by J. M. Adele
She saw her pa’s wavy, black hair appear above the bushes, before his mammoth, muscled frame stepped into the clearing under the tree.
“There y’are.” He shoved his motor-oil-smeared hands in his pockets and narrowed his eyes, considering them for a moment.
She gripped the branch a little tighter, suddenly worried that the threat of his shotgun might not be so ridiculous after all.
“Aiden. Your father is looking for ye. You’d better go on home, it’s supper time. Come in and get washed up.”
“Is he here?”
Aiden’s voice broke on the words, but she knew it wasn’t his immature vocal cords causing the problem. Aiden might have feared her pa, but she’d never seen anything put more fear in him than his own father.
Mr. Thomas ran a law practice in town, and had a reputation for being a wolf with sharp fangs. She suspected he was just as awful at home as he was in the courtroom, but she’d never been inside Aiden’s house to see for herself.
“No. He demanded to be let in, but I sent him away.”
Angel scrambled down the tree after Aiden, landing behind where he stood before her father. He tugged at his clothes, looking like he’d rather do anything else besides go home.
Her daddy laid his large hand on Aiden’s shoulder, squeezing in a silent show of support before leading him off. She trailed behind them through the thick undergrowth, raising her feet high with each step, and thinking how blessed she was to have her daddy. He knew when a person needed comfort, and he’d always been generous in giving it. He probably knew exactly what was going on in the house down the street, but he’d never discuss it with her. If there was one thing wrong between her and Aiden, it was her exclusion from his family life. She’d guessed why, but it still didn’t sit well with her. He always shut her out. He should’ve known better. It just made her want to fight harder. If she had to march down the road and bang down his door to finally gain entry, she’d do it. The time was coming. Her patience was threatening to snap.
Aiden dumped his bike around the side of his house and ran up the back steps, entering through the kitchen door. His mother sat at the table, ignoring her plate of roast vegetables and chicken, preferring to cradle her glass of red wine. She didn’t bother with a greeting, and he didn’t expect one. It was their routine. She only acknowledged him in public.
Her disregard wasn’t what made his stomach drop to his toes. It was the gravy smeared plate stacked next to the sink. It was the newspaper spread open to hide all but his father’s clenched hands, and the slicked back, blond hair on top of his head. It was the thunder clouds gathering behind his father’s eyes as the paper lowered, and Sir stood to his full height.
He was late for dinner.
He was so dead.
Aiden struggled to keep his body from shaking. His palm, slick with sweat, slipped on the door knob as he closed the door behind him.
He watched in resignation, fighting back tears, as his father started to unbuckle his belt.
“I’m going to assume that since you weren’t home in time for dinner, you mustn’t be hungry.”
The smell of the roast meal lingered deliciously in the air. He was hungry. But not starving, thanks to an extra slice of Angel’s chocolate cake that afternoon.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Sir.”
“Did I say you could speak, boy?” Spit flew from his father’s mouth, landing on the table.
Aiden pressed his lips together, and watched his mother vacate the room, like she always did when this happened. More tears threatened. His stupid tear ducts needed to grow up. He wasn’t five anymore. He should be used to the sting of betrayal and abandonment by now.
“Take off your shirt and drop your pants.”
He did as he was told, fumbling, and silently cursing his trembling hands. His father moved behind him, pushing him towards the table and shoving his back, so he had no choice but to lean down and hang on.
“You’ve been over at the Murphy’s again. I know that’s where you go. Hank can deny it all he likes. That bastard and his spawn have been filling your head with all sorts of fairytales about how life should be. What’s the matter, boy, your family not good enough for you?”
Aiden jerked, pulling in a shaky breath as the first blow landed across the middle of his back.
“Those grease monkeys aren’t fit to mix with my blood.” Sir leaned over Aiden, growling directly into his ear. “Why would they want an outsider tagging along, getting in their way? You’re not one of them. You never will be.”
The lash of the belt struck Aiden with enough force to make his eyes roll back in his head. He clenched his teeth harder, and dug his fingers into the edge of the table, jerking with each blow.
