“You should have told me!” I yelled back. I tried to move forward and raise myself up—knowing I was taller than him when standing on my feet, but of course I couldn’t. I was still partially trapped by the desk drawer. I slammed it closed and tried to move the chair with one hand.
Dad’s foot reached out and kicked at the wheel, shoving me backwards.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he screeched. “You think you are going to him? Huh?”
He kicked the wheel again.
“No fucking way! You are my son! Mine!”
“I’m not!” I yelled back. My mind flashed through every push, every shove, every punch to my gut, every broken rib he had given me through the years. “That’s why you treated me like you did! That’s why you hate me, isn’t it? It has nothing to do with Mom dying! It’s just because I’m his kid, not yours! You always fucking hated me!”
This time his foot hit the wheel at another angle and with much more force.
The wheelchair toppled, and as I grabbed for the desk to hold myself up, I ended up with my fingers on a stack of books. The chair, the books, and I all tumbled down and smashed against the floor. The pain from my side nearly crippled me as I smacked my jaw on the edge of the chair, and my breath was knocked from me.
“You are not going to him, you hear me? You will not! I forbid it, dammit! I’m the one who raised you—ME! She left me, and the only thing left of her was YOU! I did what she would have wanted—I made sure you became the best fucking soccer player you could be! I did that! There’s no way in fucking hell he’s going to get his fucking hands on you now!”
I pulled myself with my arms, trying to get out of the chair so I could attempt to set it upright again. Dad was still screaming, but my head was pounding, and my ears were ringing, so I couldn’t understand what he said. I shook my head a few times, trying to get rid of the dizziness.
“You’re my son! My son!” he was yelling over and over again. “He’s got no claim to you! None!”
I reached up to my mouth and looked at my fingers, covered in blood from my busted lip. There was a shift in my mindset that I could almost hear in my head. I wiped at my mouth and turned my glaring eyes to him.
But my look faltered when I met his eyes.
There was something there—something in his eyes I had not seen before. The look was cold, and it was heartless, and it sent a shiver down my back. It wasn’t just anger or determination.
He looked…resigned.
“You weren’t supposed to know,” he said, his voice calm and cool again. “She never wanted you to know. She didn’t even tell him. She said you were mine. You are mine, and no one’s ever going to change that. Not him. Not you.”
He turned abruptly and yanked open the top drawer of the filing cabinet, stuck his hand inside, and turned around to face me. His arm reached out to its full length, and I looked to the end where his hand gripped a gun.
Pointed at me.
King Lear’s words from Shakespeare’s writing came to mind: “Come not between the dragon and his wrath.” Somehow, I was pretty sure the warning had come too late.
Now that I had this knowledge, would I even survive the outcome?
CHAPTER 29
OFFSIDE TRAP
“Steven!” I screamed toward the doorway.
Dad just shook his head.
“Gone,” he told me. “He’s not coming back today.”
Not today, which meant Dad hadn’t fired him. Why had he kicked him out? I looked from the door back to his face, and the only sound I could hear was his breathing.
We were alone in the house.
“You took her away,” he said. His hands were shaking as he spoke, and even when I tried to push myself farther away with my arms, there was nowhere I could go. My ankle was caught between the footrests of the wheelchair and the bottom of the desk. “You’re just like him. He tried to take her away, but he couldn’t. He had nothing to offer her—nothing. I could support her—support you. I told her I’d go to med school, forget about soccer, and help her raise you. He couldn’t do that because he didn’t have shit, and she knew it. He couldn’t take her from me, but you…but you did!”
“It was an accident!” I cried.
“That you caused!” There was barely a heartbeat between my words and his. “If you hadn’t been so forgetful, she would still be here!”