Sharpening His Broken Talon (Living Art Book 2)

by River Mitchell

  Dad was there within minutes; he took just one look at me in Molly’s arms and his dad voodoo knew in an instant that I had been shattered beyond repair; the look of devastation that crossed his face was something I would never forget.

  Dad never left me alone with Mom after that, but the damage was done. Life at home became unbearable, which became another thing Mom also blamed me for. I would hear them fight at night, her screaming about how she couldn’t believe Dad would side with a little pussy. That I needed to toughen up, if a few home truths could break me and on and on.

  Mom and Dad co-existed for the next year, and Tristan, who Dad liked to call his whoops baby, came into our lives. I loved him on sight. He brought a ray of light into a home that normally had a dark cloud hanging over it.

  When Mom started again saying that she hoped she wouldn’t get a dud this time and other equally-damaging comments, Dad told her to leave, and without issue, she did. I never saw her again; she didn’t ask to see me. She tried to take Molly with her, but Molly flat refused. She had never forgiven her for how she’d treated me, and Mom didn’t even try after she was rebuked. The woman is nothing if not petty. She made an effort with Tristan for a while. She saw him regularly for the first five years, but that eventually slowed down then stopped altogether as well; she just disappeared from our lives.

  I have always felt overwhelming guilt for that. I felt as if I was the reason Molly and Tristan never had a real mom. If I had been better, she wouldn’t have hated me so much. They never said anything, and Tristan never even asked to see her when she wasn’t around. It was a feeling that I couldn’t stop, but I’d never shared it with them.

  I was just leaving for my second round of the day. I had loaded up my cart with the mail and packages when my phone vibrating in my pocket stopped me short of walking through the door. To say I was shocked by the message would be an understatement.

  Fear: Talon, Alfie told me about Tristan’s try-out today and just wanted to let you know that we are all coming. Looking forward to it. Fear.

  Talon: Thank you, this will mean a lot to him and Dad. It’s at 2:30pm at the school. I will meet you by the gate so I can show where to sign in. T

  Fear: See you then. Griffin wanted me to ask what Tristan’s team colors are going to be or what number his practice jersey is so we can all show our support.

  That brought a smile to my face. I had no idea what the answer was, though. Checking my watch quickly and deciding just to go for it, I quickly texted Tristan.

  Talon: Just heard from Fear, he wants to know your school colors or your try-out jersey number. Can you let me know ASAP?

  Not even two seconds later, I get a reply.

  Tristan: Number 22 and the colors are blue and yellow. WHY????? Is he going to come?????

  Chuckling at his excitement that even through text is obvious, I type a quick reply.

  Talon: Yes! He is coming and so is everyone else. They wanted your jersey number and colors so they can show support. Let everyone know who they are there to cheer for. Looks like you are going to have a big cheering section.

  Tristan: NO WAY. Now all I have to do is play well.

  Talon: You’re going to be great. See you there at 2:30pm. Now put your phone away before you get in trouble!!

  Tristan: OK. Love you T

  Talon: Love you too.

  I quickly text Fear with Tristan’s colors and number before pocketing my phone and heading out on my rounds. The sooner I got this done, the sooner I could leave.

  I was looking down to check where my next drop off was when I was slammed from behind and kicked in the back of the knee with such force that I fell forward hard, and before I could catch myself, my face slammed off the side of the mail cart, causing it to tip over on its side and spill out all the mail.

  Three sharp kicks to the side and back came next, taking my breath away and leaving me momentarily stunned. FUCK, that hurt. I tried to rise up so that I could get to my feet, but another kick to my side and a venom-filled voice saying, “Get the fuck out my way, retard” had me staying put on the floor. I waited as Christopher stepped over me, adding another kick as he passed, and then disappeared around the corner before attempting to get up again. I had no idea how I was going to pick the cart up; I was having trouble just focusing on breathing.

  “Talon, oh my, are you okay?” I looked up to see Deborah, Mr. Bridgeson’s daughter and Christopher’s sister, looking at me worriedly. “Stay there, sweetie…I can’t believe it. Is this the first time he has done something like that to you?” She knew better because she quickly answered her own question and continued. “Of course, it’s not. Well, it’s the last time. You just wait and see,” she said angrily. “All right now, honey, can you stand? Slowly does it.”

  I nodded and very slowly got to my feet. A sharp pain sliced through my side and took my breath away again. Fuck, this hurt like a bitch. Deborah took me by the arm and led me down the corridor to her father’s office and, without knocking, walked in and helped me over to the couch. I was not sure how much helping she did, what with her being 5’5” and around 120 pounds to me with my 6’5” frame; things were a little out of balance. The thought was there and frankly even a little help was better than nothing at this point.

  “You just sit tight.” And even before I could nod, she turned and addressed a very worried and confused looking Mr. Bridgeson. I heard her telling him that she had been coming down the corridor when she heard her brother calling me a retard and then turned the corner to find me on the floor bleeding. To say the Mr. Bridgeson was angry would be like saying a shark had teeth. The man was practically glowing with rage; I wanted to tell them not to make a fuss. All I wanted was to be excused for the rest of the morning. I really, really wanted to find a comfortable position to sit in. I had a killer headache forming from where I had head-butted the mail cart and thought I had done something to my knee as well. There was no way that I was going to be able to hide this from Dad.

