Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Lance hadn’t spoken to his mother since the 4th of July after-party shitshow. Six weeks had passed in blissful silence. He’d never bothered to respond to any of her messages, and didn’t feel even remotely guilty about that. He had no desire whatsoever to ruin his newfound freedom by dealing with the Wicked Witch of the Midwest. But today, when her caller ID popped up on his phone, he couldn’t seem to look away.
They had been chilling on the couch watching baseball. Lance didn’t care for the sport too terribly much, and Tanner didn’t know or care what was happening on the screen. But since they were both stuffed to the gills from Sunday dinner and pie—lots and lots of apple pie—at Tanner’s mom’s house, the game was just background noise. Tanner was lying half on top of him, his head cushioned on Lance’s shoulder, feet propped up on the arm of the couch. Lance had his own propped up on the ottoman.
The buzzing phone was setting right there within easy reach.
“You should probably get that,” Tanner said, off-handedly, like he was commenting on the latest call of the umpire.
“I have nothing to say to her.” Lance tried, and failed, to keep the venom out of his voice.
“She was a cunt. You deserve way better, and honestly, I kind of want to push her and her color coordinated outfits into a lake while she’s wearing concrete shoes, but—life’s too short to stay mad at your mother.” Tanner sighed heavily as if despising his own advice.
Lance opened his mouth to respond, but the phone fell silent. They both stared at it. The missed call on the screen was like a finger pointing at him accusingly.
“Not tonight,” he said with cold finality.
Tanner reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze, as he posed the question, “What if she’s coming around and wants to beg for your forgiveness?” Gee whiz—was he ever milking the devil’s advocate plea for everything it was worth or what?
“What if she’s calling to recommend a good priest for our exorcism?” Lance fired back.
Tanner snorted in response as the phone started buzzing again.
“Invite him to come right over—exorcism ought to be more entertaining than this fucking game,” Tanner suggested, nodding towards the TV.
Lance didn’t think it would be quite that easy. But Tanner might have a point. If she was going to apologize, he wanted to hear it. Both of them deserved to hear it.
Reluctantly, he pressed accept.
“Hi, Mom,” he said with a polite coolness.
“Lance? Lance!” His mother whispered fiercely through a broken sob.
“What’s wrong?” He pushed at Tanner frantically, struggling to sit up.
“He’s here! I don’t know what to do! He just showed up with no warning! He’s in the living room right now—talking to your brothers!”
Lance didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. There was only one man who could turn his mother into a sniveling, panic-stricken wreck.
“Where’s Jeff?” Lance asked, as he stood up. He was aware of Tanner anxiously waiting to find out what was going on, but there was no time to explain. He hit the stairs at a run, taking the steps two at a time, and raced to his bedroom closet. Grabbing some pants and a shirt, he put her on speaker and dressed as fast as he could.
“He’s—he’s—” she was stuttering with nerves and crying at the same time. “He’s out of state for a conference. He’s coming back tonight but I can’t—” she broke off suddenly with a harsh sob.
“Call the cops, Mom. I’m on my way, but you have to call—” she didn’t let him finish.
“No!” She protested vehemently. No longer stuttering or fearful. “Not here. Not again!”
Lance blew out a harsh breath born of age-old anger and frustration. History was repeating itself. She was dead set against the neighbors finding out about her former life. She’d do nothing to draw public attention to the man with whom she’d had three children and to that part of her life she pretended had never happened. If she called the police, there would be questions. News that an ex-con had fathered her children would spread like wildfire. Her reputation would be in tatters. The next barbecue would be nothing short of a hot bed of gossip—with her as the main source of snide whispers and cruel laughter—and that—that was intolerable. Far worse than anything her ex-husband ever did or ever could do. Lance was left with no choice but to run to the rescue like he always did. Snatching up his phone, wallet, and keys, he raced back down the stairs.
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t—just don’t do anything to make him angry enough to start throwing punches, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed while still sobbing and then hung up. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he headed for the front door, only to find Tanner blocking his path.
