Unbroken (10 page)

We do this every time we come home.

The kids slam their doors and make noise to purposely wake him up, leaving me downstairs to deal with the repercussions of it all. Of course, before we set foot in the door, he’s likely sleeping, and the noise wakes him up. The one thing you
can’t
do to Andrew Durham is fuck with his sleep—we knew that long before Mom died.

“You were always such a fucking smart ass.” He laughs again, looking up at me. “I always told your mother you were the worst of the three of you. She treated you like a baby, gave you everything you ever wanted. She pacified you, and what did that do? Let you think you were the king of the fucking world. Well guess what? If it wasn’t for your mother, you wouldn’t even be here. I didn’t want you. I told her she should have aborted you, but no. She just
couldn’t
do it. She was always too emotional for her own fucking good.” His eyes close and his head lolls back. I think he’s done, but I should know better. I start to walk away from him, thinking that he’s fallen asleep. The minute I’m a foot away from him, his beer bottle clocks me in the back of the head. I grab my head reflexively and turn back around to face him, fists clenched. “You’re a
poison
, boy!”

From there, he lists my failures. The fact that there’s never any food in the house, that’s my fault. The fact all Mom’s jewelry is 99% gone, that’s my fault, too. The fact our car got repossessed, my fault. The fact the house is a mess right now, my fault. The fact he has to sell shit to get alcohol, my fault. The fact we have no cable, no Internet, no phone, my fault. The fact he has no friends or family, you guessed it. My fault, too.

Usually, I stand there and take it. He doesn’t have much on me. I know for a fact that when it comes to providing for this family, I’m a better man than he’ll ever be. And I know there’s not much he can say to hurt me, because the only real failure of mine is my inability to commit. And since he doesn’t care enough to know about my girl troubles, he doesn’t have that to use against me. But that doesn’t stop my fists from clenching so tightly that when I open them, there are four crescent marks in the center of each of my palms. Doesn’t stop my heart from racing so fast that I’m almost tempted to fight back. Almost.

Today, though, there’s something that’s stirred within me. I’m tired of taking his shit, tired of lying on the ground while he beats me. I don’t want to take it today.

“When Mom died, she took the best of you with her,” I whisper.

He tenses up, but he doesn’t say anything. I think for a moment that he didn’t hear me, and I feel proud that I’ve said something that can hurt him. It might be the first thing in years that I’ve done to stand up for myself. He clambers to his feet, waltzing into the kitchen. The door to the refrigerator rattles open, beer bottles clanking against each other. I listen as he opens one, and then I hear the fridge slam closed. I stay rooted to the spot, because I can’t leave until he dismisses me—a rule I learned by the time I was six years old, long before alcohol became his only love. He starts toward me, and I look down, afraid to make eye contact.

“Get out of my house.” His voice is gruff.

I shake my head, immediately regretting my momentary lapse in judgment.

He hates me, I know he does. And to be honest, I don’t blame him. I look the most like Mom. He hates me so much that he’d have beaten me dead a long time ago if he really wanted to. But even so, he’s never put me out before. He’s never told me to leave.

“Dad,” I say, willing to plead with him. “Please. Don’t do this.”

The beer bottle bangs against the table in the dining room as he puts it down. He storms over to me, grabbing my shoulders roughly and pushing me toward the door.

“Get out of my house! Get the fuck out!”

“Dad, stop! Let me get the kids. Let me get them, and I’ll go!” I’m panicking now. He can’t put me out, not like this. Not when I don’t have time to get up the stairs and get to them. “Let me get the kids!”

He shakes his head, and I struggle against his grasp. Even inebriated, he’s at least twice as strong as I am. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get past him, not like this. But I can’t leave them here. I can’t leave them with him, because God knows what he’ll do if I bow out right now.

“You’re not taking
my
kids anywhere, boy!” he shouts. “GET THE FUCK OUT!”

I’m struggling against him, but he manages to get me past the front door and onto the porch. The door shuts and locks right before my very eyes, and my heart drops to the floor.

Balling my hands into fists, I start pounding on the door relentlessly. I pound, punch, and kick, screaming obscenities at him from the outside, begging him to let me back in. But he won’t.

I should have turned away when Dalis objected to coming back, but I was stubborn. I should have remained quiet when he asked me what I was doing here, but I was tired. I shouldn’t have said anything when he started talking down to me, when he blamed me for all the hardships we’ve gone through lately, but I was stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, and now my brother and sister are locked in this house and I can’t get back inside.

I reach in my pocket for my cell phone, slouching against the front door and letting myself slide to the ground. I dial Cason’s cell phone number, a prepaid Mama Quinn got him, to be used solely for emergencies.

He answers on the third ring, and I exhale a sigh of relief. “Yeah?” he answers.

“Case, I’m locked out,” I say in utter defeat.

I hear his window slide open, the only one that makes noise for some reason, and I look up to see him leaning out his window and staring down at me.

“How the fuck did you get locked out?”

“Look, don’t worry about that. Dad won’t let me back in. I want you to pack a bag, have Liss pack one, too, and come meet me at the back door. And hurry the fuck up. I don’t know how long it’ll be before he heads upstairs, and I don’t have a way back in.”

He’s silent for a long time, and I pull the phone away from my ear, looking down at it to make sure he hasn’t hung up on me. I put it back to my ear and clear my throat. “Case. Do you hear me? Pack a bag, get Dalis, and get out. You have five minutes.”

