The Greggs didn’t move out of the big smoke for no reason. It was because Mr. Gregg knew a lower population meant there’d be less chance of his family being tormented by psychopaths for the second time in their lives.
I’ve only seen home invasions in movies. Melody can’t say the same thing. She was only five when it occurred, but the memories in her head are crystal clear. She remembers her mom’s horrified expression when she was dragged away from her, the way her nails clawed the floorboards, and the tears that rolled down her father’s cheeks when they shredded his wife’s pajamas off her body with a knife.
My chest absorbed Melody’s tears many times during her first ten years here. When she climbed into my window in the middle of the night with an ashen face and eyes full of moisture, I knew she wasn’t crying in fear. Her tears were for her father, the loving goofball she lost when his unanswered pleas to the men attacking his wife forced him to become just as violent as them.
Three men entered the Gregg property that cold winter’s night. Only one left breathing, and the punishment the courts served him was nothing compared to the life sentence Mr. Gregg is facing. His wife stands by his side, and his daughter loves him, but even a seventeen-year-old kid can see that the demons of his past still haunt him.
The man who hurt his family is now walking the streets, and there isn’t anything Mr. Gregg can do about it. He didn’t face a jail term twelve years ago because a jury of his peers believed he had acted in self-defense. That wouldn’t be the case this time around if he once again takes justice into his own hands. He knows the law better than anyone because not only has he served and protected his country for the past twenty-two years, he married a super-smart woman.
Mrs. Gregg, or Wren as she advised me to call her, had a fancy office with floor-to-ceiling windows. She earned triple what her husband did in the military, and even with her being half the age of her associates, was a valued member of the New York justice system.
That all came crumbling down after their home invasion. Wren was forced to go against her colleagues who wanted her husband prosecuted for the death of two of the men who terrorized her, and it took selling their basement brownstone to fund the fight.
They won. Mr. Gregg walked away without a conviction, which meant he could keep his position in the military, but they were homeless, and although Mr. Gregg will never admit, too scared to remain living in the city.
I hate what happened to them and the tears Melody has shed during the many drills her father has forced her to endure the past decade, but I’m also grateful. If their world wasn’t upended, mine might very well have never started.
My father is still a vicious-speaking, cold-blooded tyrant, but the sting of his scorns hasn’t burned as they once did when the Greggs became a part of my life. They taught me the difference between right and wrong, and just because someone tells you something, doesn’t mean it’s true. Even my mom has taken their advice.
When my father told her we’re moving to the city, she advised him that his way of thinking wasn’t how a marriage worked, and any decisions that affected the family as a whole would be discussed, not ordered.
Her newfound backbone didn’t go down well with my father. It has caused months of tension and more shouted words the past year than the previous three, but we’re still here in Saugerties where we’ve lived since I was born.
And where I’m most likely to be buried when Mr. Gregg’s right hook sends Tweety birds flying around my head. “Focus, Brandon. All it takes is a second of distraction to cause years of misery.” When he swings at my head again, I bob in just enough time before jabbing at the pads covering his hands. “Better. Keeping going.”
I’m not big like my brothers. If we were dogs, I’d be called the runt of the litter, but what I lack in height and muscle density, I make up for with speed and agility. I’ve got bumps in my midsection. I just keep them hidden with shirts. I don’t see the need to show them off. Melody knows they’re there, and she’s the only one I’m out to impress.
Besides, I don’t mind being the smaller guy in the room. The men Mr. Gregg has me constantly on the lookout for expect less from me. They aren’t bothered when I watch them closely. More times than not, they encourage my gawks.
They probably think I’m gay. The thought makes me smile. If Mr. Gregg knew the thoughts I had about his daughter in the shower most mornings, I’m confident he’d be wishing the same thing.
Melody has always been pretty, but once she grew into her big marble eyes and tulip-shaped nose, my description of her assets quickly switched to gorgeous. Her hair is the same dirty blonde coloring it was when she was a child, but she brushes out her wild kinks every morning. We lost our baby fat around the same time, although my face is still a little rounder than hers. I can’t say the same thing about our pecs. Much to Mr. Gregg’s disgrace, it appears as if Melody’s chubby cheeks lowered to her chest.
We stand at almost the same height, which Melody assures is a shit-ton taller than her mother, but nowhere near as gigantic as her father. My brothers think it’s hilarious we’re the same height. They’d never date a girl as tall or taller than them. I think it’s convenient. Melody and I meet eye to eye. Nose to nose. Lips to lips.
I snap back to reality when my name cracks from Mr. Gregg’s mouth like a whip. “Brandon, focus!”
His right tap to my ear raises more than my defenses. It also sends my frustration skyrocketing. “All right, fuck.”
My right rib, left bicep, and every inch of my jaw gets punished for my cuss word. To ensure Mr. Gregg gets his point across about how much he dislikes cursing, he swipes my feet out from beneath me.
I hit the deck with a groan, my lungs as windless as Melody’s gasp when she watches me go down. She’s seen her dad lose his cool before, but it isn’t usually at me. “Daddy!” While tsking him without hand signals, she joins us ringside. “You need to calm down.”
Mr. Gregg rakes a hand over his sweaty military-style haircut before speaking slow and precise to ensure Melody can read his lips. “He needs to practice, not spend our sessions perusing your body like certain parts of it are on a menu. Protect, honor, obey, and serve. It isn’t that hard.”
Melody’s friends giggle during the first half of Mr. Gregg’s highly accurate statement. They believe my ‘friendship’ with Melody is pathetic, and I quote, ‘A real man would’ve gotten the job done months ago,’ but they quiet down during the last half of his statement.
No one knows what the Greggs went through years ago because despite their belief that they’re important to Liam, Wren, and Melody, they’re not. Excluding my family, I can’t recall the Greggs having a single person over for dinner the past ten years. Even today’s visitors are a rarity. They’re only here because Mr. Gregg refused Melody’s request to go to the ‘beach’ with her friends. It’s prime camping season time, which means unknown guests in our town are at a pinnacle. Mr. Gregg doesn’t trust anyone outside of his inner circle. Fortunately for me, I was invited inside that exclusive circle well over a decade ago.
After shushing her friends whose sniggers are felt as much as they’re heard with a wicked sideways glare, Melody folds her arms under her chest, making the wooziness in my head ten times worse.
When her father fails to respond to the million questions I see in her eyes, she unfolds her hands and signs, “He needs to be a kid, Dad. Not your vigilante.”
This isn’t the first time she has called out her father’s interest in me for what it is. Mr. Gregg cares for me, and his guidance hasn’t seen me tiptoeing over the line many boys my age have, but I’m aware the instant his daughter's safety isn’t my utmost priority, he’d drop me for another soldier waiting in the wings.
Since I don’t want that to happen, I use years of training to my advantage.
After flipping up onto my feet, I stun Mr. Gregg with an open-handed punch to his sternum before knocking him onto the mat with a roundhouse kick to his head. The leverage I get off the ground ends Melody’s friends snickering in an instant, not to mention me removing my shirt to place it under Mr. Gregg’s head when my kick to his temple dazes him enough he stays down for the count.
