Page 54 of Street of Dreams
The twins exchanged uneasy glances and their faces went blank. “What are you going to do?” Henry asked.
“Nothing. Just go. Now.” They tried to put up a protest, but Jake ushered them out of his room, and they finally left. He sat down on his bed and waited until he was sure they were gone, then went to the liquor cabinet downstairs and tossed back a shot of whisky. And then another. The alcohol immediately went to his head, but it gave him an edge of brazen recklessness. He turned to take in the disheveled living room, and bits and pieces of the other night flickered through his mind. The images of Mac, scared, frantic, and bleeding, made his blood boil. The memory of Ben, with a gun in his hand and ready to kill his own father, made him sick. The blow to the little boy’s face made him see red.
The low rumble of his old man’s snores echoed throughout the quiet house and reminded him of the reason he came downstairs. He followed the noise to the back room and opened the door with a soft push. He felt none of the feelings a son should have for his father as he stared down at Bruce, passed out in the recliner. There was never any bond or love between them. Only hatred and resentment. He couldn’t even refer to the man as his father, preferring to use the man’s given name so it didn’t enforce any familial ties.
Jake pulled the firearm from his waistband and checked the chamber. There were six bullets. He only needed one. He raised the firearm with a shaky fist and cocked it. Bruce needed to be put down, like a rabid fucking animal, before he destroyed more people’s lives. No one would care. The world would be a better place without this man.
Jake’s heart pounded in his ears. Nerves, fear, and unexpected emotion ripped through him. What the fuck had happened to his family? A brief memory of a happy Christmas flashed across his mind. His mother was there, and Ben was only a few days old. As quickly as it came, it disappeared and was replaced by an earlier memory of Bruce beating his mother, and then beating Jake for getting involved. That happened when he was eleven.
He looked down at the gun in his hand. Was he any better than his old man? Would he let this piece of shit turn him into a ruthless killer? His finger twitched on the trigger, and his face contorted as he struggled with his conflicting emotions. Why was it so fucking hard? Why couldn’t he just rid the world of this no-good son of a bitch?Just pull the fucking trigger you coward!“Fuck! Fuck you!” He screamed the words as tears blurred his vision. “You bastard! You never loved any of us!” A sob escaped him, as he lowered the gun, and he hated himself for being weak. He pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw as he slowly walked back to his room and threw himself down onto the bed. Tears streamed down his cheeks and sobs wracked his ravaged body, and all he could do was lie there and let the pain consume him.
Jake woke with a dull throb above his left eye and a sharp pain in his right side, still in his clothes from the night before. His phone was next to him, pinging with messages from Mac. He slowly slid out of bed, stuck his head out of his room and looked down the hallway.
The scent of coffee meant that his old man was already up and sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. Jake closed his bedroom door and locked it, then called Mac.
“I was about to come over!” Mac sounded frantic, not bothering with a hello. “Are you OK? Why didn’t you text me last night? What happened?”
“I’m sorry. Nothing happened. My old man was passed out when I got home. I took some pain killers and fell out. I’m going downstairs to face him now. I just wanted to hear your voice first.”
“You’re scaring me, Jake. I’ll come over. We can approach him together.”
“No. Don’t. I mean it.” Jake took a deep breath to calm down, because his heart raced out of control at the thought of Mac in the same room as Bruce. “I’ll call you as soon as it’s over. I promise.” He paused. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Be careful.”
Jake retrieved the gun from under his pillow, stuffed it into the back of his jeans and went downstairs to face his old man. The situation could turn really fucking ugly, really fucking fast. But he was ready. He wouldn’t put a bullet in a sleeping man’s head, but he wouldn’t hesitate to put one between his old man’s eyes in self defense.
He hung onto the bannister and limped down the stairs, wincing with each step. Once he got to the bottom, he pushed his shoulders back as best he could, wiped the pain from his face, and disguised his emotions just like he’d done his entire life. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee without looking at Bruce, who never looked up from behind the newspaper. Jake kept his back turned, daring his old man to make a move like the fucking coward he was.
“I’d never kill one of my sons.” Bruce’s voice, icy and flat, cut through the air. “But I won’t tolerate a homo in my house. It stops now. If I find out you go near that Mackenzie kid again, I’ll put a fucking bullet in his head. I’ll kill him. Not you. Him. Same goes for any other faggot you think you’re gonna get with.”
Jake swung around, rage burning a fire through his body. “Then I’ll put a bullet inyourhead. Stay the fuck away from Mac.”
Bruce slammed the newspaper on the table and stood. “I have no interest in that kid. Unless you do. I want you to get yourself a girlfriend and forget about this homo bullshit. Get married. Have some kids. Live life like a normal person.”
“Iama normal person.” Jake’s teeth clenched so hard it hurt his jaw and pain radiated around his bruised eye.
“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Bruce slowly marched toward Jake until they were only a few inches apart. “Don’t fucking push me. I’ll take that kid out in a heartbeat. Just to teach you a lesson. Just to show you how fucking serious I am.”
His old man stood at least three inches taller and almost a foot wider than Jake, but he wasn’t afraid. They stared at each other with the same black eyes. The same stubborn will. Hatred and fury had Jake’s hackles raised like a wild animal, and he seethed. “If you touch him. Have someone else do anything to him. If he falls over his own two fucking feet, I’m coming after you.”
“Don’t fucking threaten me, Jake. You know what I’m capable of.”
“Like father. Like son.” The sarcasm and vehemence poured from Jake’s voice, emanating the loathsome ferocity that raged inside of him. “I’m telling you right fucking now that I’m still going to see Mac and there’s nothing you can do about it. I love him!” He shouted the words, hoping to incite his old man.
The orbs of Bruce’s eyes bulged with red squiggly veins, and he looked as if his head were about to pop off. “You fucking little shit! You fucking faggot!”
Jake snaked his hand behind his back and wrapped his fingers around the handle of the gun. “That’s right. I’m a fucking faggot, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”
“I can end it with one fucking bullet.”
Jake gripped the gun tighter. “So can I. If anything happens to Mac, you’re dead.”
“You ain’t got the balls, kid.”
“Don’t fucking underestimate me.”
“Yeah? You think I don’t know what you got behind your back?” Bruce yanked on Jake’s arm, exposing the gun and pressing the barrel against his own forehead. “Fucking do it. Pull the fucking trigger. Put a bullet in my head.”