He tensed, anticipating an argument about his leaving. But much to his surprise, Tanner simply pulled the door open, stepped back to let Lance go first, and then followed him to the car.
“You should stay home. This is not your fight.”
“Sure, I’ll get right on that. Just give me the keys.” Tanner extended his hand and wiggled his fingers.
“I’ll—” Lance began to protest but Tanner cut him off.
“You’re in no condition to drive anywhere. Keys. Now,” he ordered firmly. Tanner looked fully prepared to throw down over it, so Lance relented and tossed him the keys.
They’d been on the road for awhile, cruising along in silence. Tanner knew the way, so he didn’t bother asking for directions. He just drove as fast as he could without attracting the attention of law enforcement. Meanwhile, Lance grew increasingly frustrated that they couldn’t go faster, thinking of all ways things could go south before they even arrived. His father’s penchant for violence was irrefutable. He’d proven many times over that he could, and would, beat the shit out of anyone who pissed him off. There were no laws and no limits in his world. Lance was terrified of what his father might do without anyone there to defend his mother, Jeremy, and Parker. He could barely breathe just thinking about it. Gradually, his fear turned into blazing anger at his father for re-entering their lives. Dammit, if only his mother had had the goddamned sense to call the cops the instant the bastard had shown up at her house. Lance swore this ongoing bullshit with his father would end today. Once and for all.
“It’s going to be a shitshow,” Lance felt compelled to warn Tanner, perhaps unnecessarily, but maybe talking this through would help him calm down and come up with a plan. Letting Tanner see his demons might help balance the scales a bit in their relationship, too. After all, it was only fair since Tanner had already shared his. “He’s a drunk and an asshole. I don’t know how he got my mother’s address, but—it’s definitely not a social call. He either wants money or he’s drunk and looking for a fucking punching bag.”
Tanner nodded as he reached for Lance’s left hand.
“Maybe we should call the cops,” Tanner suggested, his gaze focused on the road.
“No cops,” Lance said, shaking his head. “At least not yet. My mother went nuts when I told her to call them. She’s more afraid of the neighbors finding out about my old man than she is of what he might do. I’ll try to deal with him myself. If it doesn’t work, then—” He stopped abruptly, refusing to entertain the possibility of failure.
“So, what’s your plan for this operation?” Tanner made it sound as if they were preparing to enter a war zone, and maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what they were doing.
“Get him out of the house as fast as fucking possible. He’s with my brothers right now, and they don’t really know him like I do. They were really young when he went to prison, so they don’t remember much about him. They don’t know how dangerous he is.”
“You said he usually wants money, right?”
“Usually. Sometimes he just wants a big fight and to tear shit up around the house.” Lance recalled endless, pointless arguments, holes punched in the walls, and splatters of blood on his mother’s beige carpet.
“Then that’s how we are going to get him out of the house. I’ve got two grand in my wallet right now. We’ll lure him out of the house with it,” Tanner stated confidently.
Lance shook his head. “Oh, hell no! He’ll burn through it before we can find him again. Besides, if we give in, he’ll be back next week for more. I’m not playing this game with him!”
“There’s a lot at stake here, Lance. I think we should give it a try. Look, we can give him the money tonight, and then tomorrow we go to the cops and get them to help your mother file an emergency restraining order. Heck, tomorrow, we can dig a hole six feet deep, I can load my .45 Colt, and we can take him out together, but tonight—” he took a deep breath, “tonight we just need to get his sorry ass out of your mother’s house.”
Lance laughed. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the adrenaline, mixed with the euphoria of having Tanner by his side. Whatever it was, he just—he fucking laughed. Tanner looked perplexed, not understanding how any of this was remotely funny.
Lance turned to Tanner and asked, “You ever dug a hole that deep, Army?”
“Oh, fuck off. My brother-in-law has a fancy excavator. That motherfucker is good for digging 10-foot holes, no sweat. We can borrow it. Call it—premium lawn care!”
Lance chuckled at the ridiculousness of Tanner’s offer.
