Page 64 of King of Pain
Across the table, my dad grunts. No thanks. No acknowledgment. Just a grunt as he grabs the carving knife and starts hacking into the turkey without so much as a word.
I glance at my mom. She looks away quickly, pretending not to notice.
“So, how’s school going, Chance?” she asks. Her casual tone sounds forced, but she knows how to steer the conversation away from him when she needs to.
“It’s good,” I say, scooping some stuffing onto my plate. “Hockey’s been great. Coach has me on this new workout plan. Practices are brutal, but it’s paying off.”
“It shows,” she teases, reaching over to squeeze my arm. “You’re getting huge, Chance.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Thanks, Ma.”
“What about Murph and Christian? What are they doing for Thanksgiving?” she asks. “Maybe they’d want to come over for dessert later if they’re not too busy with family?”
Before I can answer, my dad slams his fork down onto his plate. “What is this shit, Mary?”
The room goes silent.
He glares at the food on his plate. “The turkey’s dry, the potatoes need salt, and where the fuck are the jellied cranberries?”
My mom’s face falls, but she keeps her voice calm, even. “I’m sorry, John. I tried a new recipe for fresh cranberry sauce. They’re in the white bowl next to Chance. Just try them.”
“What did you just say to me?” he snaps, his voice bitter and dangerous.
I feel my body tense, my fork pausing halfway to my mouth.
He pushes back his chair with a screech, standing up so fast it rattles the table as he rounds it. “How aboutyoutry the cranberries?” he snarls, grabbing the white bowl and pouring its contents over her head. The bright red sauce cascades down her hair, staining her blouse.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he throws the bowl against the wall, shattering it into a hundred pieces.
“Dad!” I shout, standing so fast my chair topples over. My fists clench at my sides, shaking with anger. “Leave her alone. Right now.”
He turns his glare on me; his face twisted with fury. “Shut up and sit down.”
“John, please,” my mom pleads, her voice trembling as she wipes cranberry sauce from her face.
My dad doesn’t even acknowledge her. He steps closer, his voice dripping with venom. “You want to say that again, Mary?”
She looks up at him, her eyes pleading. He just sneers, then slaps her across the face, hard enough to make her head snap to the side. Then he grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her out of her chair, dragging her to her feet.
I. See. Red.
“Get your fucking hands off her!” I roar, launching myself at him. I wrap my arm around his neck from behind, squeezing hard enough to make him let go of her hair. He stumbles, choking, his grip loosening as I drag him backward into the living room.
“Chance, stop!” my mom cries, her voice breaking, but I won’t stop.
Not this time.
I shove him into the living room, releasing his neck and pushing him away. He staggers, coughing, and turns to face me, his face red with rage.
“Oh, look at you,” he sneers, voice pitched with sarcasm. “Big, tough Chance. You think you’re a man now, huh? Think you can take me?”
I don’t say anything, my chest heaving as I glare at him.
“Fuck your mother,” he spits, his lip curling. “She’s worthless.”
That’s it. That’s the breaking point.
I wind back and launch my fist at his face, connecting with his jaw in a sickening crunch. He falls to the ground, but I don’t stop. I climb on top of him, my fists flying, landing punch after punch.
