The Redemption of Callie & Kayden

And besides, how do you know he won’t just take the money and still press charges. He’s not a good, honest guy.”
    “No, he’s the guy
you
beat up.” She picks up the creamer and pours some into her coffee. “Now quit arguing. This is how your father’s handling it. And be grateful that he’s handling it.”
    I unintentionally snort a laugh. “Be grateful.” I gesture at my side, which is starting to scar over. “For what? For this?”
    She raises the cup to her mouth and scowls at me over the brim. “What? The injuries you put there yourself?”
    I slam the cupboard and it makes her jump. “You know that’s not true… and I wish… I wish…” I wish for once she’d just admit that she knows but doesn’t care. It’d be better than her pretending that none of this exists.
    She lowers the cup to the table and flips a page of her magazine, shrugging nonchalantly. “All I know is that you cut yourself and that your father wasn’t even here that night.”
    “Mom, you are so full of—”
    She smacks her hand down on the table and her body is shaking. “Kayden Owens, we’re not going to talk about this anymore. It’s being taken care of and we’re moving on because that’s what we do.”
    I lean back against the corner, bend my arms behind my back, and grip the countertop. “Why are you always protecting him? You should be protecting your kids… but you won’t even admit the stuff that’s going on.”
    She shoves back from the table, grabs her magazine and coffee, and hurries toward the doorway. “Do you know what it’s like growing up so poor that your mother has to sell herself on the corner all so you can have a used pair of shoes from the local surplus store?”
    My mother has never really talked about her childhood or her mother, so I’m stunned. “No… but I’d rather grow up without good shoes than grow up getting my ass kicked every day.”
    She swings her arm back and throws the cup at me. It zips past my head and shatters against the wall. Sharp fragments sprinkle all over the floor and get stuck in the cracks of the tile. “You ungrateful little shit. You have no idea how lucky you are.” She’s shaking from her anger and her eyes are bulging.
    I glance from her to the shards on the floor and then back at her with my mouth hanging open. She’s never been this upset before. She’s usually subdued. But as quickly as the wildfire came, it’s gone and the flames and rage in her eyes dissipates. She runs her hands down her hair, combing it back into place before she walks out of the room and leaves me to clean up the mess.
    I get a broom from the closet and sweep it up, watching the broken pieces fall into the garbage can as I empty out the dust pan. I notice some travel itinerary to Paris and also Puerto Rico in the garbage and wonder if that’s where my dad went. These places seem more like a vacation, though, than a business trip.
    As I put the broom away, I get lost in that night, the uncontrollable anger in my father’s eyes, and the feeling of not knowing surfaces in my chest. What is going to happen to me? How do I make myself fit back into life when I thought I’d fallen into death? And will I even ever have a life to fit back into again? My mom can pretend all she wants that this is going to go perfectly—that they’ll pay off Caleb and he’ll keep his mouth shut—but I have my doubts and I won’t be the least bit surprised if he takes the money and still presses charges.
    I continue to analyze my plans as I go down to the room in the basement and sit in the quiet. I take my phone out of my pocket and stare at the screen with my finger hovering over the TALK button. I want to call Callie so fucking bad. Because it feels like she could help me, let me know some of the answers, give me a reason to revive again.
    “Hey, man.” Tyler stumbles into the room and slams the door shut with his elbow. He’s got a brown paper bag in his hand and he tips his head back and takes a swig from whatever is inside and then wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt and directs the bag at me.
    I shake my head and put my phone away, taking Tyler’s interruption as a sign not to call Callie. “No thanks, man.”
    He shrugs and takes another gulp before flopping down in the leather sofa across from mine. He looks more like he’s in his late thirties than his twenties and his clothes are ragged and worn. He’s missing one of his teeth, which he says is from a fight,