig painfully into my skin, but he doesn’t budge.
“Just go,” I growl over my shoulder, giving him a hard nudge.
“Time’s up,” the old man whispers with malicious intent before his arm shoots out. Steely fingers wrap themselves around my throat, and he shoves me backward, forcing Jude to leap sideways if he doesn’t want to risk getting squished between me and the wall. A pitiful sob wrenches itself from his scrawny chest as he watches my reality unfold.
“Get out of here,” I shout as loud as my constricted airway allows before my back hits the wall so hard it knocks the breath out of me. A fierce pain explodes in my cheek as his meaty fist collides with the side of my face. A second punch immediately follows. I shake my head once to clear the cobwebs and wait for my vision to return, relieved to find the spot Jude previously occupied empty.
The sound of his bedroom door slamming shut gives me an additional layer of comfort. But the feeling is short-lived when another punch hits me square in the face, producing a sickening crunch. The amount of blood gushing from my nose, in combination with the death grip he keeps on my throat, makes it hard to breathe and causes black spots to dance in front of my eyes.
I’m torn between wanting to keep my guard up to protect myself from further damage and clawing at the fingers that threaten to crush my trachea. My father takes the choice from me when he pummels me on my unprotected side, delivering a couple of nasty kidney shots that have my knees buckling. He releases his hold, and I hit the floor with a dull thud, gasping for air as my lungs begin to fill with much-needed oxygen.
“You think you can take me, boy?” my old man taunts, delivering a hard kick to my thigh. He hasn’t yet removed his steel-toed boots, which makes the impact doubly unpleasant. “You think you’re tough enough?”
“I don’t want to fight you, Dad,” I wheeze, trying not to hyperventilate while I make a last-ditch effort to get through to him. “I’m just trying to protect them.If you need someone to take your shit out on, then take it out on me. But leave Anna and Jude alone. They’ve been through enough.”
“Typical, Jake. Always the martyr. You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? You think you have it all figured out, playing the father to my children and looking down your nose at me? Judging me for the way I choose to deal with my grief. You want me to take my shit out on you? Let me grant you your wish, you self-righteous little prick.”
Pain spears through my side as his heavy boot connects with my ribs over and over again. Hard, relentless kicks that have me curling in on myself. All I can do is wrap my arms around my head and wait for him to run out of steam. When he doesn’t seem to tire, and my body screams out for a reprieve, I push to my hands and knees in an effort to get away from his punishing strikes. But a brutal kick to the midsection keeps me rooted to the spot. My stomach lurches before I violently expel its contents all over the faded linoleum floor. I’m still dry-heaving when the steely voice of my best friend cuts through the room.
“I think he’s had enough.” Carter stands just inside the doorway, giving my dad a look that oozes contempt. Tessa and Megan hover behind him, eyes shining with unshed tears as they hold on to each other for support.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” my father snarls, not quite ready to give up the evening’s entertainment yet. “You have no right to barge into my house and question my methods. Jake is my son. He lives under my roof, and I’ll deal with him as I see fit.”
Carter’s hard expression doesn’t falter. Holding up his cell phone for everyone to see, he stares straight at my old man through narrowed eyes.
“I took pictures while you were too busy kicking the crap out of your own flesh and blood to notice. There’s proof of your so-called methods now, and if you touch Jake or any of your children ever again, I won’t hesitate to hand them over to the authorities. I swear to God, Mr. Nelson. I see so much as a scratch on him going forward, and I won’t rest until you get what’s coming to you. This ends now. Do we understand each other?”
My father’s gaze ping-pongs between me and my best friend, his whole body twitching with the urge to finish what he’s started. I hold my breath, praying he won’t go after my friend next because, frankly, I’m in no condition to defend him. The tension-filled moment seems to go on forever.
Finally, my father releases a small grunt and stomps out of the room, slamming the front door so hard the entire house rattles. In the ensuing silence, no one moves. Shaken and unable to comprehend the enormity of what has just happened, we all need a moment to collect ourselves. Me more so than my friends, seeing as I’m literally the one sitting in my own vomit.
My pained groan startles everyone into action when I gingerly push myself up and away from the mess. Squeezing my eyes shut to stave off another wave of nausea, I drop my head against the wall and try to catch my breath. My eyes flutter open when a gentle hand touches my shoulder, and Tessa’s worried expression comes into focus. Carter is wetting a tea towel before handing it over to me with a probing gaze. I flinch as I press it to my swollen nose to stop the blood that is still trickling from my nostrils in a steady stream.
“That was fucked up,” Carter states, pacing the lengths of the kitchen and barely keeping a lid on his temper. “What the fuck, bro? This is what you’ve been dealing with since your mom passed? You said things were tense at home. You said he slapped you around a little, which was bad enough. What you failed to tell me is that your old man is a fucking psychopath.”
“He’s never lost it like this before,” I say, hoping he’ll take my word for it and leave well enough alone. I don’t particularly feel up to the big reveal right now. All I want is a hot shower to soothe my aching muscles and about a week’s worth of sleep.
“I’m just glad we were here to stop him. He could’ve killed you. That man is out of control.”
“I think we should take him to the hospital,” Tessa suggests, voice trembling with emotion.
“I’m fine.” Pulling the towel away from my nose, I survey the damage, hoping to prove my point. The cloth is stained red, but the bleeding seems to have slowed down some, so that’s a plus. I can feel my right eye beginning to swell shut, and I can’t quite take a full breath without my ribs screaming in protest, but I figure nothing is broken. I’ll no doubt sport some nasty bruising come morning, and I’ll have to come up with a believable story as to why I look like I’ve been hit by a truck, but I have enough experience with this to know I’ll be fine in a week or two. No need to involve anyone else.
“You’re not fine,” Carter growls, staring at me with blazing eyes. “If I knew what a maniac your dad is, I would never have looked the other way for so long. I knew he was a prick, but this shit? This is anything but fine, so stop downplaying it.”
