The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden(97)

Seconds later, I’m being tackled to the ground, his arms wrapping around me as he throws us both to the floor. Glass stabs through my shirt and into my muscles as I kick my father in the gut. He slides across the floor, bumping his head into the wall, and I throw my hands up in the air as I scramble to my feet.

“I’m done,” I say and before he can get up, I run out the door.

Luke is waiting in the truck with the engine running. I don’t look back until I’m safely in the cab and the door is shut. Luke’s eyes are bulging as he assesses the glass stuck in my skin, the tears in my shirt, and my cheek that’s swollen double its size.

“What the f*ck?” he says. “He’s still doing that shit?”

I shake my head as my dad walks out onto the front porch, eyeing the truck. “Just drive. Take me to Callie’s. I don’t want to be here.”

He reverses the truck onto the main road and I support my injured hand against my chest, keeping my eyes on my father until he disappears out of my sight.

Callie

I can’t sit still. I keep sending him texts, but he won’t answer. My mom gave me a very long lecture about how worried she was that I was gone all night. I let her ramble on, wondering how concerned she’d be if I told her my secret.

After she’s finished, I wait for Kayden in my room above the garage. I feel sticky from last night, like alcohol is coming out of my pores, so I take a shower. Wrapping a towel around me, I comb my fingers through my hair and walk out into the bedroom to get dressed.

Kayden’s sitting on my bed with his back turned to me, his shoulders slouched over, and I leap back, surprised. “Oh.” I cover my mouth with my hand, stepping toward the door, embarrassed I’m only in a towel.

He turns his head to look at me, and I no longer care. His cheek is puffy and red, he has blood and slashes on his shirt, and his knuckles are coated with dry blood.

Securing the towel in a knot, I rush over to him. “What happened?”

He shakes his head, his eyes skimming my barely covered body. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done.”

“What is?”

He holds his hand out toward me, which is trembling. “I tried to hit him and then I kicked him.”

“Your dad?” I ask. “Did he… are you okay?”

“I am now.” He grabs my hips, shuts his eyes and breathes through gritted teeth as he pulls me onto his lap. My lips part in protest as the bottom of the towel opens up and the roughness of his jeans touches my bare skin, but he rests his head on my shoulder and his body starts to tremble. I fasten my jaw shut, close my eyes, and smooth my hand over his hair, fighting back the tears.

I remain motionless, afraid to move, as he struggles for air. After what seems like hours, he lifts his head and his eyes are red.

“I’m sorry,” he says, blowing out a breath as he rubs the palm of his hand against his eye. “It all just caught up with me for a moment.”

“I understand completely,” I tell him and kiss his forehead.

His fingers seek my cheek and he traces a line across my birthmark on my temple. “I’ve never stood up to him before. It was f*cking terrifying.”

He’s so much braver than me; standing up to something that’s haunted him since he was a kid. I envy him for it.

I lightly stroke his injured cheek and he flinches. “Do you want me to get you some ice? Bandages? Pain killers? My mom has a ton of them in her medicine cabinet.”

He crooks an eyebrow at me. “Why?”

I shrug. “I asked her once and she said they were from an old cheerleading injury back in high school.”

His eyebrows knit and his swollen eye closes. “Wasn’t that like twenty years ago?”

“She’s crazy,” I say, starting to climb off his lap. “Maybe that’s why she’s happy all the time.”

His fingertips press into my hips, securing me in place and there is panic in his eyes. “I don’t want to let you go.”

I know that look; the one that begs for someone to help them.

“Please help me, Mommy,” I whisper as I feel him shift above me and every single part of my body feels like it’s ripping in two. He covers my mouth with his hand roughly, and tears slip from my eyes. Where is she? Why doesn’t she come get me? Because she thinks I’m hiding, like the rest of the kids are. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing, instead of dying on the inside, although part of me wishes I were dying on the outside too.