Page 33 of Quiet Rage
“I blame myself.” There was actual, genuine sorrow in Dad’s voice as he circled the chair his former best friend sat slumped in. Beaten, bloody, going in and out of consciousness while Dad watched and made me watch with him.
You’re going to learn a lesson tonight. Never trust anyone.
“I was blinded by the past,” Dad muttered, staring down at the blood-soaked mess who used to sit down to eat holiday dinners with us. He took me for my driver’s license when Dad was too busy. He even bought me a beer after—I always looked older, and besides, nobody refused him. Along with Dad, he was one of the most feared men in town. “I never imagined he would betray me like this. For years. Years!” he screamed, making me flinch.
Breathing heavy, he reached into his waistband and pulled out a gun. I’ll never forget the ice-cold horror that dropped into the pit of my stomach as light gleamed off the metal. The beating was one thing, but this? I opened my mouth, ready to ask what the hell he was doing, but it was too dry to speak.
“Come here.” The wild look in Dad’s eyes when he turned his gaze on me made bile rush up into my throat. I swallowed hard and moved my feet, even though they felt like lead. Joe was too out of it to do much more than open the one eye he could still see through and look up at me. The copper stench of blood hung in the air, mixed with the stench of sweat, terror, and pain.
“Now you know.” Taking me by the wrist, Dad held my hand out and pressed the gun into my palm. “There is no such thing as loyalty in this world beyond blood ties. And even then, you can never trust anybody. You have to always be on the lookout. Always watching. And if somebody makes the mistake of betraying you?”
Snarling, he looked down at the man who had stood next to him on his wedding day to Mom. “You cut that betrayal out at the root. And that’s what you’re going to do today, Kellen.”
I still don’t know if he made me do it because I needed to learn a lesson, or because he couldn’t bear to do it himself. If, even then, he couldn’t murder his best friend.
And I was supposed to? I stood there frozen, ready for him to tell me it was all a test. That he didn’t really expect his sixteen-year-old son to commit murder.
But he did. “Well?” he barked. “Get it done. Now, Kellen. Do it—unless you want to be the one in that chair.”
And the thing is, even to this day, I don’t think he was kidding. Nobody denies him if they want to live to see another day.
I was numb for days after, before I learned the value of shoving everything way down deep inside.
I lost my touch, obviously, and now here I am. Getting out of my truck, crossing the street with my head down and shoulders up against the cold rain that’s starting to fall harder. I need to talk to her. All day, between school and stalking her afterward, I’ve wrestled with what needs to be said.
I’m still wrestling with it once I’m inside. I can see why she wants to study here. The aroma of coffee is comforting; there’s a gentle hum from the machines and quiet conversation. I’m about to break into her peace, but that’s better than what will need to be done if she won’t play along. I’m trying to do her a favor as I drop into the chair across from hers, startling her into a gasp when she looks up from her books.
“What are you doing here?” Right away, she looks out the window behind me, like she’s embarrassed or ashamed. Afraid somebody’s going to see us together.
“I need to talk to you.”
I need to touch you. I need to breathe you in.
“You could’ve texted or something, right? I just…” Her lip disappears under her teeth and she looks down at her cup, playing with the cardboard sleeve around it. “I just can’t have you showing up out of nowhere.”
“Why not?”
“Because I never know if you’re planning on hurting me, or what….”
How can I explain that I’m doing this because I don’t want to hurt her? I’m caught between two worlds—that’s what it feels like, anyway. My duty to Dad, who won’t take no for an answer. My feelings for her, which I still can’t make any sense out of.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I murmur, though that hasn’t always been true. “I want to be honest with you.”
Her eyelids flutter when she looks up at me. “About what?”
“I need you to drop out of school.”
It’s almost funny, watching her process that. At first, it’s like there’s one of those spinning wheels in front of her face, like a program is trying to load. She sits completely still, staring at me, before her head snaps back and her mouth twists in a disbelieving smirk. “Sure. I’ll get right on that for you. Anything else?”
As irritating as it is right now, I kind of like her sarcasm. She’s got spirit. A shame I have to push those thoughts aside before leaning in, arms folding on the table, eyes narrowed. She needs to hear me. “It’s important. I’m not joking. I need you to drop out.”
“Since we’re listing all the things we need…” she counters. If anything, her smirk widens until it turns into a grin. “I need one million dollars in my bank account, a car I don’t have to pray over every time I try to start it, and to have my…”
The light in her eyes goes dim, and the corners of her mouth droop. “Forget it,” she mumbles, shaking her head before taking a sip of her drink. The pale pink lip balm she’s wearing ends up on the white lid, snagging my attention when she places the cup on the table.
To have her brother back? Is that what she wanted to say? Deep down inside, there’s this faint wish she felt comfortable enough to tell me everything she’s thinking. “This isn’t a joke, like I said. There’s too much going on. If you drop out, a lot of your problems could be over.”
Looking me up and down wearily, she sits back in the chair, folding her arms, giving me a hell of a time not staring at her tits when she pushes them together without knowing it. “You mean the problems you started?”
