Birthday(58)

“Eric,” she says. She lifts my hand and kisses the knuckle, letting her eyes close again. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t … I don’t want to pressure you or anything. Because this is crazy, right?” Her thumb traces the lines in my palm and she takes a breath, still shaky. “But, I think I—”

“God fucking damn it, Eric! When you don’t answer the phone your mother gets on my ass. Call her back now or—”

Dad’s voice explodes between us as the door flies open. Morgan screams and scrambles back, adjusting her clothes. I sit up and pull my shirt down to cover my stomach, hot adrenaline pumping all my pleasure away. Dad stomps into the room, lost in his own anger for just a moment before he pauses, eyes wide.

Maybe we separated in time. I try to swallow the dryness in my throat and glance at Morgan with a sinking dread. Her hair is a wild mess. Her clothes are wrinkled and sitting askew on her shoulders and hips. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips are pink, and a splotch is already forming on her neck. She looks at me with eyes drenched in panic and my gut twists as I search for a way to make this not be happening and come up blank.

“Dad,” I say. “What happened to knocking?”

“Out,” Dad says. His voice rumbles like an island boiling up from the sea. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Carson,” Morgan says. She holds her arms around herself and glares at him. I know that look from a dozen scenes of bullies biting off more than they can chew, a dozen suicidal scraps started when she was immolating herself. I imagine this is what it feels like when a soldier sees a grenade roll next to him with no time to dive away. “Listen—”

“I’ve always known you were a freak,” he says. “And now you’ve corrupted my son.” He snaps his arm toward the hall and points. “Get. Out.”

“You don’t know anything about me, actually,” she says, her voice dripping with venom. “And you’re welcome to go fuck yourself.” She starts to get up, her slender hands balled into fists. Dad won’t let her leave now. I’ve seen him fight so much with Peyton and Mom over the years that I know how this goes, but I’m too slow.

He stomps across the room, all two hundred and thirty pounds of him, takes the front of Morgan’s hoodie in his fist, and shoves all one hundred and twenty pounds of her back onto the bed. She sprawls back, her dark eyes smoking with fury, and as surely as the sun rises I know she’s about to lunge at him.

I move, clutching Dad’s shoulder, turning him, and pushing him into the wall—he’s got forty pounds on me, but I’m younger, faster, and in better shape. Morgan scrambles to her feet and stands behind me in the moment it takes Dad to come to terms with the new shape of things.

“Don’t,” I say. I start to say, “Don’t touch her,” but a reflex stops me. He’ll laugh at her and besides, Morgan clearly doesn’t want people like him to know yet. I choke down the rest, grind my teeth, and glare at him while he fumes.

“So,” Dad says. “Turns out it’s you.”

I let go of him and take a step back, staying on the balls of my feet in case he tries anything.

“Three sons,” he says. “Inevitable one’d take a swing.”

“Fuck off, Dad.”

The back of his hand cracks across my face faster than I can see. Pain spreads in purple ripples across my jaw and my vision swims as I stumble to the bed, his shadow spreading over me like ink. I hear Morgan yell and take a step but I reach out, pressing a hand into her stomach, and thank god she stops.

“I gave you life,” Dad says. “I paid for this house. I pay for your food. I’ve given you everything you have. I’ll treat you however I want, boy. I should have knocked some sense into you years ago.” He turns on Morgan, spit flying from his lips. “And you! You took my son from me, faggot.”

“Me?” Morgan says. Her voice breaks. “What? You think you’re father of the fucking year?”

I stand, remaining between them, and rub my jaw only to discover tears on my cheek.

“Get out. Of my house. Don’t come back. And if I find out you’ve so much as looked at my son, I’ll make life hell for you and your trailer-trash daddy.”

“Come on, Eric,” Morgan says. She touches my shoulder and turns me so I can see the pleading look in her eyes. “Let’s go.”

“Do it,” Dad says. “Go ahead and make my fucking day.” His sulfur gaze turns to Morgan. “Now. I thought I told you to leave.”

Morgan pulls me and I follow her a few steps, but then dig my heels into the carpet. Should I really leave? What should I do? Where would I go?

“I won’t leave without you,” she says.

I squeeze her hand.

She squeezes back.

“Okay,” I say, and take a step toward her.

“Now hold on,” Dad says.

“You heard Morgan,” I say. She pulls me toward the hall and I look over my shoulder. “Go fuck yourself!”

“Come back here!” Dad yells. He lurches toward us, but we’re both faster than him. We scramble for the stairs and then out the door, hand in hand, invincible as long as we’re together. I throw myself into her car while she starts the engine and we’re out of the driveway just in time to see Dad explode out the front door and onto the lawn.