“You got your eye on Murphy’s daughter? She’s only useful for spreading her legs, but you won’t be mixing our blood and tying us to that family for good. I won’t have it.”
The vitriol spewed from his father’s mouth, thick as molasses. Aiden felt it clogging his lungs and pounding his ears, dragging him under its hatred, and feeding his own hatred for this man. He wanted to fight back, to defend the girl he loved. How dare Sir speak about her like that. She was everything that was good and pure in his world.
The next three lashes struck in quick succession, making him throw his head back at the searing pain cutting deeper each time. He wondered how many his father would be giving him, and how many more years he would have to endure this torture. If it wasn’t for the Murphys, he’d have run already.
“The Thomas name is something to be respected and upheld. Until you get that through your head, I forbid you to leave this house.”
Aiden’s body was wrenched upright, his upper arm caught in a bear-trap hold as his father heaved his limp body up the stairs to his bedroom. Thrown face first onto the bed, he lay still, listening to the click of the lock sealing his cell. Raw nerve endings screamed in agony across his back and the top of his ass, and his lungs struggled for air. He tried to stop the freight train of loathing that was gathering momentum. Aimed mostly at himself, because despite his parents’ mistreatment of him … he still loved them, and wanted desperately to please. And, didn’t that make him a dumb fuck.
Groaning, he rolled his head to the side, and folded his hands under his cheek for a pillow. The stupid tears he’d been fighting oozed onto his hands, and his nose leaked all over the bed in a trail of mucus. He couldn’t be bothered wiping the mess away. He knew his pain wasn’t done. Not even close. He’d wear it like a tattoo for a while yet.
Closing his eyes, he willed all the bad shit away, replacing it with images of Angel sitting in that tree. Her floppy hat and baggy T-shirt. The laces of her shoes dangling in the breeze, and the reflection of light filtered through the canopy on her glasses. Her coy smile. Her huge green eyes.
His teeth hurt from grinding them so hard, but a smile still hinted despite the pain. Angel had asked him to kiss her. She’d been eager enough to risk falling out of the tree by climbing into his lap, and aligning him with the gates of heaven.
Her parents had been insightful when they’d named her. She was an angel. His Angel. If he could be a part of her life forever, he’d be the luckiest son of a bitch. Aiden worried that her association with him was dragging her name through the filth, not the other way around.
Pfft. His father didn’t know shit.
_____
He groaned and threw a hand over his face to block the morning sun filtering through his eyelids, hissing at the pain the movement caused. Rubbing the grit away from his eyes with his thumb, he attempted to pry them open and get his bearings. As if the pain in his back wasn’t enough of a reminder, his ready-to-burst bladder, and dry-as-a-dessert mouth, did a great job at slapping him back to reality. He needed to find a pot plant, or something. Fast.
Spying his baseball bag, he prayed to God that he’d forgotten to take out his water bottle as he hobbled over. The zip parted to reveal his plastic savior, half full, even. He raised his eyes to the c
eiling muttering, “Amen.”
Downing the liquid in two huge gulps, he then used the bottle to relieve himself. Desperate times and all that. He’d need to prepare an emergency stash of food, water, and a piss container for the future.
The thought had him wondering how in hell he’d ended up in this situation. His friends didn’t have to worry about their basic human needs being met, for Christ’s sake.
He hid the bottle under his bed, noticing several smears of blood on the sheets. Sonofabitch, he made me bleed.
The click of the lock releasing had his head snapping up, and sent his heart thundering in preparation for another fight.
Sir poked his head around the door. “Clean yourself up and get to school.”
He was gone before Aiden could reply. Not that he had anything to say to the man. Except maybe, why? Why are you such a bastard? Why don’t you love me?
The ground swayed under his feet, and he lowered his butt to the bed. How the hell was he supposed to go to school? He’d probably feel better after some food and pain killers, but even then, every move made him relive yesterday’s horror. His brain began to float between his ears, and the room appeared to warp out of shape. Flopping to the side, he hoped his head would hit somewhere close to the pillow, as he cried out in agony.
