The Enforcer - Kelli Callahan Page 0,38

I hit puberty, I shot up like a beanpole. And then around the age of fifteen, I started filling out muscle-wise,” I say, lifting a long, hard arm riddled with tattoos and scars. “People pick on the skinny kid at first. But, the skinny kid gets bigger. And, well, the blows just don’t hit as hard anymore.” I flex my fingers, watching the way the tendons ripple across my forearm.

“Were you bullied a lot?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Why did they bully you?”

“Because of my family. Because I was different. So many reasons,” I whisper.

“What was wrong with your family?” she asks, kissing my neck softly and sending a little thrill down my spine.

“What wasn’t wrong with my family?” I murmur, closing my eyes and enjoying the soft flutter of her fingers along my throat.

“That’s not an answer, Jake,” she chides.

“Well, for starters, we were poor,” I reply, realizing I’m gonna have to talk about this.

“Go on.”

“We were poor. And my dad had a habit of running out on my mom when it was most convenient for him and least convenient for us.”

“In what way?” she asks.

“Financially,” I say, my jaw settling into a hard line. “Money would run out. Dad would go out and find something better to do than stay at home with his wife and kids.”

“That’s horrible,” she whispers.

“Yeah, well, sometimes life was better for it,” I murmur.

“And the rest of the time?” she asks.

“The rest of time, I wished he would come back and be everything a father is supposed to be.”

“Did he ever do that?” she asks. “Be everything he was supposed to be?”

“He tried once,” I sigh, staring up at the ceiling, feeling my throat tighten and my heart beat harder in my chest.

“What happened?” she asks.

“A fire,” I whisper.

She sits up, turning to face me and cradling my chin. “Tell me, Jake. I told you something that was difficult for me. Now I need you to trust me, too.”

“My dad had been gone for months. It was summer― hot and dry because, well, it’s Wyoming,” I say, inhaling deeply and pushing her head back down against my shoulder, unable to look at her. “Hot and dry, no rain. My dad came home in July, promising life was going to be better. He’d seen the light and he was ready to come home.”

“Okay?” she prompts slowly, watching me.

“Mom let him in like she always did. She made a nice dinner. And he took me out to the backyard to play ball…”

“And then what?”

“Then he started drinking like he always did. And when he drank he got angry. He’d professed to being sober before. Maybe he really was for a time. But I don’t think he was cut out for family life. I think we were too much for him. Once he got there and saw us in person and realized everything that was required of him as a father and as a husband…”

Saying nothing, she nods her head.

“Anyhow. Later that night, I went to bed, unable to listen anymore to his raving, talking about what a gem he was, and how much he did for our family, and how no one appreciated him. I fell asleep and later I woke up and there was smoke in my bedroom. And they were screaming, banging.”

“My God, Jake,” she whispers.

And I swallow hard. “They had a fight. My mom told him to get out, and he wouldn’t leave. I guess he knocked over a candle in his rage. The whole place went up.”

“Just like that?” she asks in surprise.

“My parents are kind of self-absorbed,” he says. “At least they were. They may not have even noticed that he knocked over the candle. Whatever the reason, they didn’t notice the house and everything in it going up in flames. My mother and father and older brother inside it.”

“Oh my God,” she gasps. “How did you get out?”

“Because I was a coward.”

“I don’t believe that,” she murmurs.

“It’s true. I was. I saw smoke and jumped out my window, ran to the front yard, and stood there as flames filled our one-story home. I can still hear my mother screaming,” I whisper. “I heard it the night that I was in your home. I can still see my father, his fist pounding against the window that was nailed shut by him to prevent us from sneaking out at night.”

“Jake,” she starts, “Think about it. Was there really anything you could do?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I wouldn’t know because I didn’t