  Mr. Bridgeson was full of apologies and concern. I think half his worry was for me and the other half was that I would sue him. He hated what his son had done, just like his daughter did, but he was caught in the middle of wanting to do what was right while also wanting to protect his boy. Deborah was ranting she would hire and pay for the lawyer and sue her brother for me. I had no intention of causing trouble for Mr. Bridgeson or his company. I was humiliated and was kind of hoping that we could forget the whole thing.

  At some point the EMTs had been called and trying to explain that I was fine and didn’t want to go to the hospital made my already pounding head start to throb. I hadn’t realized that I had a cut above my eye. Deborah was worried about me having a concussion or fractured ribs and maybe I would need stitches and x-rays. The woman was working herself up into quite the frenzy.

  The commotion and ambulance arriving had everyone coming out of their offices to stare and gossip. Everyone knew who had done it. I could even hear some of the whispers that confirmed as much. Christopher, though, was unsurprisingly absent, much to my relief.

  Dad showed up halfway through my fourth attempt at refusing to go to the hospital.

  “Talon, what happened?” he asked, looking me all over, trying to catalogue all my wounds. I looked to him, half-ashamed he had to see my like this again and half hoping he would get the EMT guy away from me. I had been holding on tightly to my already bubbling emotions; it wouldn’t take much more for me to blow.

  The EMT had ruled out a concussion and said my ribs were bruised not broken. The cut had been dressed, and my knee was strapped up tight. I was all set; I wanted to leave. I was starting to feel like a main attraction at the zoo.

  “Can I talk to my son for a second?” Dad asked the EMT. The guy gave a frustrated huff and walked away.

  “Tell me what happened,” he demanded, pulling out a pen and paper from his pocket and handing them to me.

  Sighing, I took the pen and pad with a wince—it hurt to move at all. Might as well jus
t come out with it now.

  * * *

  One of the guys that works here doesn’t like me.

  It started with him chatting shit, but it’s

  been getting worse. Nothing I couldn’t handle.

  Today though when I was doing the rounds, he came up

  behind me and kicked my knee out.

  I fell forward and hit my head on the mail cart.

  While I was down, he got in some kicks.

  Mrs. Reynolds found me and called the EMTs.

  PLEASE just take me home.

  * * *

  I handed him the note and cringed when I saw his jaw grinding and lips get tight as he read it.

  “You’re going to the hospital,” Dad ordered.

  Grabbing the pen and paper back from him, I wrote:

  * * *

  No, I’m not.

  I am not missing Tristan’s try out.

  If it gets bad, I’ll go after.

  * * *

  Dad knew I wasn’t going to change my mind; there was no way I would ever let Tristan down.

  “You will be going this afternoon if the pain gets worse,” he said forcefully. Relieved he wasn’t going to push, I nodded.

  “Who was this guy? Have you spoken to the police yet?” My eyes widened at his question. I wasn’t going to talk to the police. I didn’t even know they had been called. But looking past Dad, I could see an officer speaking to Mr. Bridgeson. FUCK!

  Mr. Bridgeson hurried over with the officer in tow. Dad introduced himself, and I saw Mr. Bridgeson visibly swallow and shrink back. Dad was a very intimidating man to look at, but if you took the time to talk to him for only a few seconds, you would find out that he was nothing more than a big teddy bear. But his 6’7” frame and muscular build often put people on edge, and they didn’t usually stick around for a chat.

  Dad addressed the officer. “My son has a medical condition that prevents him from being able to talk. If you need him to answer a question, he’ll have to write it down.” The officer gave me a strange look but nodded.

  “Mr. Parker, do you know who did this to you?”

  Taking the pen and paper Dad passed back to me, I wrote.

  * * *

  I don’t want to press charges.

  * * *

  “Are you sure, Mr. Parker?” Not wanting to get into a debate, I nodded and handed Dad the notebook and pen. I wouldn’t do that to Mr. Bridgeson. Not after he had given me a chance and a job. It wasn’t Mr. Bridgeson’s fault his son was an asshole.

  4

  Tate

  Holding onto Lily’s hand as we crossed the road to the middle school, I looked back and laughed at the state of our group. We were all wearing matching blue t-shirts. On the backs were the number 22 and our names, and on the fronts were the words Tristan’s Family all in bright yellow lettering. Not to be outdone, JJ even had a little baby version. We looked hilarious.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” I heard Fear rumble and turned to see who he was talking to. I was shocked to shit to see that he was talking to his brother, Talon. Someone had done a real number on him, and judging by the way he was standing and holding himself, he was in a fair amount of pain.

  Wincing and shaking his head, he nodded over to the direction he wanted us to follow. Fear didn’t look happy, but we all followed dutifully behind the hobbling man. Talon led us to the field seating area and over to Dane and Molly. I could tell the moment they spotted us because both faces lit up and bright smiles appeared on their faces.

