Flash Point (Weathering the Firestorm #2)

Chapter 1

Jason’s father lurched to the side of his bed and slapped him on the back of his head with a rolled-up magazine. “Get up, boy! I’m hungry.”

Startled out of his fitful sleep, he ducked, fisted the covers, and rolled to his side in a tight ball.

His head already throbbed from a night of tossing and turning.

The accident scene from the night before played over and over.

Tires squealing, glass exploding. Most disturbing, the heavy thud of the body he hit...

and then fled the scene. Why did he run?

The question haunted his thoughts awake and asleep.

His palms broke out in sweat. Did he...kill someone?

His dad smacked him harder. “Now!”

He jolted up and swept back the covers. His father’s bloodshot eyes were ablaze. A beefy, tattooed fist clenched, ready to strike.

Jason knew that look. He’d seen it many times after his dad pulled an all-nighter with a bottle of Jack. Jason had learned to cover the fury his dad took out on him by wearing baggy clothes with long sleeves. He hid his battered face beneath his long, dark bangs.

It had been ten long years since his mom had left when he was six.

He had survived by being an obedient son, catering to his dad’s every request, silently taking the abuse.

If only he could graduate from high school in two years, he would find her, and they would be happy, leaving his excuse of a father in the dust.

He couldn’t always cover the black eyes, bruises, and tattered, unwashed clothes.

He cringed at the memory of being sent to the school nurse as the smelly kid with head lice.

The school nurse and concerned teachers had reported his situation to the authorities.

But visits from Child Protective Services and brief stints in foster care had only fueled his dad’s rage—and Jason had suffered the consequences.

He glanced up at his dad noticing the greasy strands of hair tied back into a shoulder length ponytail and stained clothes.

The oily rank smell of unwashed hair and body odor wafted in the air.

Recognizing the danger signs of an all-nighter he asked, “What...what do you want for breakfast?” His voice shook.

“I don’t care. Whatever we’ve got.” His dad towered over him and grabbed the front of Jason’s T-shirt with a harsh yank. He pulled him up, feet dangling off the floor and examined him nose-to-nose. “You forgot to go to the store, didn’t you?”

Jason cringed at his fetid breath and yellowed teeth. The pungent smell of cigarettes and booze made his stomach roll. He tried not to vomit.

His dad pressed a dirty nicotine-stained index finger into his swollen nose and black eye. He winced and let out a cry of pain.

“Hey, what happened to your face?”

“Just a scuffle. No big deal.” Shrugging, he rubbed his eye and ran his tongue over his split lip.

He let go of Jason’s shirt and dropped him to the floor with a thud. Hank jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Get busy. I’m hungry.”

Jason limped into the living room, rubbing his sore face and chest that had smashed into the steering wheel.

Looking out the front window he saw the depressing outside Christmas lights, which had not moved since they had been hung over a decade ago.

Hanging limply with numerous dirty broken bulbs, they were a remainder of years past when Christmas was actually celebrated.

His carefully wrapped gift for his dad, a cheap bottle of aftershave sat unopened on the coffee table among the cigarette ash from the overfilled ashtray and a pile of trashy girly magazines.

Life had never been the same since his mom left.

Not that he blamed her. Daggers of sorrow stabbed his heart.

He remembered her kind smile and comforting ways.

Life had been brighter then. She was beautiful with long raven hair and deep blue eyes that followed him around the room and smiled with warmth every time they made eye contact.

She would take him to the park and he would swing and play for hours. Sometimes, she would pack a lunch and they would sit on a tablecloth under a shady tree. She would cut his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into heart shapes and make the best lemonade from scratch.

Life had been brighter then—until they came home. Hank would be waiting in his chair, home early from his construction job. His eyes already glassy with empty beer bottles surrounding him and a bottle of cheap whisky on the side table already opened and a third gone. He greeted them with a snarl.

“Out galivanting on a picnic while I go to work and come home to a cold stove. “Where’s my dinner? I’ve been waiting for hours!”

“Hank, you’re home early. It’s only 4:00pm. I made a casserole before I left. I just have to pop it into the oven. Dinner will be ready in a half an hour.”

Hank stood and grabbed both of her arms hard. His mom let out a whimper. “Hank! Stop. You’re hurting me.”

Sarcastically Hank responded “I can tell time. When I come home from slaving for you and that kid all day, I expect dinner on the table.” Giving her arms a hard bruising squeeze he threw her down on the ground.

Scrambling up to her feet she gave a wide-eye look at Jason. “Go to your room and stay there. I will bring you a plate.” Nodding in fear, he dashed into his room and closed the door.

Later that night, he heard his mom’s cries and the sounds of a fist hitting bone late at night. Entering their bedroom, he would scream at his dad to stop but he was too little. Hank would snatch him up and throw him in his bedroom and close the door threatening to do worse if he returned.

The mornings were even worse than the nights.

His mom sometimes stayed in bed all day, unable to walk.

Other times she covered her bruises with make-up and put on a smile, pretending nothing was wrong.

Until the night the police showed up at the door following a neighbor’s complaint of domestic abuse.

She never returned from the hospital. His dad told him that it was all his fault.

She ran away because of him. He knew it was a lie and that his mother would have never left without him.

He shrugged his thin shoulders and hurried into the kitchen as his dad roared again for his breakfast. Empty whiskey and beer bottles lined the counters.

Glasses and plates encrusted with dried food mounded in the sink.

Again. What a pig. Mom would never have left things this way.

When she was around, everything was fresh and clean.

The fridge was full of good food. A snack was waiting for him when he got home from school.

