12

-North-

OH. SHIT.

Time seems to stand still.

Patrick Blackwood is standing in the middle of our kinky sex den with his mouth hanging open, looking like he's just given birth to an elephant. I don't know if he actually expects us to answer his question or not, but we're both too shocked to speak.

Mal stares at his dad. His dad stares back at him. Patrick is furious. His eyes bulging, his nostrils flared. He looks so angry that for a moment I'm scared. The pure fury on his face is enough to jump straight to my hindbrain and kick my fight or flight into life. I know I should do something. Say something. But it's like the force of his rage has knocked everything out of me. I'm not used to this kind of anger. And it's not even directed at me. Its full force is aimed right at Mal, who isn't moving. It doesn't even look like he's breathing.

I thought before that Mal and his father might be similar in some ways; Mal can be an emotional guy, and he can have trouble controlling those emotions. I was wrong, they're nothing like each other.

Mal's anger can be cold and withering, like a frost, or bitter and stinging like ice.

But this is like a tidal wave that knocks you off your feet. A raw surge of hatred and rage that's so pure it's like fire—a raging inferno.

I think about young Mal having to face this on his own as a child, and it makes me feel sick. How the fuck did he survive mostly intact?

Patrick's face is bright red, making his grey eyes stand out, cold and sharp. He looks like he's going to explode.

"Answer me!" he shouts, and we both flinch.

We still haven't made a sound. Neither of us has moved at all.

"I don't give a fuck if you're gay, but this? What the fuck is this deviant shit?"

He tips over the table. Everything goes flying and crashing to the floor, and Mal flinches again.

"I didn't spend all this money on your college education so you could come down here and be a pervert. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Mal finally makes a sound. A small shuddering intake of breath that sounds like something a terrified kid would make, and not a strong well-built man well over six feet tall.

It cuts through the shock weighing me down and kicks something open in my chest, and just like that, the fear is gone.

Mal needs me. He needs me right now, more than he ever has before. Mal has been through so much shit in his life because of this man, and I'm just standing here letting his abuser terrify him. I've never seen him like this before. His eyes are wide and glazed.

It stops here. I'm not going to let him get hurt anymore.

"Ok, just calm the fuck down," I say, stepping forward and raising a hand.

Patrick's attention snaps to me and his steely eyes focus like a target, narrow as if he's remembering I'm there for the first time, and then just as quickly snap back to Mal, dismissing me entirely.

"Is this him?" He jabs a finger at me. A viscous, sharp stabbing movement, and I have to fight the need to take a step back. "Is he the one that got you into all this shit? Because you sure as fuck were normal when you left home."

Mal doesn't react.

"What did I do to deserve this? After all the shit I've had to go through, after all the effort I've put into building my business and raising your sorry ass, you couldn't just be fucking normal?"

Mal doesn't speak. He doesn't move.

I step forward. "That's enough. You need to leave, right now."

Patrick's face somehow gets more red, and he takes a step forward himself. "I own this fucking house you little prick." He jabs his finger at me again. "What have you done to him? Huh? What sick stuff have you got him involved in? I've seen the credit card bills, you think I'm fucking stupid?"

"Mal can do whatever he wants. I haven't done anything to him, which is more than I can say for you—"

He shouts over me. "Of course you're a fucking weirdo. I should have known he wouldn't have a goddam normal friend."

He takes another step forward, hands clenched and threatening, and I move in front of Mal, blocking him completely, and Patrick stops short. He takes in our positions, our matching robes. He sneers.

"You're pathetic."

"What's pathetic is a fully grown man beating on his son," I say.

His eyes don't widen, but they take on a gleam as he tilts his head, like he's figuring something out. His sneer doesn't budge, but I can see the thoughts whirling in his head. Then he smiles grimly and pulls out his phone.

"That's it. I'm not paying for you to attend a college hundreds of miles away so you can fuck around. You're coming back home with me."