  Lily and I reached them first and she excitedly told them that her Gamma had gotten them each a t-shirt to wear, too. Molly and Dane quickly pulled theirs on. Talon just held his, looking as if he wasn’t sure how it worked.

  “Need a hand?” I found myself asking him. He looked at me for a long time before nodding. It was clear that he would rather do anything else right now than go through the pain of changing his t-shirt, but wanting to support his baby brother had him relenting.

  I am not sure what it was. Maybe it was because I knew Fear so well and had spent many years deciphering his myriad of grunts and rumbles. Or maybe that like his brother, his eyes were so expressive that his every thought was displayed on his face, but I had the overwhelming urge and desire to hold and protect him from whatever had put the sad and defeated look in his eyes. He slowly lifted his shirt and the bruises that were starting to form were raw and turning bright in color, spanning the entire left side of his body.

  “Jesus, what the fuck happened? Who did that?” I shouted. I didn’t mean to draw the attention of the rest of our group, but the sight of his beaten body had me losing all common sense. I had been beaten enough in my life to know just how he could get bruises like that. Someone had kicked the shit out of him.

  Feeling a presence beside me, I turned and saw Fear looking at his brother; the anger rolling of him at seeing what was causing his pain was palpable.

  “What the fuck?” he said in a low whisper.

  Talon quickly dropped his shirt and shook his head. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about it, but knowing his big brother like I did, the probability that Fear was going to let this go was slim to none.

  “Who did that?” Fear asked, tilting his head to indicate Talon’s torso.

  Talon remained silent, but Dane, who appeared beside his middle son, answered the question. “Talon had some trouble at work.” I would say so. Fuck! He got that ass kicking at work? I mean the guy was almost as big as Fear. Who would even attempt anything?

  Talon’s face reddened with embarrassment and he shot a look to his father. Dane ignored the look but didn’t elaborate any further.

  Fear, though, didn’t let it go and just stared, waiting for an answer. Sighing, Talon reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pen.

  * * *

  It’s nothing for you to worry about. I am handling it.

  * * *

  I read the note he passed it to Fear.

  “Nothing to worry about? Right. I won’t push now, but we are not finished talking about this. I realize that I am new to this Big Brother stuff, and it is going to take us both a lot of getting used to, but I am pretty sure beating the fuck out of someone that lays a hand on my little brother is part of the deal.” Talon seemed shocked at Fear’s declaration, and to be honest, so was I. Not that he felt that way. Fear has always protected anyone he deems his family. But that he’d just lay it all out like that. He was not known for his ability to express his feelings with words. I guess it was just another thing Alfie and the nuggets have helped him with.

  Talon looked relieved for the reprieve, even if it was only for now, and relaxed a bit.

  “Here,” I said. “Let me help you put this on before Tristan comes out.” It took a lot of maneuvering, and I am sure pain, but we managed it just seconds before the kids ran out to take the field. At least now Talon matched the rest of us in our rather obnoxious yet supportive shirts.

  Tristan, who was one of the last to run on the field, was not expecting the loud cheer he received when we all caught sight of him. The smile that lit up his face, though, was brilliant. I didn’t know him yet; I had no doubt that it wouldn’t be long before I did, though. But he looked so much like a young Fear that the smile he was now sporting had me wishing that I could have seen that look on my friend. Not wanting my brain to go there, I shook that thought off and watched all the kids staring at Tristan and all of us.

  The other kids who were trying out had supporters: their parents, and some even had grandparents. Tristan, though, delighted in the sheer number of his cheering section. He ran directly to Talon but stopped short at seeing his brother’s bruised and cut face.

  “He’s all right, Tris. He fell at work,” Dane tried to explain. But I saw the tightening of the kid’s jaw when his father said it happened at work. He knew something. That thought was confirmed when I saw Talon slightly shake his head. To divert his attention, Talon pointed to Fear, who at that moment was crouching
down in front of Lily, opening up a juice box for her.

  Tristan’s eyes got big, and I watched as he went from worried little brother to nervous and excited little brother. It was at that moment he realized what we were all wearing, and his smile returned.

  Alfie, who had been watching Tristan’s reactions like the rest of us, tapped Fear on the shoulder and nodded over to the excited youngster. Standing to his full height, Fear turned and gave his little brother his full attention.

  “Hey, I am looking forward to seeing you play. Thanks for inviting me,” Fear said. It really was freaky how much of a little clone of Fear he was. I remember him looking just like that. Not the smiles, but everything else was almost identical. All Parker men were spitting images of each other. It was like seeing a before and after.

  It was so cute watching Tristan try and get ahold of himself enough to talk, but he managed it. “You came! Will you... Would you... Can you come meet my coach? He says that he remembers you. When Dad and Talon came with me to register, he asked if we were related. He said you were really good at football and…and…it was he who suggested I try out straight away. Said he needed another you on his team.” It was as if he was worried that Fear would walk away and rushed to get everything out at once. Dad had told us that the coach took one look at Tristan and had asked if he was related to Fear. Dad, Tris, Fear and I all look alike. It wasn’t hard for us to see why he’d made the connection.