Fight for Love (5 page)

“Wait. I don’t. I mean…Luke look,” Stacey ran her hands through her hair. I saw a flash of red on her fingers. I liked the vivid polish she’d chosen. It was daring. “We can’t. You’re a nice guy, but with my job, I just can’t. I’m sorry you misunderstood.”

“You said can’t, not won’t. So you would?”

Stacey shook her head, but didn’t take her eyes off the road. Her fingers turned white as her grip tightened on the steering wheel. I turned in my seat to face her. She had a slight hint of pink in her cheeks.
Well done Luke, well done.
I had a chance.

In barely a whisper Stacey answered, “I don’t know.”

It wasn’t a yes, but it was damn close and I let the grin that ached to break through have its way. I had a new challenge, one that might bring some real fun into my life. I would convince Stacey to go out with me. Even if it was only one date.

***

I walked inside the house and stripped off my wet shoes to place them on the edge of the tiled entryway. Dave made it very clear that no one was to walk on the carpet with shoes on. Even guests were asked to take their shoes off before continuing through the house. It didn’t make much sense considering the carpet was olive green shag.
 

“Luke, is that you?” Mom’s voice trilled from the kitchen.
 

“Yeah.”
 

“Good, you can come in here and help me cook dinner.”

I didn’t have a knack for cooking. My knowledge of how to use a pot was limited to that of boiling pasta for macaroni and cheese. Even then I tended to go with the heat-and-eat microwave version.
 

“Coming,” I mumbled.

Mom stood in front of the stove with her lime green apron around her neck stirring something in a large black pot. She glanced over her shoulder as I sauntered in. No matter the day or time she always had a smile, even while Dave used her as a speed bag. I spent many nights listening to him berate and belittle her. More tears were shed into my pillow than anyone would ever know. The one time mom fought back she ended up in the hospital with a severe concussion. That was a week after they’d started dating and six months before moving from our comfortable home in Florida to the great State of Texas. “Deep in the Heart of Texas,”
I sang to myself with the memory of moving.
 

“So what are you cooking tonight?”

“Dave’s favorite. We’re having chicken Parmesan with linguine noodles and my homemade sauce.” She turned away from the stove to get a better look at me. “You’re all wet. Why?”

I shrugged my shoulders and turned to gaze out the window behind the kitchen table and chairs. “Umm, because the last time I looked it was raining.”

“But I heard a car pull up, you didn’t get that wet running from the car to the door.”

Shit.
 
“You’re right, but I had to run from the building to the car and I got stopped along the way.”
 

“Well, go change before Dave gets home. I don’t want him to see you in wet clothes. Then come down and help me. I need you to get the garlic bread ready.”

I stepped in the direction of the stairs at the back of the kitchen. It was a narrow staircase that led me to my room without going through the living room. Most nights I used it to avoid my stepfather. Before I made it up the first stair and put my back to mom, I stopped. “Why do you do this for him? It’s not like he will forgo the ritual.”

Mom’s shoulders slumped over the stove and her hand shook, as she tasted the sauce. “I don’t have to explain my reasoning to you. I love Dave and he deserves a good meal. He had a bad day at work today.”

Well fuck me. Maybe I could get out of the house before he found out about my day. If I didn’t, who knew where I’d wake up in the morning? My guess would be the hospital
.

 
“Now get upstairs and change clothes.”

“Whatever.” I mumbled under my breath.
 

I made my way to the top of the stairs and took a left down the hallway. My room was to the right, but the bathroom was on the opposite end of the hall. I wanted to shower first, thinking the warm water would ease the tension in my shoulders, that and my hand hurt where it had connected with Brandt’s face. Hot water had a way of curing pain that aspirin didn’t. That was a theory I was all too familiar with.
 

The bathroom was small, big enough to hold a shower, toilet, and sink. I painted it blue two weeks after we moved in. Every time I looked at the baby boy blue walls a smile spread across my lips. Dave screamed at the top of his lungs that night. He’d given me permission to paint the bathroom, but didn’t specify what color. I decided to find the most obnoxious color available. There were worse colors, but I still had to be able to use the bathroom without becoming nauseous.
 