Aiden kept his eyes closed, pulling in air through flared nostrils, until the room stopped imitating a Tilt-A-Whirl. He knew his father would be back to check on him. He had to think of a plan to get out before then. If he could get himself dressed and down the stairs, he might be able to make it to Angel’s house. But, he didn’t want her to see him like this. Shit, no, that was no good. If he could get dressed and get to a phone, he could ring Hank at the garage. He was the only one Aiden could trust to help him without saying anything to anyone.
He gripped the edge of his mattress in one hand and lowered a foot to the floor, sliding the rest of his body down to follow. Crawling on hands and knees, he made it to his dresser without the room spinning, but couldn’t stop the whimpers of pain. He’d been beaten up plenty of times before, but not like this. His father’s rage was growing, and Aiden was the outlet.
After an awkward struggle, he managed to get dressed, and shuffled on his tail down the stairs to the living room where the phone was. The only sounds in the house were his labored breaths and the dial tone as he picked up the receiver, punching in the number of the garage.
“Harvey’s Auto Shop. If it’s broke, we’ll fix it. How can we help you today?” Damn, it was Tina, the office manager.
He hoped she didn’t recognize his voice. He hoped his voice didn’t desert him.
“Uh, hi. I’d like to speak to Hank, if he’s there, please.”
“Sure thing, honey. Hold on a sec.”
The hold music rang tinny in his ears, and white spots danced across his vision. He put his head between his knees, and gripped the phone with both hands, willing Angel’s daddy to hurry.
“This is Hank.”
“Mr. Mur—” He tried to clear his throat, but couldn’t get enough air.
“Aiden? Is that you?”
Lifting his shoulders, Aiden begged his lungs to fill.
“What’s happened?” Mr. Murphy’s voice rose in concern.
He hated to drag him into the mess, but he had no choice. “Yeah. I’m … hurt.”
“Are you at home?”
“Ye—”
“I’ll be there in five. Stay put.”
Relief flooded his system, giving his brain the okay to check out. He briefly registered the words before he dropped the phone, tumbling sideways to the carpet.
_____
Aiden’s hearing was the first thing to reawaken. An air compressor, the phone ringing, metallic tapping, a few thick Irish accents battling for who was the loudest. All muffled like they were coming from a distance. Cracking open an eyelid, he recognized Hank’s desk, and realized he was lying on the sofa in Angel’s dad’s office.
“You’re back.”
Mr. Murphy.
Aiden tried to lift his head, but apparently, it had morphed into a boulder during his blackout. Something cold was removed from his back, as Hank’s tree-trunk legs moved into view.
“Now, don’t you be trying to move. I’ve put salve on your back and a bandage or two, but you need to go careful. I’ll help you sit up so you can swallow something for your pain.”
He gasped as Hank maneuvered his body upright. It hurt like a bitch. His brain hovered about a foot above his head, and his stomach had collapsed in on itself. But other than that, he was ready for boot scootin’.
Curling his hands over the edge of the sofa cushion, he held himself upright while Hank popped the tablets in his mouth, and tipped some cool water down his throat. It soothed his thirst, but awakened his empty stomach. A loud gurgle escaped into the room.
“Ye hungry? I’ll get Harvey to get you something.”
“No, don’t tell anyone. Please.”
“Who do you think helped me carry you in here, lad? I didn’t want to put pressure on your back, so he grabbed one end and I grabbed the other.”
Aiden’s face twisted, turning pink as he studied the carpet.
“Hey. You can always count on a Murphy to take care of you. We’re not going to spread the word that your pa is a beast. Besides, he’s doing a good enough job of starting gossip on his own.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind, lad. I shouldn’t have spoken ill of your kin.” He patted the cushion, repositioning it for Aiden. “Lie back down on your side and let the medicine kick in. I’ve got a bucket here for you if you’re likely to lose your lunch, but the food will be on its way shortly.”
