Page 35 of Stupid Dirty

“Where’s the money?” A man’s voice—not Cade—is loud enough for me to hear before I throw open the door, followed by another crash.

Inside, I see exactly what I was expecting, but still hoping not to.

Kris is standing in the far corner of the kitchen with Maddi and Sky huddled behind her. Her stance is so strong and protective, but her face is totally blank. She’s smoking a cigarette, and even though it looks like she’s been crying, she’s devoid of expression. She isn’t saying anything or looking at anyone.

The girls both have red-rimmed eyes but aren’t crying either, and it makes me wonder how many times they’ve been through this to be able to keep quiet for it.

The owner of the Supra and source of all the yelling is standing in the middle of the room, looking unhinged. He’s tall, even taller than me and Cade, as well as older and filled out likesomeone who used to be really fucking strong. He has dark hair that looks exactly like Cade’s would if he grew it out long and then stopped showering. His face gives me the fucking creeps.

The resemblance is so strong. I don’t think I ever saw Cade’s dad when we were kids, but I’d know they were blood relatives without question.

It must really suck for Cade to have to look at this vicious, violent, funhouse mirror version of himself. He has the edge of a seasoned meth addict that we all got used to seeing growing up. Everything about his jerky, violent movement and crazed expression is screaming to me that he’s high as fuck right now.

I can see why Cade doesn’t like to talk about him.

He’s going through the room, turning everything upside down with a feral intensity, ripping open anything he can get his hands on and throwing the pieces aside when it doesn’t have whatever he’s looking for.

And in between this threatening man and the girls is nothing but a dingy Formica countertop and Cade.

His dad doesn’t notice when I burst into the trailer, still focused on his manic search. But Cade turns and looks at me with wide eyes.

He’s in nothing but his boxers, like he was still sleeping when this chaos descended, and there’s already a nasty bruise forming on his ribs, as well as some redness and swelling around his eye.

He looks scared, and so incredibly young.

I feel fucking enraged. I’ve never been a violent person, but it’s taking all my self-control not to go completely apeshit right now, and it’s only because I don’t want to escalate whatever situation I just walked into.

“Get the fuck out before I call the cops, Dad.” I can hear how much effort Cade is putting into keeping his voice steady. “Aren’t you still on parole in Arkansas? I bet not crossing state lines is a condition of that parole, asshole. Whatever money I have gotspent on bills or Mom smoked it. There’s nothing left.” He bites off the last few words like it physically hurts. “Now. Get. The fuck. Out.”

His dad stills, and it’s so much scarier than the frantic destruction of a few seconds ago. The backpack that he’d been rifling through, sending sheets of one of the girl’s homework all over the floor in the process, falls from his hands as he points at Cade.

“This is my house. I built it. I’ll show up whenever I want.” His chest is heaving as he breathes, rage clinging to every movement. “As soon as I got to town, I heard about how many races you’ve been winning. There’s no way you’ve spent it all. I know you. You’ve got something squirreled away somewhere, and I need it. I bought you the damn bike. Any money you make with it is mine.”

Tension crackles through the room like an electric current, but Cade holds his ground.

“Fuck you, Nana paid for that bike and let you take credit for it. She told me that years ago. You didn’t give me shit. I’m the one paying to keep the lights on and raising your children, since you’re too fucked up to do it yourself. Get the fuck out of my house.”

He tilts his chin up just a little, and I swell with pride watching him stand up to this shitbag. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room is Cade’s heavy breathing and Sky’s quiet, muffled crying in the corner.

Until his dad fucking explodes.

He moves faster than I expected, crossing the distance to Cade in two large strides. I see Cade flinch away and curl in to make himself a smaller target, although I can’t tell whether it’s out of instinct or experience.

Either way, seeing him so scared snaps any last reservations I had left.

He’s got his meaty hand wrapped around Cade’s throat when I charge into him. I never played football in high school, but there’s not a lot of finesse in the movement. Bending low, I throw every ounce of strength I have into my shoulder and then throw that shoulder into the man’s body.

He hits the Formica hard enough to crack it.

Cade is trying to get up from the floor where he fell, coughing and reaching for his throat. His voice is raspy when he yells at his mom to take the girls to his room and lock the door.

I think I knocked the wind clean out of his dad, because the man is gasping for air when I pull him up from the broken countertop and start hauling him towards the front door. He puts up a fight, but he’s disoriented now.

As soon as the girls disappear down the hallway, Cade turns to help me. It’s a flail of limbs and everyone’s fucking cursing, but between the two of us, we’re able to shove him out of the door and drop him, sprawling on his ass in the snow.

Cade looks down at him, pretty fucking intimidating for someone who’s beat up and still in their underwear. The way his tattoos cover his arms and chest almost looks like armor. For a second, I wonder if that’s why he has them.

“If you show up here again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

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