As steam clouded the mirror I stripped off my wet clothes and tossed them in the small hamper under the sink. I stretched my arms over my head and grimaced in pain when my shoulder popped. The spot just below my ribs still hurt from the rounds Dave threw the night before.
 

Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen and I pulled a Green Day t-shirt over my head. If asked about my taste in music most people looked at me and thought with my small, but muscled arms and semi-chiseled abs I’d be a hard-core rocker. I didn’t bother correcting them. Instead, I kept my love of alternative music away from people. Not because it embarrassed me, but I didn’t want it taken away. At home Dave didn’t allow music to be played, something about it being a brainwashing technique. My theory fit more along the lines of control. Dave wanted complete control of everything that took place in his house.
 

Thanks to his issues, I had few things that were mine. Music was one of them. In Florida Mom let me set up an amp in the garage. For my sixteenth birthday she and Dad bought me a Fender Billy Corgan Strat.
 
Now, my most prized possession sat in the back corner of the closet, hidden from prying eyes. I’d lost my dad, my home, and my friends. No chance in hell I’d lose the Strat.
 

I ran my hand down the fret board, dreaming of the next time I’d get to play. When we moved from Florida mom promised the kids at school would want to get together to play. She knew Dave wouldn’t allow me to set up the amp and play. He made that clear the first time he visited our Florida home. All the fights at school weren’t helping gain friends, so I hadn’t played. It’d been six long months since their last vacation. The only time I’d risked pulling my baby from its hiding spot. My fingers ached at the reminder. The pick in my pocket burned a hole through my jeans.
 

Angry, frustrated, and suddenly lonely; I pulled my amp and guitar from the back of the closet and plugged it in. Dave wasn’t home yet, and I wanted to play. The first strums sent vibrations through my bones and a smile to my face.
 

“Luke.”
 

Mom’s voice pulled me from the escape the music gave me. I looked at the clock sitting next to my bed. The bright red numbers indicated I’d been playing for nearly an hour, so much for helping Mom.
 

I unplugged and set everything back in the closet until the next time then jogged back downstairs to help set the table for dinner.
 

CHAPTER SIX

The silence hanging over the dinner table made me nervous. Nerves combined with anger always ended badly, at least for me. My fingers clinched the fork tight enough that they turned white. Dave hadn’t said anything to me, but there was a stiffness to his shoulders and smolder in his eyes that told me all I needed to know: the school filled him in on the day’s events.
 

Dave had two personalities, one he showed at the office and his real personality—the one at home. I knew everyone at the office loved him. He was the epitome of caring. If his secretary was sick, he told her to take a week off and feel better. If his accountant called with family problems, he told him to take as long as he needed. Hell, Dave told his second in command to use the business card to pay for his kids’ birthday gifts. Said it was the company’s fault their father wasn’t home.
 

At home it was the complete opposite. If I tried to stay home from school because I was sick Dave lectured me for half an hour about the need to get an education so I could get a job. Dave never passed up an opportunity to remind me how important it was that I be able to pay for college because without that I’d have nothing. I didn’t have the fantasy that my parents would help pay for school. I figured I’d be lucky if they let me stay in the house long enough to move into the dorms after graduation.
 

Sitting at the table eating dinner I watched Dave, especially the way he held his silverware. If Dave had fighting on his mind he held his silverware in his left hand and clenched his right hand over and over, as if working it out. On the off chance he wasn’t seeking a brawl, Dave ate with his right hand and kept his left on the table right next to his plate. Those nights Dave spent most of the meal gazing at mom with adoration. Of course, it only took a matter of seconds for the adoration to turn to disgust, which led to a swift hand across the cheek.
 

I hated waking up in the morning and seeing Mom with the shape of a hand imprinted across the side of her face. She tried to cover it with makeup, and I was sure she succeeded most of the time. On the rare occasion I woke before her and saw the damage, she chose to dismiss everything and ignore my questions.