As they pulled into the driveway, nothing looked out of place or unusual. The porch light was on, and three cars were parked in the driveway. No outward sign of trouble and nothing to indicate that there was a-piece-of-shit-father in the house causing problems. No screams, no shouts. Just a nice, peaceful night in the neighbourhood. It was such a stark contrast to what he knew was happening inside, that he slammed the car door for effect. Standing there silently, Tanner just waited for Lance to take the lead.
He didn’t knock. He walked in, shoulders back, fully prepared to face the nightmare waiting for him.
And there he was. His tall, bulky frame taking up half of the couch, sitting in plain view of the entryway. Loud and crass, with his hauntingly familiar drunken pattern of speech, lecturing his sons.
Lance didn’t slow down. Didn’t stop to question his next move. Acting purely on instinct, he strode confidently into the living room as his father was in the middle of another bullshit spiel about money.
“I’m just saying—” he was rambling, pointing one wavering finger at his sons, as they sat there thoroughly confused. “It’s an investment. You have to look at it like—”
“Get up!” Lance barked like a drill sergeant, talking over top of him, as he intentionally blocked his father’s view of Jeremy and Parker.
“Junior,” the man grinned evilly, sitting back on the couch, spreading out his arms to make himself appear larger.
“Get. Up.” Lance repeated slowly and loudly.
“I’m just—” he paused to hiccup, “we were just talking, now weren’t we, my boys?” he asked, leaning around Lance to wink conspiratorially at Jeremy and Parker.
“It’s fine, Lan—” Parker tried to intervene, but Lance cut him off.
“Don’t,” he snapped, not taking his eyes off his asshat father.
“Now—” his dad began again, extending his hands in front of him as he struggled to his feet. It was a difficult task, considering his state of inebriation. He grabbed Lance’s shoulder for balance, but Lance pushed him off, causing the old man to stumble. He fell against the arm of the couch and regained his footing.
“I see you’ve still got the temper of your worthless bitch of a mother,” he sneered, standing upright again.
For a moment, Lance was flooded with memories of scenes from his childhood. Impossibly small and outmatched yet having to always stand on his own.
“Dad! You can’t—” Parker started speaking again, but Lance raised a hand, motioning for Parker to back off.
“You’d best leave now,” Lance advised calmly, pointing towards the front door. He did not want to be baited into a physical altercation with his piece of shit father.
“Or what?” the man taunted with a sickening grin. “What are you and your—” he hiccupped again—“little pansy boyfriend going to do?” he asked, nodding towards Tanner standing at the entrance of the living room.
Lance froze, taken aback by his father’s knowledge of his relationship with Tanner. How did he find out? It wasn’t like he’d placed a fucking ad in the newspaper.
“Your brother told me all about your sick little freak fest,” he snarled in disgust. “Couldn’t quite believe it. Had to see my faggot son for myself.”
Lance suddenly realized how ridiculously pathetic and almost comical this scene was. He burst out laughing. Just like he did earlier in the car, except this time there was no release of tension or anxiety. Instead, he felt a deep-seated anger rise from his core.
“Why are you here?” he snarled demandingly. “Money? Booze? What? What the fuck do you want?”
“Came to see my two boys—” he said dismissively, waving Lance’s questions away like he was way off the mark.
Lance turned to his brothers with a laser-like focus.
“What did he want?” he snapped. Parker shook his head mutely, but Jeremy spoke up right away.
“Money. He asked for money,” Jeremy replied in a subdued voice, arms wrapped around himself defensively.
Lance swung back around to face his old man, completely repulsed by the dick bag who’d fathered him.
“An investment!” the man shouted in protest. “Little shit’s too young to know the difference, but it’s an—”
“Okay. Time for you to go,” Lance spoke sharply, cutting his father off. Placing a firm hand on his shoulder, Lance shoved him towards the door.
“Get you’re fucking hands off me,” his father growled, pushing Lance away. Tanner took a quick step forward, but Lance gave him a hard look that said he should stand down.
“I’ll give you a choice. Either you leave here under your own steam, or I’ll knock your ass out and drag you out the door."
“Lance!” Parker shouted and tried to pull him away from their father.
Lance shrugged off Parker’s hand and squared his shoulders.