His eyes narrowed. He roamed the living room. His dad fired up another cigarette from the one still burning that he had already smoked down to the butt, and shoved the used one into the overflowing ashtray. Ash spilled onto the dusty end table littered with porn magazines and trash.

Loser.

Jason wished for the millionth time that he had somewhere, anywhere, else to go, or enough money to get away from this place.

No. He had two more years before graduation and somehow get into college, at least the local community college.

That would be a good starting point. Then he would make some money and find his mom.

He closed his eyes for a second and tried to imagine what his life might have looked like if she’d taken him with her when she left. He had to get out of this living hell before it completely destroyed him.

With a heavy sigh, he started a pot of coffee and peered into the fridge.

It was nearly empty except for a twelve-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

His dad would be angry at the lack of food, but how could he buy groceries his dad spent most of his disability check on alcohol and cigarettes?

He ran his fingers through his thick mop of unwashed hair and pushed his bangs out of his face.

“We’ve got eggs, bread, and orange juice.”

“Any bacon or sausage?”

“No, sir.”

“Buy some today. Make me toast and scrambled eggs.” Hank ordered. “I want juice and a cup of coffee. Make it the way I like it: two teaspoons of sugar and a shot of milk.”

“Uh, we don’t have any milk.”

His dad cursed and glared at his son. “Put that on the list, too.” He kicked the side of the coffee table, spewing ash into the air. “Do I have to think of everything? First, you run your mom off, and now you can’t even keep food in the house.”

“Sorry, Dad.” Jason thrust his head down and started scrubbing the dishes in the sink while he waited for the coffeemaker to finish. After he poured a mug of coffee, added two heaping spoons of sugar and brought the mug to his father, now sitting in his worn recliner.

Hank sipped the coffee with one hand while the other scrolled through the channels with the old, worn remote.

He stopped at the local news. The lead story featured a hit-and-run accident with a severely injured off-duty fire battalion chief.

The firefighter, Noah Smith, was married with two children and in critical condition.

His dad let out a curse. “That sucks.”

“What?”

“Some idiot hit a firefighter and drove off. Wait until they catch him. They always do.” He let out a large harrumph of disgust. “They’ll get what they deserve.”

Cold dread swept through Jason as he glanced over his dad’s shoulder at the news. Prickles of gooseflesh rose on his body as he re-lived the scene from last night.

Driving home from his job bagging groceries at the local grocery store, He couldn’t believe she would be so cruel to break up with him by text and on Christmas Eve!

She was the only bright spot in his life.

The only girl who had shown him any spark of kindness.

Although she could be cruel and tease him about his hair and clothes, she was the only person at school that he could talk too, the only one who listened. They had dated for two months.

Her hateful texts had started spewing out of his cellphone the moment he left work and turned his cell back on.

“Loser, lowlife, freak!”

He had been saving extra money for weeks to buy her something special for Christmas, but his dad had found his savings and spent it on alcohol and cigarettes. He had wanted to explain but was embarrassed.

“You’re a sorry excuse for a boyfriend. We are done. Don’t contact me again.”

Lost in his swirl of emotions, Rebecca’s texts had distracted him.

Jason c. hadn’t noticed the man standing next to the car on the side of the road in the fog, or the flares.

When he realized what’d happened, he panicked and hit the gas.

Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

His dad would destroy him if he found out.

His mouth went dry, and his hands trembled as he pulled out the breakfast ingredients and prepared the food.

There were only two eggs and a dry slice of bread, so he went hungry—again.

His stomach muscles were so clenched that he couldn’t have forced anything down anyway.

He set the plate of food and utensils on the kitchen table with a clumsy thunk.

“Dad, breakfast is ready.”

His dad wrestled his rear out of his recliner and walked into the kitchen. He plunked down at the table and dug into the food. Jason stood at the sink, scrubbing the same spot on the pan until his dad shoved back from the table.

Hank stood, belched, pulled up his ragged T-shirt, and scratched his beer gut. He tossed his dirty plate into the dishwater and grabbed the newspaper. Settling back into the recliner, the rays of the rising sun pierced the stained front windows and shone in his eyes.

With a heavy grunt and several expletives, Hank rose and walked to the window. He tugged the dusty, cobwebbed blinds closed in an attempt to block the harsh daylight. The sun-bleached cords broke under the strain, crashing the blinds to the floor. He swore and stared out the window.

As Jason put the last washed dish in the rack, his dad shouted a string of obscenities. “What happened to my car?”

The tattered screen door slammed behind him when he strode outside to examine the damage.

“Jason! Out here. Now!”

Jason’s body quaked as he followed his dad outside. Hank stared at the right front bumper. It was pushed in and smeared with a dark-red substance. The right headlight was intact but cracked. The left one had been burned out for weeks. Jason had barely been able to hobble home in the dense fog.

His dad swiveled and glared at him. He slapped the bumper and let out a series of expletives. “Explain that.”

Jason drew in a shaky breath. “It was...really...foggy last night.”

Hank put both hands on his stocky hips. His lips pressed together as his face flushed with rage. “So, what does that have to do with my car getting messed up?”

Jason stuttered as his brain scrabbled for an excuse. “A... a... deer jumped out in front of me. I... I didn’t see it until it hit the car.” He dry-swallowed and his mouth tilted downward. “I got distracted. Rebecca broke up with me.”

Hank stomped over to Jason and thumped his son’s chest. “Who gives a crap about your love life? What are you going to do about my car?”

“I’ll pay for it to be fixed. I promise.” Jason looked down at the ground. He wanted to sink into the dirt, never to be found again. His body tensed, waiting for the blow he knew was coming.

“A deer, huh?” Hank crossed his thick arms and glowered. His deep blue eyes laser-focused on Jason with contempt. He sneered, “Or maybe it was a firefighter.”