Horror flashes through my body. He can't do that, can he?

"What?" Mal says. It's the first thing he's said, and I turn to look at him because his voice is so small, so un-Mal-like. What color was left in Mal's face has drained, leaving him looking washed out and dead, like a corpse somehow still standing.

Patrick is already furiously typing into his phone.

"Get your shit packed. I'm taking you out of Langley and you're moving back in with me. You can attend a college close by, where I can keep a fucking eye on you."

"You can't take him out," I say.

"Don't tell me what I can do," Patrick snaps. "I'm his goddamn father."

"Mal?" I say, turning to him.

Mal's eyes shift over to my face without really taking anything in, a startled rabbit.

"You can't go, Mal. You can't."

"I can't," Mal repeats.

"Excuse me?" Patrick says. He's stopped typing into his phone now.

Mal's mouth moves a few times before he actually speaks, and when he does, his voice is breathy and insubstantial. "I can't. I can't leave," he says.

Patrick stares at him for a second before he slams his phone down on the table next to him. I'll be surprised if the screen isn't cracked. Mal cringes, blinking rapidly.

"Are you trying to antagonize me?" Patrick says. "You're coming with me. End of discussion."

Mal opens his mouth, but no words come out.

I speak up for him. "You can't make him do anything. He's an adult."

"You need to get the fuck out of here, son, or you're going to regret it." Patrick nods as he speaks, like he's aggressively agreeing with himself, and moves toward me. Mal finally finds his voice again.

"I'm not leaving Langley, and I'm not coming home. You can't make me," Mal says. He sounds breathless. Terrified.

I strengthen my stance in front of him.

His dad stops and looks at him, weighing him up. His anger is twisted with surprise. Is this the first time Mal's ever stood up to him? Directly disobeyed him? If his dad gets physical he's going to have to get through me first, and I won't be going down without a fight. In fact, I'd gladly take the opportunity to punch his lights out.

"Excuse me?" Mal's dad says, leaning forward.

Mal audibly swallows, and then says, "I'm not going anywhere."

His dad blinks a few times, looking him up and down like he's some freak of nature.

"What makes you think—" he starts.

"He said he's not going anywhere," I say.

He looks at me, then back to Mal. It seems like he's realizing for the first time that there's two of us, and we're big guys. His old tried-and-tested intimidation techniques aren't going to work this time. He grinds his jaw, picks up his phone again, and jabs a finger at us.

"This isn't over. I'm taking you back in the morning."

I remember the bat. I'm gripping it so hard my hand hurts. He looks down at it.

"You planning to do something with that?" he says.

I blink at him. Up to this point it hadn't even occurred to me.

He sneers. "Thought not."

He storms out, barging past us and making sure to shoulder check me on the way out. It feels like a small victory, if only temporary. We've won this fight, but the battle isn't over. If his dad really does stop paying for his tuition, is there a way for Mal to stay? My head is spinning. It feels like the whole world has been turned upside down and everything is tumbling down around us.

I turn to Mal. He's still standing stiff and frozen in exactly the same position, his face a blank mask of shock, his lips parted, staring at nothing.

"I'm not going to let him do anything to you, ok?" I say. He doesn't move, so I touch his arm gently, like I'm afraid he'll spook and run away like a startled animal. His eyes slowly move over to me, finding my face, and he stares at me like I'm the lifeline of a drowning man. "If he tries anything I'm calling the cops on his ass."

Mal licks his lips, swallows, and then nods stiffly. But he doesn't quite look like he believes me. He doesn't look reassured.

"I promise, Mal, I'm not going to let anything happen. You're staying here with me, even if you have to bunk in my dorm room."

I have no idea how I'm going to do that. It's not like I have anywhere near enough money to pay for his fees. I'm on a partial football scholarship as it is. But I'll fucking make it work if I have to.

"I swear, Mal. I swear."

I wrap him up in a big hug, trying to soothe his trembling shoulders under my hands.