“You have no right to be here. This is not your house, and Mom doesn’t want you here, so get the fuck out.”
“Yeah? Where’s your mother, then? Why ain’t she saying that to my face? You little faggot, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Suddenly, he was steadier on his feet than he’d been before as he glared spitefully at Lance. “I’m gonna show you what men like me do to little fudgepackers like you, you piece of shit—”
Watching his father draw back his fist, he saw the punch coming. His brain told him to move out of the way, but his legs betrayed him. They stayed glued to the floor. Just as they had every other time his father had taken a swing at him. It would be the same this time, too. His father’s fist would make contact, and he’d feel skin and bones break—
But the punch never landed. Lance blinked uncomprehendingly, amazed to see Tanner catching his father’s fist in his, and then—then it was Tanner who threw a punch at Lance’s father before his drunk ass could move out of the way.
Tanner’s right hook knocked the old man clean off his feet. Instinctively raising a hand to his cheek, he grunted in pain. Unfortunately, he recovered quickly, getting back on his feet with an angry roar. Then he launched himself at Lance, all 300 pounds of flab and muscle, arms spread wide, planning to knock him to the floor. But once again, his father’s plan failed. Instead, Tanner stepped between them, bearing the brunt of the attack, and took two steps back before swinging the big man down to the floor. His father landed hard on his back, his head making an audible crack when it connected with the wood floor. He stayed down for a few moments then finally rolled to his knees holding his head and moaning, his breathing ragged. He looked up at Tanner fearfully.
“Get the fuck out!” Tanner spat at him, and there must have been something feral and terrifying in Tanner’s expression, because the old man scrambled to his feet and limped his way to the front door. He paused to lean against the doorframe, looked back once to make sure Tanner wasn’t following him, and then staggered out the door.
Lance slammed the door behind him as Tanner collapsed with a loud grunt onto the couch. Lance knelt in front of him, struggling to understand what just happened.
“You—” he stuttered to a halt.
Tanner looked up and gave him a grin that could have split the night sky with light. “Your dad’s a dick. Might still need that excavator for tomorrow.” He winked at Lance and chuckled.
Lance suddenly noticed that Tanner was clutching his bad leg with both hands as if in pain. Before he could ask, Parker grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Parker screamed. There were tears in his eyes. Tears of anger. “He was here! Finally, we get a chance to talk to him. He was really here and you—”
“Dad’s a violent drunk who steals from his children. That’s all. A fucking piece of shit, that’s all he is, Parker, and all he’ll ever be.”
“No! I invited him! He wasn’t—”
“What the fuck! You invited him?”
“But—he just—he wanted to know where Mom lived!” Parker said haltingly, and Lance could tell the moment he realized that he’d fucked up.
“Why do you think that is?” Lance yelled angrily, unable to help himself. “Did you stop to think about why she’s fucking hiding behind a locked door right now? He’s a piece of shit, Parker. A violent—” he choked on his own anger, a sob escaping despite his efforts to suppress it. With a hand covering his mouth, he stopped to catch his breath. Looking deeply into his brother’s eyes, he saw an innocence he’d worked so hard to protect and preserve his whole life. Only to witness its destruction in one night.
He got himself under control, knowing that now he had no choice but to tell his brothers the truth. Otherwise, they’d never understand what just happened, and they’d never trust him again.
“When you were kids, Mom moved all of us around a lot to try to get away from him,” Lance said, figuring this was the best starting point to the story. “Dad—it wasn’t just the drinking,” he said, his voice rough with anger and pain. “He beat us—Mom, me—you,” he said, looking directly at Parker. Parker shook his head in swift denial, but Lance didn’t give him a chance to interrupt the story.
“You were only four or five years old when it happened,” Lance said, remembering the blackened bruise on his brother’s tiny body. He’d begged his mother to move. To leave. He’d begged until he was hoarse. It was the first time she’d ever listened to him. “Jeremy was a newborn. Dad came home one night, drunk off his ass—” Lance shook his head and tried to swallow his tears. It was all so clear in his mind. He’d only been 12 years old, but the memories played like a movie. His father dragging his mother around the room like she was a ragdoll. Lance standing with his arms stretched across the doorway of his brothers’ bedroom to bar his father’s entrance. Standing there terrified and defenseless, as the old man treated his mother like a punching bag.
