Page 23 of Rocked: The Price of Dreams

Kyle’s dad was home.

And he was fucking wasted.

Chapter 9

“WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS CRAP IN THE HALLWAY?” William’s voice boomed through the closed door that led into the house. The cardboard box of our burned CDs we’d left by Claire’s office was kicked and thudded against the wall. The contents spilled across the floor and plastic shattered under the stomp of a boot.

Unable to breathe, I cringed. Oh no...All the discs we’d made to sell at the festival would be ruined.

Pure fear flashed in the guys’ eyes. I’d never seen them this petrified. We had to get out of there. But we were trapped. The main garage door was broken and lined with our equipment trunks. The only exit was through the house.

Since Emily had died, Kyle’s dad drank more frequently. There were days when he was fine, but when he got smashed, the monster within came out. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde had nothing on Mr. McIntyre.

Ice prickled my skin. “Shit. He’s home early.”

“You need to get out of here,” Kyle whispered. Tears welled in his eyes.

Hunter’s jaw tensed as he shook his head. “No. Not without you.”

“Don’t be a fool.” Kyle’s hand trembled as he placed his bass on the stand. “He’ll hurt you.”

“We’re not leaving you here to deal with him on your own.” Hunter stashed his guitar on the stand beside the keyboard. “We’re not little kids anymore.”

“Yeah, but we’re not trained cops either.” In a flurry, Kyle grabbed my electric guitar out of my hands and secured it in its case. He then shoved it under the desk. “You need to go. Now.”

He caught my hand and pulled me toward the door, but William’s roar halted us halfway across the garage.

“More music bullshit. Get this fucking crap out of my sight.” William stomped, cracking and smashing more of our CDs on the floorboards.

My heart splintered from the loss, but it trembled with fear. William wasn’t some high school teenage bully; he was a grown man on a drunken rampage. I clutched Kyle’s sweaty hand. “I’m scared.”

“Gem, I will never let him lay a finger on you. You hear me?” Kyle drew me against his chest and stroked my hair. I quaked in his arms. Inhaling his spicy scent, I tried to find some calm. But I failed. He was my best friend. I didn’t want to see him hurt again.

Hunter rushed over to join us. But as he crossed the carpet, he tripped on a cable and knocked the drumkit. One of the cymbals clattered and crashed to the floor.

“Oh, fuck!” Hunter cursed under his breath.

“Is that you useless kids?” William’s voice rattled the closed door. “I’ve had enough of this fucking music crap.”

My breath shuddered in my chest. Nausea pooled in my stomach. I swore my peanut butter sandwich was going to come back.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall, growing louder and louder.

“Claire?” William hollered. “I need another beer.”

But Claire wasn’t home. She was in Princeton, tutoring.

“CLAIRE?” William shouted so loud the door rattled.

Clutching onto one another, we stood as still as poles and held our breath. Listening.

There was no wind. No hum in the amps. Just William’s hissing and the creaking floorboards.

Kyle whispered, “Once he gets to the kitchen, we run. Out the front door. Okay?”

Hunter and I nodded.

Footsteps clomped closer. With my gaze set on the crack underneath the door, I dared not to blink, waiting for William’s shadow to pass.

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