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Hunter looked. Two duffel bags—his duffel bags—were by the baker’s rack, stuffed full of what looked like clothes.
He couldn’t breathe. It felt like he’d swallowed hot tar.
He glanced at his mother. She wouldn’t look at him now.
“You’re throwing me out?” His voice almost cracked and he didn’t care.
“You’re not going to break the law and live here,” said his grandfather.
“I’m not breaking the law!”
“Something is going on with you, boy, and I’m sick of it. Do you understand me? I don’t know how your father raised you—”
“Don’t.” Hunter had to take a deep breath, and it shook. “Don’t you talk about my father.”
“What do you think he’d say about you hitting women?”
“It’s not like that.”
“What’s it like, then?”
Hunter almost couldn’t speak through the tightness in his chest. “It’s—it’s a misunderstanding.”
“Is this a misunderstanding?” His grandfather hit him.
The blow snapped Hunter’s head to the side. He’d seen it coming, but his brain couldn’t quite believe it, so he didn’t make a move to defend himself.
It hurt.
He’d been hit before, but there was something different about it coming from his grandfather, as if their history—not all of it bad—was loaded into that backhand slap.
Hunter sucked in a breath through his teeth. His mother’s hand was over her mouth, but she hadn’t said a word.
“You want to hit someone,” said his grandfather, “you pick on someone your own size.” His grandfather hit him again, an open hand slap this time. “How’s this feel?”
Hunter forced his hands to stay at his sides, but he couldn’t keep them from curling into fists. “Stop it.”
“Stop it? Can’t take it? Did she ask you to stop?”
Casper barked.
“It wasn’t—I didn’t—” Another hit, and Hunter flung up an arm to protect his face, but it didn’t help. His grandfather wasn’t being gentle. These were full hits with strength behind them.
An adult had never come after him this way. His eyes were burning, more fury than tears. Anger lay coiled in his chest, ready to spring free and slam his grandfather to the ground, but Hunter was having trouble fighting through this layer of bewilderment and disbelief.
His grandfather was hitting him. Hitting him.
And his mother was letting it happen.
Then his grandfather caught him on the cheek, a sharp hit that stung. Hunter shoved him back. His breathing was loud in the sudden silence.
He had to get out of here. Hunter turned, hunching his shoulders, keeping his hands tight at his sides.
His grandfather grabbed his arm, and it was like pulling a trigger. Hunter whirled and struck.
The man wasn’t ready for it—or maybe he just didn’t expect Hunter to hit back. His grandfather hit the counter and fell.
His grandmother cried out. Casper was barking, bouncing on his hind legs, waiting for Hunter to give some direction.