“We had to get out. It was the only way to protect ourselves. He’d have never stopped going after us,” Lance explained, knowing it wasn’t the full picture but hoping it was enough for his brothers to understand how much danger they’d been in back then.
Parker’s eyes widened in shock and filled with tears.
“I didn’t know,” he said, shaking his head, tears sliding down his cheeks. “I didn’t—” he croaked, and Lance reached for him. He wrapped his arms tightly around him.
“I know—” Lance said, clearing his throat. “I know,” he repeated, as his brother sobbed against his chest. He caught Jeremy’s troubled gaze.
“Where’s Mom?” Jeremy asked calmly.
“Check the hall bathroom. I think she called me from there.”
Jeremy turned quickly and headed down the hall.
Parker pulled back from Lance, wiping away his tears. Clearing his throat, he turned to face Tanner.
“Thank you for what you did for us tonight. I’m really sorry about—I shouldn’t have told him about you two,” he apologized, looking at Lance, and then back at Tanner. “I didn’t think—” he choked on a harsh sob.
“I don’t give a fuck what that man thinks of me,” Lance stated coldly.
“Still,” Parker said. “If Tanner hadn’t intervened,” he shook his head at the thought of how things might have turned out otherwise.
“Thank you,” Parker told Tanner again. Tanner gave a short nod, his expression pinched as he forced a smile. He radiated tension, which told Lance that something was terribly wrong.
“Parker, please go check on Mom,” he requested while keeping his focus on Tanner.
Parker took off down the hall to look for her.
“What’s wrong?” Lance crouched in front of Tanner. Examining him closely, he didn’t see any blood or obvious signs of injury.
“It’s broken,” Tanner said flatly.
Lance’s adrenaline level spiked sharply.
“What’s broken?!”
“My bad leg. I took a stupid step back when I threw him down—” Tanner said. “I heard it snap,” he observed calmly.
This was in direct contrast to Lance’s response. His heart raced and he felt as if he’d just been hit by a truck.
“Go make sure your mom is okay and talk to your brothers. Then we’ll go to the ER,” Tanner directed with perfect composure, as if he wasn’t sitting there with a broken leg because he’d just been in a fight and saved all of them. It wasn’t right and it certainly wasn’t fair for him to be suffering this way.
He meant to say as much, but Tanner cut him off.
“Go,” Tanner said sternly.
Lance’s hand tightened on Tanner’s arm.
“Are you fucking insane? We’re going to the ER right now! You need—”
Tanner shook his head. “Make sure everyone is okay. My leg’s already broken, so rushing won’t make a difference.”
Lance was horrified and miserable, sickened by the knowledge of what had happened to Tanner. He was the one responsible for Tanner’s broken leg. Not his father. Tanner had stepped into the punch meant for Lance. It wasn’t his job to do that. Lance didn’t need him to take his punches. He didn’t need to be protected. Oh God! His beautiful Tanner, who’d already suffered more than enough. Nausea swept over him, forcing him to pause in the kitchen and lean against the counter, both hands grasping the marble tightly as he struggled to breathe and get his brain in gear.
Think! He urged himself. He needed to focus. Tanner was—
He shook himself and took a calming breath. Family, then the ER. That was the plan, and if he could hold it together long enough, he might just be able to successfully unfuck the shitshow he’d brought into this house.
He found everyone in the laundry room adjacent to the hall bathroom. Jeremy was sitting on the washing machine, while Parker was hugging their mother next to the dryer. When Lance walked in, Parker turned their mother to face him.
She looked frail and scared. Nothing like the woman who’d screamed at him in the driveway after her big party. Shaking like a leaf, she reached for him.
“Hi, baby,” she said. He allowed himself to be pulled into her embrace. She clutched his shirt tightly, and Lance sighed as he wrapped her up in a tight hug. He pressed her close, rubbing soothing circles across her back.