Aiden reached for the arm of the sofa, and eased his body down to the cushion. He didn’t look at Mr. Murphy. The look of pity on Hank’s face was too much to bear. But what was worse, was knowing that his own father would never care for him like Hank did. And Hank would never be his father. If he could change one thing in his life, that would be it.
The pain slowly receded to a dull throb, and Aiden let go of the tension in his muscles. He listened to Hank shuffle some papers and tap on his keyboard, until the door swung open and Harvey, Hank’s younger brother, barged in.
“Aiden. Good to see you’re back in the room. Did you have a nice kip, ye lazy sod?” He dumped a paper bag in front of Aiden’s face. “Got my lunch for you. Some quiche and salad from the missus. She tries to get me to eat the healthy stuff.” He scoffed. “A man needs more sustenance than rabbit food and a bit of egg. She doesn’t need to know I’ll be swapping it for a burger. If you’re still hungry after that, I’ll get one for you, too.” Harvey smoothed a hand over his red beard, looking pleased with himself.
“Thanks, Mr. Murphy. That’s very generous of you.”
“I keep telling you to call me Harvey. Mr. Murphy is this one here.” He poked a large finger in Hank’s direction. “He’s the boss. I’m the talent.”
Angel’s daddy rolled his eyes. “Okay, Harvey. Thanks. Get out of here before you make the boy pass out again from all the hot air you’re blowin’.”
Harvey grinned and left, bumping shoulders with his older brother, Harry, as the man stood at the door.
“Are you okay there, son?” Harry’s brow bunched in concern, smudged by grease and sweat. His large fist had a strangle hold on the door knob. Aiden worried he might snap it off.
Harry was the middle child of the three Irish brothers, and probably the most practical and level headed of the bunch. He ran the day-to-day operations in the workshop, and kept Hank’s grand ideas in check.
“I’m feeling a bit better, thank you.”
“Good to see you haven’t lost your manners. I’ll be back to check on you. Call me if you need me. Anytime.” Harry eyeballed Aiden. “I mean it.” The door knob rattled as he released it and shut the door behind him.
He was so damn lucky to have the Murphys in his life. What would he do without them? A shiver passed over Aide
n’s body and he swallowed against a tight throat.
Hank helped him up and he got to work on the food. Quiche had never tasted so good. He probably resembled a stray dog the way he was scoffing down the sustenance, but he didn’t care.
Hank’s discerning eye followed his every move. Worry flowed across the room in waves, wrapping him in an embrace he wouldn’t be able to tolerate. He could feel the unvoiced questions prodding at him, and knew the man wouldn’t hold them in forever. Hank wasn’t stupid. He’d been suspicious of Aiden’s home situation for a while. Sir was careful to put his marks where people wouldn’t be able to see them. He’d ended up with a black eye once, but he blamed that on a stray baseball. The flat set of Mr. Murphy’s eyes and mouth told him the man wasn’t buying his bullshit.
He sat staring at the empty container, his fork still gripped in one hand.
“Are you gonna talk to me, lad?”
“What is there to say?”
“Did he beat you because you were late for dinner, or was it because you were with us?”
“Both.”
He heard a hiss of air escape Hank’s nose. “There is no excuse for that behavior. Do you hear me?”
Aiden hung his head. Logically, he knew he didn’t deserve the harsh treatment, but the little boy inside that wanted to please his father believed it was his fault. That he wasn’t a good enough son.
“I don’t care if you’ve gone and stolen a car. You’d be in the lockup, but you wouldn’t be lying half dead, bleeding. I nearly took you to the medical center, but I knew that would do a number on your family life. I was a hair’s breath away, lad. And one day, I’m afraid I’m not going to have a choice. I love you like my own. It kills me to have to leave you in harm’s way. Give me the word and I’ll report him.”
Aiden rubbed his chin, his eyes shooting up to Hank’s. He knew the man cared for him, but it was always a shock to hear the words out of his mouth. Out of anyone’s mouth. Despite the rush of euphoria, he let the fear of his father override it. “I can’t do that. He’ll kill me.”