“Yeah. Okay. We’ll be down in a second.”

I hang up the phone, tucking it back into my pocket, and closing my eyes as I wait for them. I hope to God they can get out of there in time, because if not…well shit, I don’t even want to think about it. I don’t want to fight my dad for the kids, and I know if they don’t get out of that house within the next five minutes, that’s precisely what’s going to happen. And I don’t even know what the outcome of that will be if that’s what it comes to.

I get to my feet, descending the front porch steps and rounding the house. I stand behind our house, in the exact spot where, when I was ten years old, my mom gave me a pep talk before I had to leave for our fifth grade Sadie Hawkins dance. She tied my tie, then brushed my hair out of my face, and told me how handsome I was, and how Nickayla Quinn was lucky to have me. I was feeling bad about myself, because I wanted to go with Michele, but
of course
, she was stubborn and decided to take Nikky instead. But Mom, she made me feel special, and told me that I always would be, regardless of whether Michele saw it or not.

I smile at the memory, then pull my cell phone back out to look at the time. My foot starts tapping against the grass involuntarily, and I’m about to start pacing when I hear the door fly open. I look up just in time to see Dalis sprinting down the stairs toward me. I catch her and wrap her in a hug. When she pulls away, I turn toward Cason, who’s locking the back door. He walks toward me, then holds his hand out. I wonder what he’s doing, but then I register what he’s holding in his hand. There’s a small wad of hundred dollar bills before me, and my gaze drifts up to his.

“I was able to get into his room, and I found this lying on the dresser,” he says with a smile. “He must have gotten his check today.”

I shake my head at his gall, but I take the money. I hand him a twenty from
my
check from Hastings, and then hand the same to Dalis, and stuff the rest of it in my wallet.

“He’s gonna kill you if he finds out you took it,” I point out.

He shrugs and starts walking away, toward the alley that’ll get us off our street unnoticed. “He’ll have to find me first.”

I grin, taking Dalis’s hand and leading her toward the alley, following Cason. I’m thankful for my check, and the fact that Cason was smart enough to take something on his way out. Even more than that, though, I’m happy our father doesn’t know when I get paid, or how much. Because if he did, we’d all likely be singing a different tune right about now. Now, I don’t have to worry about how I’m going to get us to where we’re going. When I decide where the fuck that is.

We jog a bit to catch up with Case, and once we’re all side by side, I nudge him with my shoulder. I give him a mischievous smile and point toward the number five bus. It’s the only bus close to our house, and I don’t take it often. But I’ve taken it enough to know where to get off so I can get to a main street.

Dalis looks over at me, and an expression of horror washes over her delicate features. “Jesus, Bubba, what happened to your face?”

I almost forgot that I got clocked a few minutes ago, but of course she notices. “Don’t worry about it.” She looks to object, but I raise a hand and completely cut her off. “How about we hop on a bus, head to a nice restaurant, and have us some dinner on Andrew tonight?” I offer, a halfhearted attempt to brighten up what little is left of our evening.

We don’t get to do things for ourselves very often, and on our own dime. We’re always focused on school and trying to stay on Dad’s good side. This is the shortest amount of time we’ve ever been in his house. Either that means he’s getting much worse when it comes to his relationship with alcohol, or it’s a sign that it’s about time for us to find another place to call home.

I don’t know how I’m going to do that at eighteen with two kids, but I decide I’m not going to worry about it right this second. I’m fucking starving, and I want to get their minds off of everything. If I’m being honest with myself, I want to get
my
mind off of it, too.

Cason nods, and Dalis squeals in agreement, and then she looks up at me.

“Yeah! But where are we gonna have dinner at?” she asks.

At this exact moment, Sabrina’s face pops into my mind, and I smile in earnest. “I know just the place. Come on.”

EIGHT

“HEY, SABRINA?” EVA SAYS from the bar, and I turn to look at her. “That drunken hottie from last week just took a seat in your section.”

I raise an eyebrow, and without a word in response, I peek out through the small window leading from the kitchen, into the back of the restaurant. Sure enough, there’s Brody. One side of his face looks slightly more swollen than the last time I saw him, and I grimace. There’s a younger boy sitting across from him, and they’re both examining the menu intently.

I wonder if he
really
wants to eat here, or if he’s just here to tear into me about last week.

“What time did he get here?” I ask.

“Not too long ago. Dixon gave them their drinks, because Tawny refused to serve him.”

At her comment about Tawny, I’m immediately curious. “What’s Tawny got to do with anything?”

She shakes her head, giving me a smile as she continues to mix the Long Island Iced Tea for the young woman sitting at the bar before her. She takes the woman her drink, and then she walks back over to me.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” When I shake my head, she laughs. “Apparently he stopped by a few days ago, and he flirted with Tawny for like five minutes. She’s mad he hasn’t looked twice at her since he got here, but after hearing the story, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Why not?”

She grins. “He came here looking for you. And if you ask me, that’s probably the same reason he’s here right now.”

I peer out the window again, and I smooth my hair down. I tap my apron a few times to make sure my order pad and pen are still in the pocket, and then I head out.

I’m not going to lie, I’m really irritated that I’ve been back from L.A. for a few days now, and Tawny never even told me that Brody came here looking for me. He must’ve come on a weekend, because I know if Nickayla knew he came by, she’d have told me while I was still
in
L.A. Either way, though, I know now, and he’s here now, so I guess I’ve got to just build a bridge and get over it.