“Thank you,” she said, against his chest.
He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know where he fit in anymore. She’d called him when she needed him to rescue her and his brothers, but the cruel insults she’d hurled at him on the 4th of July still haunted him. Now, though, he was useful to her. So, how did all that fit into the fallout from today? Would she feel the same way when she didn’t need his protection anymore? Would he be deserving of her respect and love when the monster was gone?
He pulled away before self-pity made him lose focus.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked her, sounding outwardly calm, despite his inner turmoil.
“No,” she said, shaking her head and nervously wringing her hands. Lance sighed in relief and turned to give Parker a comforting hug.
“Is he going to come back?” Parker asked fearfully.
“Probably one day. Not for a long time though. He’ll—fuck off to lick his wounds for now, and then—in a couple of years, when he’s drunk and broke, he’ll be back,” Lance said with a shrug. Certain things couldn’t be helped. Short of his father dying, he’d probably always be a source of trouble for them.
“I shouldn’t have given him our address.”
Lance cut his brother off before the tears could start again.
“There are lots of shouldn’ts to go around. You didn’t know. I didn’t want you to know. Neither of you. It’s my fault. Or—no. You know what, it’s no one’s fault. It’s his fucking fault for being a piece of shit,” Lance growled angrily, feeling a resurgence of his temper. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he told himself that the storm had passed and now he had other shit to do.
Tanner. Tanner, with a broken leg, still sitting on his mother’s couch. He needed to wrap up family time and get Tanner to the ER.
He reached for Jeremy, who hugged him back harder than he ever had before, fingers digging into Lance’s back.
“Thank you for coming,” Jeremy said, voice shaky.
“Always.”
“After what happened you could have—” Jeremy fell silent and hugged Lance even harder. There was a time and a place for that conversation. Things that needed to be discussed, but not tonight.
“I’ll always come,” he vowed and kissed Jeremy’s forehead.
Jeremy smiled with love and gratitude.
Lance stepped back. Step 1, done. Keep moving. Keep moving .
“Call me if anything else happens,” he said, and headed for the door.
“You’re leaving?” his mother asked with a barely restrained sob.
Lance nodded. “I have to go to the ER—”
“Did he hurt you?”
Lance shook his head. “It’s not me who got hurt tonight. It’s Tanner. He broke his leg.”
“What the fuck?” Parker exclaimed in shock. “How?”
“It’s his bad leg. The one that was injured before. It happened when Dad—when he tried to take me down—” he said, unable to finish. Besides, there was no time to explain. He had to go take care of Tanner.
“He protected you?” his mother asked, her voice so full of wonder and surprise that Lance paused to look at her again. They shared— something for a moment. Lance was too shocked to process it but thought that perhaps it was an understanding of sorts.
“Yes, Mom, he did.” And wasn’t that just bananas. Lance couldn’t recall anyone protecting him before.
His mother gave a sharp nod, and firm resolve settled over her features as she shook off her residual fear and shakiness. The frail and frightened woman disappeared as the cool, rational woman emerged to take control.
“You should go. We need to get you on the road to the ER right away. Do you need us to help? Maybe Parker can help you carry him to the car,” she suggested, her voice filled with purpose. It was—surprising to see her so willing to help. Especially after her initial display of disgust and outrage over Lance’s choice of partners.
“Thanks, but we’ll be fine.” He was pleased but nevertheless stunned by his mother’s sudden efforts to support him and Tanner.
She nodded and urged him to hurry, so he took off at a run for the living room.
When he got there, Tanner was still clutching his leg with both hands, staring blankly at the floor. Lance sat next to him and wrapped his arm around him, kissing him gently on the cheek.
“We need to get you to the ER. Can you stand?”
It took a few seconds for Tanner to respond. He nodded and put his arm around Lance’s waist.
“Yeah, but I’ll need some help. Stay on my right side so I can lean on you. My left side is pretty fucking useless right now.”
Unable to meet that bright hazel gaze, so filled with pain, Lance just nodded and helped his boyfriend to the car.
He reminded himself to just keep moving .