5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
I was so groggy I didn’t understand what I was hearing. I’d been deep into a dream when the noise began. Jackson’s scream was the catalyst that made my head clear.
He was at my bedroom door. His hair stood in tufts from all the tossing and turning he’d done in bed, his skin pale, his eyes widened with terror, and his lips quivered.
“Mom, who is it? What’s happening? Should I call the police?” he hysterically rambled over the pounding on our front door.
“I’ll do it,” I said, reaching for my phone on the bedside table. “Go to your room and don’t come out unless I tell you to.”
“But, Mom,” he sputtered.
“Go!” I commanded, and he obeyed.
The front door crashed open, and fear held me motionless. I looked around for a weapon and saw only a lamp and a chair that was too heavy for me to lift. I had to make certain whoever had broken in didn’t know Jackson was here. They had to be made to believe I was alone.
I could have climbed out the bedroom window, but I’d never leave my son in danger. I’d die to protect him.
I’d made this same decision twelve years before. This was déjà vu, and terror overcame good sense. Rather than hiding or making the call to the police as I’d intended, I rushed to face the intruder.
Mitch, my ex, was in the living room, digging through the drawers on my desk. Sadly, knowing it was him and not some stranger who’d knocked down my door brought down my fear level several notches, which was foolish.
In this condition, obviously high, he was as dangerous as any criminal. Maybe even more.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mitch? You’re breaking and entering. The cops are going to put you away again. You’re high and scaring your son,” I told him in hopes of calming the situation before things got worse.
“If you’d answered the fucking door I wouldn’t have broken it down! A man should be able to get in his own home without the damn door being locked against him!” Mitch shouted.
Anger pushed back any fear that remained. “This isn’t your damn house! It’s mine. I bought it with the money I legally earned at my legitimate job. You don’t live here and never will. In fact, you’ve barely set foot in it since I bought it even though you’re supposed to visit our son! Get out or go to jail!”
He looked up at me, bloodshot eyes blazing. “You’re such a bitch! You think you’re too good for me now that you’ve got a fancy-ass degree. Well, since you want to brag hand over some cash, show me all that money you’ve got to waste on this tiny shit of a house! I need it more than you, and you owe me!”
I pursed my lips. If only I could be free of this man forever. If only we both could. And jail wasn’t the answer either. He’d already been many times, but restraining orders and court cases were useless. The judges all thought a boy should know his father, even if he was a piece of shit.
“The only thing I owe you is a kick in the ass! You’ve done nothing for me or Jackson. You don’t pay child support, and I never asked for it. I won’t even ask you to pay for the broken door if you’ll just get out. I don’t want anything from you. Besides, you can’t get blood from a damn stone.”
“Mom! Make him leave!” Jackson yelled from the hallway.
“Go to your room and stay there this time!” I commanded.
To Mitch I ordered, “Get out! I don’t keep cash in the house. I learned that lesson from you and your cohorts. I can’t help you.”
“Shut the hell up and give me the damn money! I know you’ve got a stash somewhere in case of emergencies. Bitch, this is an emergency!”
One of his damn associates again, surely. The ones I couldn’t prove he had.
“If I don’t pay him, he’ll gut me. Hand it over or I’ll beat it out of you. Better yet, I’ll bang on the kid until you give me everything you’ve got.”
“You’ll never lay a hand on him. I’ll kill you first.” I headed for the kitchen and the knife set on the counter.
I meant every word I’d said. He wasn’t touching Jackson.
He caught up with me. His hand circled my wrist and twisted it. It hurt like hell and made my eyes water. I was sure the bone would snap.
With my free hand I punched out at him, missing him by several inches. Still twisting at my wrist and forcing me toward the floor, he grabbed the empty beer bottle I’d left on the counter. He slammed it down, causing shattered glass to rain down on my face. I felt the sting as the shards made tiny cuts all over my cheeks and forehead.
Between the pain in my wrist and the burning on my face it was difficult to keep from screaming. I held it back so that Jackson didn’t come running to help me. Mitch was so far gone that he wouldn’t remember Jackson meant something to him. He’d strike out and feel remorse when it was too late.
The sight of my blood running down my face was enough to change things. He’d gone too far, and he knew it. Mitch suddenly released me and fled. I lay limp on the floor and allowed the tears to come.
I heard my son shout, asking if I was hurt. I don’t know whether or not I answered, but Jackson found me there, and we huddled together. We’d survived the terror in the night once again.
I almost laughed when someone knocked on what was left of the door frame. With the door laying on the floor I knew whoever it was could clearly see us huddled on the tile. It was most likely a neighbor who’d been woken up by the noise we’d made. They’d come to see if we were alive.
I was betting they’d called the cops too. Good. Maybe this time jail would stick long enough, and he would get the picture.
“Jackson!” a man yelled, rushing in without waiting for the knock to be answered.
“Kirk!” my son answered, jumping up and leaving me where I’d landed. “We’re here. He’s gone.”
I glanced up to see Jackson’s arms wrapped tightly around the waist of the bald, tatted man I had judged to be the enemy upon first sight. He held my son away from him and searched his face and body for obvious injuries. Finding none, he turned his gaze on me.
I saw the muscle in his jaw ticking with anger when he saw the blood on me.
“How bad are you hurt?” he ground out through teeth gritted to control his rage. “Is he really gone?”
“He’s gone, and I’ll live. What the fuck are you doing here? Why are you at my house in the middle of the night like a damn white knight?” I asked, my face throbbing so badly I wasn’t in the mood to be the least bit grateful.
“I called him,” Jackson admitted. “I knew that since it was Dad you wouldn’t call the cops, and I was scared for you. Dad wasn’t in his right mind. He might have killed you.”
I stared at Jackson, trying to process his words. His action came as a shock to me. He knew how I felt about Kirk, yet he’d called him to come help us. It felt a bit like a betrayal. I didn’t say that though because he was standing tall and practically daring me to chastise him for doing what he believed was best for both of us.
“I told him to call if he was ever in trouble, so that’s on me. He’s a good kid, and he wanted someone to protect you. I’m capable of that. If the fucker was still here, he’d have paid for what he did to you.”
His face was twisted in anger I didn’t understand. What did this man care about what was done to me? He was a mentor, forced or otherwise, helping children. I didn’t know him, and I didn’t want to. No matter how sexy his hardening jaw or rippling muscles were. No matter how much something inside of me screamed to be protected rather than constantly having to be the strong one.