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I mull that over. There was a time where she was protective of our relationship too, before she went and fucked me over like it was the easiest thing in the world. I breathe in the nicotine, hoping for it to calm me down before I take my anger out on some undeserving fool. It’s important I save my wrath for the only one who truly deserves it. I want her to rue the day she turned her back on me.
I WALK IN THE front door, hearing the sound of my mom giggling in the kitchen. As soon as I enter the room, every bit of patience I built up on the drive home vanishes.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I growl, referring to my mother’s shithead ex-boyfriend.
My mom frowns. “Grayson, be nice. Justin drove all the way from Campton to see us. The least you could do is be respectful.”
“Yeah, Grayson,” Justin taunts. “Show a little respect.”
I take a step forward, clenching my fist tightly. “Shut the fuck up, prick. You don’t get to speak to me after what you did to her.”
“Grayson Matthew!”
Turning my murderous stare from Justin to my mother, I shove my finger in his direction. “He doesn’t belong here. I want him gone, and you should, too.”
I don’t give her a second to answer before I storm out of the room and up the stairs. How dare she let him come here after the night I had to pry him off of her. He had been staying with us for a bit—which essentially was the PG way of telling your son that your boyfriend is moving in—when he came home wasted off his ass one night. My mom started yelling at him, pissed that he smelled like some other bitch’s perfume.
I had gone into my room until I heard a bang over my headphones—making the whole wall vibrate. I ran out to find him on top of her, with his hands around her neck as she was clawing at his arms. In a split-second decision, I charged at him full force. It knocked him over and freed my mom from his grasp, but that didn’t stop me. I pummeled my fist into his face so many times I lost track of when he went unconscious.
The cops came and arrested him that night, and my mother was granted a restraining order. He was sentenced to a year in prison, but judging by the fact that it’s only nine months later and he’s out, I’m assuming he’s on parole. The fucker is lucky I didn’t kill him that night. Had my mom not screamed at me to stop, I probably would have.
I slam the door shut behind me with a force that causes it to echo through the entire house. He has a lot of fucking nerve coming here. I grab the closest thing to me, a picture frame from my dresser, and throw it across the room. It shatters into a million pieces as soon as it hits the wall and only then do I realize what I just threw. I watch the photo fall gently to the floor before going and plucking it up out of the scattered pieces of glass.
I’m only a kid in the picture, standing in front of both my parents with a broad grin across my face. My father has a protective arm around my mother’s waist, holding her close to him, while my mother beams happily. It’s exactly what I envision when I remember the happier times of my childhood, but like the frame the photo was in, those times are just a memory.
I walk over to the window and look out at the house across the street. The blue shudders and beige siding look the same as they always have, but something about it feels different. A part of me wonders if she and her father still live there.
“Grayson?” My father calls from downstairs. I’m up in my room playing with the new dinosaur toys I got for Christmas. “Come down here. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
I groan quietly as I get up and leave my toys behind. When I reach the top of the steps, I can see my parents standing with another man and a little girl by the front door. She looks shy, with her blonde hair in a ponytail as she keeps a tight hold on the bear in her arms. I slide down the banister, laughing the whole way until my father catches me.
“Honey, what did I say about sliding down that?” my mom scolds.
I drop my head toward the floor. “That I’m going to get hurt one day.”
My dad drops down onto one knee in front of me. “Your mother just wants to keep you safe, Gray. She’s not trying to ruin your fun.”
“Your name is Gray? Like the color?” the little girl asks.
I look up at her, and the first thing I notice is her light blue eyes. They remind me of the sky right before sunset. I smile, and it widens when she smiles back.
“Grayson, but my dad calls me Gray.” A slight look of disappointment graces her face before I continue. “But you can call me Gray, too.”
That makes her happy. “Okay! I’m Savannah, but my dad calls me Savi.”
“Savi.” I test the name on my tongue. “I like it.”
“Why don’t you take Savannah to see your new toys?” my mom suggests.
I nod, grinning widely, and wave for Savi to follow me. We go into the den where the Christmas tree is, my presents still scattered underneath it from after I unwrapped them all. She instantly starts playing with the remote-controlled car—one of my favorite presents this year.
“So, did you just move here? I’ve never seen you before.”
She nods, still shy. “Yeah. We moved in across the street. My dad said that he’s been friends with your parents since he was in college. Whatever that is.”
“Did you want to move here?”
I can tell it’s a touchy subject by the way she won’t look at me. I almost tell her she doesn’t have to answer when she sighs. “No, but when my mommy went to heaven, Daddy said we should move.”
