Page 4 of Scooter's Endgame
As if a switch has been flipped in my brain, I lose the stomach for this confrontation. Before the filter in my brain can engage and monitor what comes out of my mouth, I hear myself saying, “I’m done, Jeff. Done with your lying, your gambling, done with having to turn every penny over ten times before I spend it on essentials. I’m just done.”
“Don’t you threaten me, bitch. You’ll never be done because you’ve got nowhere to go. And how are you going to survive? Who’s going to be stupid enough to put up with you and your sick brat draining them of every dollar they earn? If anyone should be done, it’s me.”
“Then be done. That way I won’t have to worry about how much money you’ve lost at the tables and how much is left to keep us – all three of us – fed and clothed. And as for ‘my sick brat’, he wouldn’t be sick if you hadn’t pushed me down the stairs, would he?”
“Typical of you to bring the past up every single time we argue. You’re like a broken fucking record. ‘It’s all your fault, Jeff,’” he mimics me, his face contorted in ugly lines. “I’m so sick of you—” A knock on the door interrupts his tirade. “Yeah, who is it?” he snarls, whirling toward it.
“Petty Officer Grimes, please open the door,” a masculine voice calls out.
Anxiety wells in me. If whoever’s out there is addressing him so formally, I sincerely doubt they come bearing good tidings. Jeff’s face creases in even more pissed off lines.
“Who is it and what do you want?” Irritation ripe in his tone.
“Petty Officer, open the door. This is official Navy business, and I will not ask you again,” the voice replies.
Smart enough not to push his luck, he walks over, unlocks, and yanks the door open. “Yeah?”
A rather large man stands on my doorstep, neatly dressed in uniform. He’s unsmiling and unamused, I’m guessing at Jeff’s childish antics.
“Commander Hurt wishes to see you immediately. He’s been unable to reach you on the phone, and we’ve been dispatched to bring you back to him.” At his words, my gaze shifts to the even larger man standing beside a vehicle parked at our curb.
Holy Mother of Mercy, he’s freaking huge. Looks like he could snap a person in half like a twig if you pissed him off. Even Jeff appears shrewd enough to know not to mess with these men.
“Fine. I’ll be right there. I just need to change.” He disappears at speed, as if his ass is on fire.
The soldier standing at my door tips his head. “Ma’am.”
“Hi,” I reply rather inanely, not knowing what else to say.
Before long, Jeff’s back. The man steps back to make space for him to exit the house, then falls into step behind him. I watch as the two of them walk to the car and the giant standing there opens the back door for Jeff. The two soldiers climb in the front, and then the three of them are gone.
An uncomfortable knot settles like a boulder in the pit of my stomach. Something tells me that bad news is headed our way. However, since there’s not much to be done about it right this second, I head for Luke’s room to check in on him.
He’s sleeping like a log when I peek into the room, so I quietly leave the door ajar and head for the kitchen. May as well get a start on the cleaning for the day. Pushing the worry to the back of my mind, I lose myself in the rhythm of vacuuming, dusting, and tidying our tiny home.
Even over the noise of the vacuum cleaner, sometime later, I jump at the slamming of our front door. Spinning around, I find Jeff standing just inside the room, a scowl on his face as he watches me through stormy eyes.
Fear joins tension as I take in the thunderous expression on his face.
“Everything okay?” I ask, despite not really wanting to know the answer.
A beat goes by before he replies. “No, Kathleen. All is definitely not okay.”
This time, I don’t ask. I probably couldn’t get the words out past the lump in my throat, even if I tried anyway.
“Oh, now you’re quiet.” He removes his cap, throwing it across the room. “Typical. Just fucking typical of you. Well, since you didn’t ask, I’ll tell you.” Before he can though, I hear Luke call me.
Turning to look, I spot him standing in the hall, his eyes darting between his father and me. I hold out a hand to him, and he comes over to burrow into my side. I’m sure he can feel the tension in the room.
Jeff gives me a look of disgust, his curled lip clearly conveying his thoughts and feelings. Then he proceeds to drop his bombshell. “I want you out of my house by tonight. I don’t care how you do it or where you go. I just want you gone. Got it?”
“I – what? Where are we supposed to go?”
“Are you deaf? I just told you; I don’t care. Just get gone. I’m going out for a few hours. By the time I get back, I want you out of the house.” With that, he pushes past me on his way to the bedroom. A few minutes later he reappears, dressed in civilian clothes again. “Best get a move on,” he says, giving me one last filthy look before slamming his way out of what I considered our home until now.
I stare after the man, completely at a loss. What just happened? And what am I supposed to do now? Jeff would never joke about something like this, so if he says to get out, he means for me to do exactly that. To pack our stuff and leave. Before he gets back home. Whenever that will be.
My stomach roils with nerves; anxiety, fear, worry, all lying there like a lead ball, to add to the unhappy mix of emotion.
