Chapter 43
Brendan
I’m so fucking wasted. Resting my head back on the couch, I close my eyes, praying for sleep.
The house without Ky is still and lifeless.
Hollow like my heart. I feel older than my years, worn out and broken down.
Tiff has taken Ethan to her mother’s house for a few days after I treated her like shit, and I don’t blame her.
Ky will come back, won’t he? It’s only been a couple of days, but it may as well be months, years, or for-fucking-ever. Opening my eyes to get the vodka bottle to my mouth, my vision doubles, and some of the liquid spills over my chin. “Fuuuck!” I slur.
Loud thumps on the front door startle me, my body jerking. Who the fuck could it be, since it must be coming up on midnight? “Ky?” I say, struggling to my feet. “Ky?” I yell, stumbling unsteadily toward the front door. “Just use your key.” I fling the door open.
I groan, moving to close the door, but Bruce puts his hand out to stop it, then pushes his way inside. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?” I ask, kicking the door closed.
“Where is he? The faggot?” Bruce strides down the hall toward the bedrooms, flinging each door open and staring inside.
Shaking my head, I slump back down on the couch.
This is fucking ironic. The old cunt finally finds out I’ve been with Ky this whole time now that we’ve split up.
I probably should’ve moved further away when I married Tiff.
Probably should’ve stopped selling product for him, too.
But my wage wasn’t cutting it with a wife, a boyfriend, and a baby to take care of.
“He’s not here,” I yell. “He left me. You’re too late old man.”
Bruce returns to the living room, face ruddy and eyes like broken glass. It’s only then I realise he’s tweaking like a bitch: muscles twitching and sweat dripping from his brow. He’s holding up the framed photograph of me and Ky kissing that sits on my bedside table. “What the fuck is this then?”
The frame flies across the room, narrowly missing my head before it crashes into the wall behind me, glass shattering to the floor. “Hey!” I say standing. “Watch it. I’m not your foster kid anymore. You’re in my house, I’m a grown man and I can fuck whoever I want. So take a fuckin’ hike.”
Bruce comes at me fast, the back of my legs hitting the couch as I try to dodge him, causing me to stumble. It gives him the chance to pin me to the wall and then there’s a gun in my face. He cocks it.
Time slows, the only sound our heavy breaths. For a moment I think it might be for the best—I’m not sure I want to live without Ky anyway. “Do it,” I say, tears blurring my vision.
“Why the fuck ya gotta make me a laughin’ stock? People sayin’ my kid likes to take it up the ass.” Bruce’s spittle sprays across my face, his rank breath making me want to gag.
“Not your kid,” I spit out before closing my eyes to wait for the inevitable.
Bruce fists the fabric of my shirt and slams me against the wall again. “Look at me boy!” I force my eyes open. “Been raisin’ you since ya were damn nine years old and no kid of mine is gonna be a faggot. I told ya that if ya ever saw him again, I’d take him out. Did ya think I was fuckin’ jokin’?”
My body turns cold as I register the deadly intent in his eyes. I blink rapidly, my focus darting around the room, trying to sober up and think clearly. “You wouldn’t.”
A cruel smile twists at his mouth. “Did some investigatin’. Found out where he works. Already got a place picked out for him next to the last motherfucker I put in the ground.”
Rage rises inside me. Blinding, searing heat in my head and my fists and my gut.
I want to burn him to the fucking ground and then piss on his ashes.
A growl rumbles low in my throat before it explodes out of my mouth, adrenaline surging through my every cell.
I thrust my knee into his groin as I knock away his arm, the gun hurtling across the room.
Bruce doubles over, grabbing his balls and screaming abuse, but I don’t stop.
I bring my knee up a second time, connecting with his head.
He staggers backwards then falls to the floor.
I kick him in the ribs, once, twice, before he takes me by surprise and knocks my leg out from under me.
Falling backwards and landing hard on my spine, I’m left wheezing and desperate for air. Fuck!
Bruce crawls away as I try to stand. I can’t let him leave.
I have to protect Ky. That’s all that really matters in the end.
Finally, I suck in a breath of air and launch myself after him, snatching the gun from the floor just before he reaches it.
Backing away to a safe distance, I point it at his head. “Don’t fuckin’ move.”
Bruce rolls onto his back, laughing insanely. “You ain’t got the balls, you’re a fuckin’ pussy. Always have been, always will be.”
“Then you don’t know me at all.” My hands tremble, and a bead of sweat trickles down my spine. What do I do? Do I keep him here until he sobers up and I have time to warn Ky? Will Ky ever be safe while Bruce is walking this earth?
“Come on, son. Give me the gun.” Bruce gets to his knees with a grunt, then he’s standing in front of me.
“I said, don’t fuckin’ move.” I keep the gun aimed at his head, and take a step back, keeping a safe distance.
“Give me the gun, Brendan. We both know you’re not gonna use it.”
“You need to sleep it off.”
Bruce chuckles, shaking his head. “Whether I do it tonight or tomorrow or next week it don’t matter. He’s as good as dead.”
I take a few more steps backwards, but there’s nowhere left to go, my heel hitting the wall behind me.
My heart pounds erratically, pulse throbbing against my face.
The hairs on my arms rise as goosebumps prickle at my skin.
My hands grow steady as my sight comes into clear focus.
I feel my feet connected to the floor and my spine straighten out.
Looking into Bruce’s eyes, I see the truth.
I pull the trigger.
His head jerks back, the sound deafening. Then his body falls, landing with a sickening, dense thud.
“For Ky,” I whisper.