Page 58 of Pucking Knox
Christmas 2019 haunts me like a ghost.
I'm staring at my father's latest threat text when the memory hits, unavoidable now that I've lost everything else worth protecting.
Snow falls outside our cramped apartment. Dad stumbles in at 3 AM, knuckles bloody, weaving like a ship in storm. But it's what's in his hand that stops my breath – a wallet, not his.
"Got us Christmas money," he slurs, dropping bills on our stained coffee table.
I know the owner of that wallet – Mr. Chen from the corner store. The man who sometimes slips me extra food when Dad drinks our grocery money.
"Dad," I say carefully. "We need to return this."
"Can't." He collapses on the couch. "Might've hurt him. Didn't mean to. He just... wouldn't give it up."
I find Mr. Chen unconscious behind his store. Call an ambulance from a payphone. Help him inside. Clean up the blood before anyone sees.
He never tells the police. Says he fell. Looks at me with pity when I shop there now.
But I helped hide it. Helped protect my father. Became an accomplice to protect the only parent who stayed.
The memory fades, leaving me cold in my truck where I've been sleeping. Five days of avoiding home, avoiding teammates, avoiding everything but practice and memories.
My phone buzzes again.
Dad: Need money. Remember Christmas? Remember what you helped cover up?
Something snaps.
I call him.
"Murphy's," I say when he answers. "One hour. Try to be sober enough to remember this conversation."
He's waiting when I arrive, already three drinks in but trying to hide it. Same haunted eyes I see in the mirror. Same hands that taught me to fight before they taught me to love.
"Son." He tries for a smile. "Knew you'd come around. Family's got to stick—"
"Shut up." I sit across from him, spine straight. "You don't get to talk about family. Not after mom. Not after everything."
"Your mother left us—"
"She left you." The words taste like freedom. "And I should have left too. Should have called the cops about Mr. Chen. Should have stopped protecting you years ago."
He pales.
"I'm not giving you money." My voice stays steady. "I'm not protecting you anymore. And if you ever threaten me or anyone I care about again, I'll tell the police everything. About Christmas. About mom. About all of it."
"You wouldn't." But his hands shake. "I'm your father."
"No." I stand, feeling taller somehow. "You're just the man who taught me everything I never want to be."
I leave him there, small and pathetic in the bar light. Leave the ghosts of Christmas past and the weight of his sins and everything I've been carrying.
Leave the boy who thought protecting him meant loving him.
My phone buzzes as I exit – not my father this time.
Grey: Team dinner at Pietro's. Might want to skip it.
I should. But something pulls me there anyway.
