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His nostrils flared. “And who do you think you are?”
“I’m April’s boyfriend,” I said, not letting any hint of fear into my voice.
“No, you aren’t,” he snarled.
April tried to get around me, but I sidestepped, caging her back. I didn’t like this for her. Not one bit.
“Get out of my house,” he growled.
I held up my hand, trying to calm him. “I’ll be on my way as soon as Mrs. Adams gets home and you cool down.”
An angry mix of a roar and a shout ripped from his mouth, his pupils shrinking so small I could barely see them in the brown of his eyes. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.” He grabbed for my arm, pulling me and pinning me against the cabinet with all his weight.
“Dad!” April cried, the only thing I could hear over the splitting pain in my wrist.
Her dad spun me again, throwing me toward the back door, and then he rounded on April. “WHAT KIND OF LOWLIFE ARE YOU BRINGING INTO THIS HOUSE?” He screamed, shaking her shoulders.
White filled my vision and I reached for him, pulling him away and tackling him to the ground. He was strong, scrabbling beneath me. I held him in place, praying he would cool down, that this wouldn’t get any worse.
The door opened, and Grace screamed, “Oh my god!”
“Mom! Help!” April yelled.
Her dad found purchase on my arm, making me cry out in pain, but I gritted through it, knowing this was just a wave. That all waves crashed to the ocean floor and eventually rolled away.
Grace hurried past us to the cabinet, pulling out a glass medicine bottle and a syringe. She pulled off the cap, filling it with clear liquid.
“Hold still, Diego,” Grace said, then plunged the needle into April’s dad’s shoulder. He struggled, letting loose a stream of curses, before his body slowly went limp beneath me.
I could taste bile in my mouth as I got up, eyes darting between April and her mom. April’s shoulders shook with sobs, and she wrapped her arms around her waist.
I stepped toward her, wanting to comfort her, but she retreated, shaking her head.
“Go home, Diego.”
“But—” I began.
“Go,” she ordered, her voice as cold as her eyes had become.
The pain in my wrist, in my chest, bloomed, and I turned away, afraid I might be sick.
I went outside, taking assessment of my body. My shirt had been ripped, my hip had banged against the counter and was surely bruised. There was a serious chance my wrist was broken. But what hurt worst of all was knowing what could have happened to April if I hadn’t been there. And the terrifying thought that my presence had made it all worse.
I had my hand on my car door when I heard a voice so similar to April’s say, “Diego, wait.”
I turned from the car, facing the woman who looked so much like her daughter.
“Honey, are you okay?” she asked, looking from my wrist to my face.
The care in her voice made a lump form in my throat. I swallowed it back, shaking my head. “He was shaking her and I just—I couldn’t just stand back.”
Her eyes were pools of blue compassion. “I know, honey.”
“But April—” Emotion clogged my throat, blocking my words.
“Give her some time,” she said.
And I nodded, because that was all I could bring myself to do.
