Page 47 of Family Affair
Rick's face filled with feverish blush. "You don't get it, do you. I'm not asking you to go. You have no choice. So move it!" he yelled, and his features contorted into the ugly mask Frank knew very well. He was going to have his piss beaten out of him by his father in about five seconds.
He swallowed, his body still so damn locked up from the shock. "I won't go back."
Two long strides, and Rick’s twisted face was shoved right into Frank’s, hissing, "Either you walk out of this room on your own two legs, or I drag you out."
The despair swelled. He cut his eyes to Ward, pleading.
"Hold on, Rick." Ward stepped forward and laid a hand on Rick’s shoulder. "Give the boy a minute. He's upset."
"Aww, poor baby!" Rick purred in a nasal falsetto before bellowing, "Get your stupid ass into the fucking car!" Spittle shot from his mouth into Frank's eyes.
"He's coming, he's coming." Ward expertly maneuvered Rick away from Frank's tense body, watching him closely. The bastard always knew things because he watched, and he paid attention. "You got yourself under control, son?"
"I won't go back. No way." He forced his arms to cross against his chest to better convey his message. His father growled and took a step closer.
"Wait, Rick, let me talk to him." Ward turned back to Frank. "You chose a terribly inconvenient time to disappear, Frankie. There's a lot of money involved, and people get touchy when they don't receive what they paid hundreds of thousands for. You know the money had changed hands. The client expected us to deliver. We expected you to deliver. You dropped the ball, my boy."
Frank sneered with bravado he didn't feel. "I don't give a shit."
Ward sighed, resigned. "Ah, but we do."
With that, he stepped aside clearing way for Rick to reach him, and the next thing Frank knew, he was flying through the door conveniently held open by Ward.
He landed hard on all fours, skidding forward from the force of the push. The skin on his knees burned as it tore open, his palms digging into the rough surface to stop the momentum.
Struggling to his feet, he refused to look down and inspect the damage despite the warm trickles of blood running down his shins.
"Get in the car before I shove you in it." Rick's voice vibrated with barely contained fury. "Ward will drive yours. To say that your driving privileges are suspended can't even begin to cover the extent of your punishment."
His father was going to ground him? Frank wanted to laugh.
He wondered if he could outrun them. The only thing that held him in place was that his money remained back in the motel room, and so did his pants. Even in the haze of desperation he understood that fleeing on foot, dressed in a t-shirt and underwear, without a dime to his name would create more problems than it would solve.
And still he itched to bolt. He looked around for something, anything to inspire his escape. In the weird neon light of the motel sign, his father's conservative sedan looked pinkish, not light gray. The windows were rolled down and… Cade was sitting in the back seat.
"Cade?" He took a step toward the car only to halt. Something funny popped inside him and started flooding his gut.
"Cade, look at me, dammit." But Cade wouldn't turn his head. He was staring straight ahead, his face sullen and bruised like someone had backhanded him across the cheekbone.
The ugly feeling drowned Frank. And it wasn't all that bad. His shock melted away, and all his functions were back like before. No, better than before, stronger. He felt wild and hot, and getting hotter.
"How could you?" He felt his neck straining as he yelled at the bastard. "I trusted you! Fuck you, brother!"
"Stop yelling and get in the damn car!" Rick hissed from behind.
An invisible leash that held Frank to the remnants of his childhood illusions pulled impossibly taught and snapped. He felt the subtle jerk of it in his bones.
The result was liberating.
Whirling around, he looked his father straight in the eye, made a fist and drove it into Rick's face with no effort spared. The feel of the skin and tissue being smashed under his hand, the dull thud of the hit, the pain in his knuckles freed him completely. Madness welcomed him with open arms.
"Christ, Frank!" Dimly, he heard Ward rushing toward them to break the fight, but he didn't make it in time. Rick's return hook to the cheekbone sent him back several feet but did nothing to chill his hot fury. Shaking his head to clear the white dots speckling his vision, Frank roared and attacked.
At sixteen, he hadn't yet reached his father's full height and certainly not his body mass. But that night, the force of his temper had surpassed Rick's. He reached the boiling point and blew his lid clean off, fueled by a combination of desperation, fear, and self-loathing.
That, and the added element of surprise on his side explained why he was able to slam Rick on the ground, landing on top of him. He hit him in the face, on the chest, again and again, getting his punches through despite Rick's raised elbows.
"I won't do it anymore! Find another loser to clerk for your shop!" He yelled until his throat hurt and his voice was practically gone. "I don't care about the money! So fuck off!"
