Page 18 of Second Chance Ex
Ihave no idea how my Saturday night turned into me sitting next to my mother on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn shared between us, watchingFifty Shades of Greywhile my father snores like a banshee from his arm chair. And yet, here we are. I’d planned on getting an early night, maybe watching a couple episodes ofFriendsin bed, but Mom guilted me into watching a movie with her and then just so happened to choose this? Talk about awkward.
“She reminds me a bit of you, Prue Bear,” Mom says, nodding at the television.
I glance at the screen, my brows knitted together. Slowly, I turn my head to my mother, blinking. I could say something, sure, but I think I’ll just pretend as if she didn’t just compare me to Anastasia Steele while she’s currently being finger-banged by Christian Grey in an elevator. Thankfully a loud crash comes from outside right at that moment, so ourfocus is pulled away from the notorious scene playing out on the screen.
“What was that?” Mom sits up, looking toward the front window, her face fraught with worry.
Dad snorts loudly, muttering something unintelligible and effectively waking himself up. He slides his spectacles up his nose, glancing from me to my mother, his eyes dazed. “What’s happening?”
“Outside!” Mom whisper-yells, pointing to the front window. “I think it’s a prowler, Phil.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’ll call 911,” Dad says, moving to heft himself out of his chair.
“You cannot call 911 over a noise outside.” I almost laugh. “It’s probably just the wind.”
Sometimes it’s as if I’m the parent, I swear to God. I stand and walk out of the den, glancing back at my parents before continuing to the front door. Mom is watching me but Dad seems to have become understandably side-tracked by what’s currently happening on the television. I shake my head as I walk through the entry and, with a yawn, I open the front door. But all I’m hit with is the November chill and nothing more. I step out onto the porch, scanning the darkened front yard. If my love of horror movies has taught me anything over the years, if you hear a strange noise outside, you’re almost always safer to remain inside.
I feel a bit ridiculous. Here I am, in my pajamas and socks, investigating a strange noise, which was probably just a stray cat knocking a dumpster over looking for scraps. And, my suspicion is half-right. The trash has been tipped over. But instead of a hungry cat,the shape of a body lies unmoving on the driveway and I gasp. Perhaps Mom was right; maybe it is a prowler.
I take one tentative step closer, ready to run back into the house at any moment and scream at Dad to call 911. But then someone inside flicks the switch for the driveway light, and I must say I certainly wasn’t expecting this.
Sufficiently confused, I quirk a brow. “Joey?”
The body moves with a groan. Neck craning, Joey looks at me from where he’s lying sprawled flat on his back on the cold pavement.
“Prue!” he shouts happily, rolling onto his stomach. He scrambles to right himself, but he’s unsteady when he reaches his feet and almost topples straight back down again.
I look him up and down, confused by his current state of dishevelment. “Are you… are you drunk?”
Joey stifles a chuckle which sounds more like a snort. He rakes his hands through his mussed hair, smooths down the front of his Rosewood Ravens hoodie, all while doing everything in his power to keep himself upright. But as he waves a hand in the air in an apparent attempt to act nonchalant, he loses his balance and suddenly he’s falling backward as if in slow motion, directly toward one of my father’s neatly trimmed hedges. I lunge forward, grabbing his arm just in time and pulling him to safety. And that’s when I see it, as he comes into the light of the house.
“Joey, your face!” I gasp.
His left eye is almost swollen shut, the skin mottled purple and red. He has a painful looking split in his bottom lip, dried blood caked down his chin.
“Have you been in a fight?”
He stares at me for a long moment, swaying ever so slightly on his feet. But instead of answering my question, he does something most unexpected, and I don’t actually know what to do. Right there, in my front yard, Joey Tanner, the seemingly impenetrable Rosewood Ravens defensive lineman, starts crying. Actual blubbering. Real tears and all. It would almost be funny if it weren’t so gut-wrenching.
“Joey?” I hold his arm, partly because I don’t want him to fall again, partly because he’s crying and I want him to know I’m here for him. “Joey, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened?”
“I hate him, Prue,” he manages through a racking sob. “I fuckinghatehim.”
“Who?” I search his face, trying desperately to understand why he’s crying, who he hates.
“My father,” he cries, wiping his tears with the cuff of his sweater.
My mind reels as it all starts to make sense. Joey’s dad. His father. He did this to him. I have absolutely no idea what’s gone on, but at the thought of Joey’s father possibly hurting him, my body is practically vibrating with anger. I know Joey doesn’t have the greatest relationship with his dad, but I didn’t know it was this bad. This is worse than I could have ever imagined. This is heartbreaking. My heart is tearing in two for the boy standing broken in front of me, and I do the only thing I know how to do. I wrap my arms around him and pull him in as close as I can, holding him tight as he buries his face in my hair and cries.
After a few minutes, the sound of a throat clearing loudly behind us pulls me from the moment. I turn,finding my parents standing on the porch, watching on curiously.
“Is everything okay, Prue Bear?” Dad whispers loudly, glancing from me to Joey and back again, bushy brows bunched together.
Joey pulls away from me then, scrubbing a hand over his face and doing all he can to right himself, but then he starts to sway, and I reach for his arm again, holding him.
“Mom, Dad, this is Joey.” I glance sideways at Joey. “Joey Tanner.”
