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I hold a hand out to help steady her as she follows behind me. The knock I make on the front door is unnecessary, I see my mother peeking around the curtains of the front window. She takes a few moments to answer, I imagine her nerves are firing high. There’s a small twinge of guilt in my gut about that, but then I remember Willa’s description of the bruise my sister wears on her cheek.
“Hello, Zander. Willa, it’s good to see you again,” she greets with as much fake pleasantry as she can muster.
“This is Damian,” I introduce.
“It’s nice to meet another of Zander’s friends.”
“He’s more than that. They both are,” I say, and she pales. “Where is he?”
“In the back room, but Zander,” she starts. I ignore it, stepping past her.
“Will you sit with me, Ellen,” Willa asks, playing interference while Damian and I search for my father. “Maybe we can have a cup of tea.”
Willa ushers her toward the kitchen just as I turn the corner to the back room. My father’s favorite spot to sit and get drunk while he watches whatever sport is in season. The chair he’s perched in is the same as from when I still lived here so many years ago.
“Father.”
“The hotshot returns,” he mumbles, his words slurred but not to the point where I don’t think he’ll understand the conversation we’re about to have. Even if he does black out halfway through, I don’t give a fuck, as long as he signs guardianship over to me.
“I have.” I pick up the remote and shut off the television.
“What the hell, Zander?”
“We have something to talk about, no distractions.”
“Is this about that brat of a sister,” he asks, standing from his chair. He nearly falls over trying to go toe to toe with me.
“It is about my sister,” I say, furious now. “My perfect, sweet sister. The one you put hands on.”
“That was her fault,” he begins to say. Before he finishes, I land my balled fist on his cheek. Let him feel what she felt. He falls back into his chair, dazed.
“It wasn’t her fault, and if you say it again, I’ll break your fucking jaw.”
“You listen to me, you little fuck,” he says.
This time, I grip my hand around his throat. Squeezing enough to get his full attention, but not enough to kill him. Though, goddamn it, is it tempting. My mother would hate me for it, but at least she’d be free of his fucking weight pulling her down.
“No, you listen to me now. I’m taking Callie to Seattle with me. I’ve brought papers that you’re going to sign.”
“You can’t make me do shit,” he spits. “I don’t care who you play for, you ungrateful prick.”
“You’re right, I have been ungrateful. I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for the support you and Mom gave me. So, I’m going to repay all that,” I say. It gets the reaction I expected; his face perks up with interest. “In return, you’re going to sign papers, making me Callie’s legal guardian.”
“You can’t afford to buy your sister away from us.” He sneers. His eyes narrow and bounce between me and Damian a few times. “How much?”
“Piece of shit,” Damian mutters from behind me.
“Who the fuck are you?” He tries to stand back up, but I shove him down. “Get your hands off me, Zander. I swear to Christ, kid.”
“Fuck off, old man. The only reason you aren’t already a pool of blood on the floor is because I don’t want Mom to have to clean that shit up. You can’t push me around anymore.”
The truth settles on us both. He’s frail, weak from the lack of nourishment he’s been getting. The stench of vodka wafts out of his every pore. Even if I let him try to take a swing, which I have no intention of, it wouldn’t hurt nearly as bad as what my body is put through in every game.
I know it, he knows it, too. He has no hold on me, no power over me. I’m not a vulnerable, easy target. The poor bastard stares at me as if he can see my disdain for him floating in the air like some tangible thing.
“Name your price, sign the papers, and we’ll leave,” Damian adds after the pregnant pause. My father turns his bloodshot eyes to him. “How much, Steve?”
“I already said he can’t afford it.”