My mom worked, but she worked from home. Sometimes she’d visit with clients through Skype, others just email. She was an artist, and used her creativity for interior decorating. Over the years she’d built a client list that spanned the country. I helped organize her contact list a couple of times and never failed to be impressed. When she made a new contact the arrangement was that she would contract their services out. It was similar to Dave’s construction contracting firm, but for interior design.
 

Dave set his fork down on the right side of his plate, just far enough away that it wouldn’t clang on the glass. “Luke, would you like to tell me exactly what happened at school today?”

I took a deep breath and clutched the table beneath the white linen tablecloth. “I got in a fight.” This was it. If I had any chance of surviving the battle later that night I had to lay it all out on the table now and hope the story I devised fell in line with what the school told Dave.

“A fight?” Dave’s brow furrowed. “How and why?”

I caught myself before my response came out laced with sarcasm. “I don’t know why or how. I was playing ball with Brandt one minute and the next I stood over him with bloodied knuckles.” I held up my scratched hand as proof.
 

“And.”
 

“And what? That’s what happened.”

Dave raised his eyebrows. “Nothing else happened?”

I shook my head. “No, nothing else happened at the school.”

“You’ll only make it worse on yourself if you lie to me.”

“If there is something you think I’m leaving out, why don’t you just come out and say it?” My carefully controlled tone faltered. I hated it when Dave tried to force me to say something and make things worse. He was as bad as the cops.
 

“Fine. Why did I receive a phone call from Sgt. Cole this afternoon?” Dave turned to my mom. “What time did he get home?”

I wondered who Sgt. Cole was. I dealt with Officer Belmont all afternoon. Maybe that guy was his boss.
 

“Not until five.” She stared at the tablecloth and straightened a nonexistent crease.
 

“So let me get this straight...”
 

I interrupted Dave, “Yes, I went to the station. Someone from the school called the police and they picked me up. He let me go after I told him what happened. End of story.”

“As I was saying, let me get this straight. You were picked up from school, taken to the police station, and didn’t make it home until five.”

I gave him a quick nod.
 

He cocked his lip and sneered. “Where did you go before you came home?”

“Nowhere,” I whispered.

“Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

I pulled back my shoulders and lifted my chin in defiance, my courage returning. “I didn’t go anywhere that matters to you.”

“But you did go somewhere.”

“Yes.”

Dave considered my response for a second then resumed eating. I pushed back my chair and picked my plate up off the table. To my mom I said, “I’ll be in my room.”

As I walked into the kitchen I heard Dave, “Son, you will not leave this table without my permission.”

“I’m not your son, and I will leave when I damn well please. What are you going to do about it?” I knew the ice I walked on with that taunt was thin. Thin enough I shouldn’t be on it, but I couldn’t stop the words before they tumbled out of my mouth.
 

“Sit. Down.” Dave tossed a look in my mom’s direction. His force meant she’d take another hit. I couldn’t let him do that, so I sat down. A few minutes later Dave finished his meal and handed his dishes to my mother so she could take them to the kitchen even though she wasn’t finished eating.
 
When she came back to the table, he looked at me.
 

“You may leave the table now.” He said.
 

“Asshole.” I murmured, but got up from the table.

“Speak to me like that again and you won’t be eating solid foods for a while.”

With Dave’s warning replaying in my head I fell onto the bed, put in my earphones and turned up my iPod. It seemed the rest of the night wouldn’t offer much pleasure, I knew I needed to take advantage of the time now.

I laid on my bed trying to figure out how to best my stepfather when we worked out together. To date I hadn’t come up with a solid plan. Every time I ended up on the floor with Dave standing over me laughing. I didn’t like fighting with Dave, but if I didn’t he’d go to mom. Seeing her hurt was worse than dealing with the pain myself. If Dave wanted to take out his aggression on someone, I could at least try to control who it was. One of these days though, I was going to get the best of him. He’d been working out and training much longer than my year or so. I knew it’d take time, I just hoped I could stay out of the hospital long enough.