“You’re assuming it will.”
I shrugged. “I have to protect my son.”
“True but keeping the truth from him is going to catch up to you. It will come out one day. You’re risking a lot by not telling him.”
“I’ll tell him one day when he’s old enough to understand why,” I said.
“Don’t wait too long,” she warned.
“I have to worry about right now,” I said. “I’ll call Nash and ask if we can talk.”
“You’re going to tell him?” she asked with surprise.
“No. I’m going to talk with him about what happened. I’ll apologize for being a little dramatic, but I do want some ground rules. He holds a lot of power in his hands right now. I need him to use that power for good. He needs to be the one to tell Jace that hitting someone is not always the answer.”
She nodded. “Good. That’s the right move.”
I grabbed my phone and called Nash. I would invite him over tomorrow. We could talk and then he could talk to Jace. Unfortunately, he wasn’t answering. I had a feeling he was ignoring me.
I’d pushed him too far.
Chapter 52
Nash
Thirty years ago
I walked into the house after peewee football practice and knew he was mad. He was always mad, and they were always fighting. I was hungry but I didn’t want him to see me. If he saw me, he was going to ask about practice. He wanted me to be quarterback, but I wasn’t good enough. My coach said I was too small. I couldn’t tell Dad that. He would get really mad and tell me I had to eat more meat. He always told me I was puny. I was never going to be like him.
I tiptoed across the tile floor and made it to the stairs. I knew where to step to avoid being heard. I wasn’t going to let that creaky third stair get me. I made it to my room and put down my duffel bag. I could hear them shouting at each other. I crept out of my room and crouched down. I did my best to make myself small.
“He’s a little boy!” I heard my mom shout.
“He’s a brat!” my father yelled right back. I could hear footsteps and knew he was walking out of the kitchen. I spent a lot of time hiding at the top of the stairs and behind the wall.
“You have to spend time with him,” she pleaded. “He needs his father.”
“His father has to bust ass to keep a roof over his head,” he growled.
I knew I was the one they were talking about. They always argued about me. Usually, it was because I did something my dad didn’t like. I didn’t play sports well enough or I didn’t get grades that he liked. He was always telling me I had to do better. He said I would never be like him.
“Nash needs you to take him to the park or just sit down and have a conversation with him,” she said.
I could see them standing below. My dad was in his usual suit. Mom wore a pretty dress like she always did. She was so pretty. I loved her. I didn’t know if I loved my dad. He was always so mean. He didn’t like me.
“I’ve got a dinner meeting with a client,” he said and walked to the door.
“Bob, please, don’t do this. I need you to step up. I can’t do this on my own.”
“I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”
The door slammed behind him. I jerked back with the force of his anger. I hated when he did that. It always scared me. I let out a heavy sigh and got to my feet. I was really hungry. Mom would have a snack for me.
I waited until she went back to the kitchen before I left my hiding spot. I went downstairs and pretended I just got home. “Hi, Mom!” I said in my happiest voice.
She was making a sandwich. “You don’t fool me, young man,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I heard you come home.”
“Oh.”
She cut my sandwich in half. “We’re having tuna casserole for dinner, but it will be later. I thought your dad would be joining us.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I told her before taking a big bite. “I’m not sad.”
“I know, but I’m still sorry he wasn’t able to see you before he left.”
I wasn’t sad I didn’t see him. “I’m going to play my game,” I said and grabbed my sandwich.
“Homework first,” she said.
“I don’t have any.”
“What about practice?” she asked. “Did you get to try for that QB position?”
I shook my head. “No. Is Dad going to be mad?”
“No, sweetie.”
I didn’t believe her. I went into my room and sat on the floor. I turned on my Nintendo. I only played when my dad wasn’t home. Lucky for me, he wasn’t home very much. He hated when I played video games. He said I was lazy and should be doing yardwork. I didn’t know what to do outside. It was boring.
“Nash, dinner,” I heard my mom call sometime later. I saved my game and went to the dining room. Most nights were like this. It was always just me and her. It used to make me sad but not anymore. It was much quieter when Dad was gone. He was always loud and complaining.
“Wash your hands,” she called from the kitchen.
I sighed and went to do as she asked. I tried to be good and do what she told me. I didn’t want to make her sad. Dad made her really sad all the time. She said I was the bright light in her day. I wanted to always be that for her.
I sat down at the table with my clean hands and face. When she sat down, she sighed. “Are you okay?” I asked her.
“I’m fine, Nash. I’m just tired.”
We started eating our dinner. I could hear the quiet clicking of the big grandfather clock that was my mom’s dad’s. There was never any noise in our house. When I played video games, I wore my headset so Dad wouldn’t get mad.
“How was school?” she asked me.
I shrugged. “It was okay.”
“Did you get to eat lunch with your friend? I forgot his name.”
So did I. I forgot his name because I made him up. I didn’t want her to worry about me. She always worried. “Yep,” I lied. “Then we played together.”
“Good. I’m so happy you made a friend.”
I hated lying. She always knew. I stuffed my face in an attempt to race through dinner. The front door opened and then slammed shut. Me and Mom both stopped eating. I looked at her and waited for her to tell me what to do next. I hoped she would tell me to go to my room.
“We’re in here,” she said.
I didn’t move. I listened to his footsteps and hoped he was in a good mood. “You’re just now eating dinner?” he growled.
“I was planning a late dinner because I thought you were going to be here,” she answered.
He didn’t even look at me. I felt invisible. He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He grabbed a beer, opened it, and went to the living room. I heard the TV come on and knew he was in there for the night.
“I’m sorry,” Mom whispered.
I didn’t know what she was sorry for. I finished my dinner and carried my plate to the sink like I was supposed to. “Can I go play now?” I asked her.