Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(33)

“You have to call the police, Mom. Now! Dad’s hurting our neighbor,” I say, trying to snap my mom out of this strange trance she seems to be in.

“It’s been an hour. He’s been out there for an hour. I don’t know how to make him leave,” she sobs, raising her hand to cover her mouth and mute the sound of her wails.

When I hear the sound of a punch being thrown, I pull my phone from my back pocket and dial 911.

“What’s your emergency?” the operator asks.

“There’s an assault happening outside, in my driveway. Hurry, fast, please!” I move to the window and see Owen straddling my dad on the ground, trying to hold his arms still, but my dad is fighting. He’s fighting so hard. Andrew is moving back inside his house on Owen’s urging.

“Ma’am, I am going to need your address…”

I pull a bill from the front counter and read off our address that I have yet to memorize—then sprint back outside to Owen. He looks up when he hears my footsteps, and my father takes advantage of the distraction, punching him hard in the same eye again.

“Mother f*ck!” Owen says, wincing, and leaning his face against his shoulder, pushing down on my father’s flailing arms again, this time with more strength.

“The police are coming. They’ll be here any minute. I’m so sorry, Owen. I’m…” I let out a short cry—mortified that this is my life, that Owen is watching this. The boy who minutes ago had my heart racing is now straddling my dad in a pile of dust, trying to keep him from hurting my mother more than he already has.

“Don’t,” Owen says, his eyes on me again, his right one already blue and puffy—because of me. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

I nod, then pull my left arm around myself, squeezing in an attempt to stop the rush of nerves and fear coursing through me. The lights flash in the distance, and soon, I can hear the sirens.

“They’re here,” I say to the operator, pushing my phone back in my pocket without ending the call, just in case. Two cop cars pull in quickly, and two of the police officers rush to Owen, pulling him away from my dad and pushing him flat along the ground.

“Do not try to fight us!” one of them yells, while the other pulls Owen’s arms together behind his back, binding them with a thick plastic tie.

“No! He was helping! Don’t hurt him!” I start to protest, but they dismiss me and go to work on my dad, sitting him upright and pulling his arms behind his back as well, though with less force than they used against Owen.

“Oh my god, Owen. Your eye!” I say, moving closer to him.

“Miss,” one of the officers says, holding his arm out and barring me from taking one more step in Owen’s direction. I look across the lawn and see Andrew standing at the doorway, and he’s shaking his head at me, telling me to leave it alone.

“I’m fine, Kens. I’ll be okay. Go check on your mom,” Owen says, his voice a strange calm. He spits to the side, and it’s bloody, which only makes me want to get to him more. “Kens…go!”

My mom. He’s right. She’ll know what to do. Only, just seconds ago, she was practically a statue—frozen in her depression inside my house. I rush inside and she’s moved to the window, standing there swaying, holding the blinds open with her fist.

“I need you, Mom! You have to come out. You have to explain that Owen didn’t do any of this,” I say, but she doesn’t move, and her feet keep rocking. “Mom!”

This time I yank on her arm, and she turns to look at me, her face shaking a little, like I just woke her up. “Mom! Come!”

“Right, yes…okay,” she says, looking around the house for a few seconds, like she’s missing something. She finally grabs her wallet, and I follow her back outside.

“Ma’am, can you explain what happened here tonight?” the first officer asks. I notice the tag on his uniform reads Blakely.

“My husband…he…he was drinking. We’re…separated,” my mom says, her words coming out in a stutter as she watches the police officers push my dad’s head down as they load him into the back of one of the cars.

“Are you hurt, ma’am?” Blakely asks, and my mom quickly shakes her head no.

“The boy—” she says, looking to me and then out to Owen who is being jerked to a stand by Blakely’s partner, “he was only helping. Please, he was just protecting my daughter.”

Blakely stops his pen on his notepad and looks up at my mom when she says this, then to me, before looking back over his shoulder at Owen who is slowly being led to the other car. “That boy? The one right there?” he asks, motioning to Owen with his pen.

“Yes,” my mom says, her eyes fighting against the need to cry.

“I’m afraid we’re still going to need to talk to him,” he says, nodding his head to his partner to continue.

“Can’t you talk to him here? Or just call him or whatever? I mean…he saved me!” I sound like a pathetic little girl, and my stomach is overcome with this sinking feeling that they’re not going to listen to me, that they’re going to take Owen away, and it will be my fault.

“Miss, if you’re lying, you’re going to be in a heap of trouble. That kid right there—he’s not worth lying for, you understand?” Blakely says, but all I can see is the door closing on Owen behind him, and Owen going peacefully—willingly.