13

-North-

THERE'S NOsign of Patrick all night. Mal doesn't sleep, and I'm too wired to.

The next morning Mal's phone rings. We exchange a glance as he answers. He listens and, after a brief conversation where his only response is a stiff "ok," he hangs up, puts the phone down, and looks at it.

"What is it?" I ask.

His face is carefully blank. "I have to go in to the college admissions office," he says. "There's an issue with my financing."

Shit. Last night's victory already feels like it's slipping away.

"Ok, let's go in," I say.

We drive in tense silence. He stares ahead out of the windshield with a blank glaze over his face, but I know he's internally panicking, because I am too. If his dad has stopped paying for his tuition, how is he going to stay at the college? We need to have a plan.

"What are you going to do?" I ask quietly. "Even if you can't study at Langley anymore, you can't move back home with him."

His shoulders are slumped, and I can see he's half given up already. I understand victims of abuse can feel like they have no control over their own life.

"I don't know. I could pay it myself, but it's his money. He can cut me off if he decides to. And I don't know if he'll let me stay at the house. If he kicks me out, I might not have much choice."

And that's the problem. Mal is an adult, and his dad can't make him do anything, but he can cut off Mal's money, his place to live. And that cuts off everything else.

"Mal, I'm not going to let you go back. Ok?"

He nods, chewing on his lips.

"I love you. You're not going anywhere."

He blinks and lets go of the wheel to swipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

When we get to the office, I kiss him before he goes in. "We'll work something out, ok? And anyway, this might not be what we think. There might just be a clerical issue that needs to be cleared up or something."

I know it's a lame attempt at optimism, even as I'm saying it. He doesn't look at me, just gives one last defeated nod, and then he turns and walks stiffly through the swinging door.

I wait around for a while, fidgeting and pacing. It feels like he's in there forever, but it's probably only been a few minutes. My head is going in circles, and I need to be able to think clearly. If I wait around here I'm going to go out of my mind. I need a distraction. Neither of us has eaten anything today, and things always look better on a full stomach, so I decide to go get us some brunch.

The local food court is just around the corner from campus, so I head over there. They do those waffles and chicken Mal pretends not to like, so I order some of them and then dither over the rest of the menu. When I'm stressed I like to eat, and right now my body is craving sugar, salt, fat, and grease, in equal measures.

Five minutes later I come out balancing four cartons in one hand: waffles, pancakes with extra bacon, French toast, and a breakfast wrap. Even if Mal doesn't want the waffles there's gotta be something in here he'll eat. In the other hand I polish off a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich, licking the egg yolk from my fingers, and my stomach grumbles appreciatively as the grease gets to work.

I already feel better, my head clearer, and my outlook more optimistic. Maybe it's the egg and cheese talking, but everything is going to be ok. We're going to work this out. Even if Mal has to drop out of college and his dad kicks him out of his house, he's not going back with him. Mal can stay with me. It'll take a little getting used to for him, moving from a mansion to my dorm room, but I'll make it work. And outside of term time my family will put him up. Sure, their house isn't great, but it's got to be better than living with that asshole of a dad. And I know my folks would love to meet him.

I smile to myself as I lick the last of the grease off my thumb. Yeah, it's going to be fine.

I make my way back through the crowded food court, checking my phone for any update from Mal, when someone speaks behind me.

"It's North, right?"

I turn around.

Patrick Blackwood is standing behind me.

The difference between him and Mal after last night is stark. This morning Mal was crumpled, tired, and pale. He looked defeated and beaten down, an absolute mess compared to his usual self.

Patrick's suit is neat and perfectly pressed, his hair is styled and slicked back. He looks like he's just had the best night's sleep of his life. Like ruining his son's life isn't a big deal. And I just have to say it's a good thing my hands are full right now or they'd be around his goddamn neck.

"What are you doing here?" I say. "You can't intimidate me."

"Then that makes you as dumb as you look," he says smoothly.

"I know what you've been doing to Mal his whole life, and it stops right fucking now."

He laughs humorlessly. "I don't know what Malcolm's told you, but I highly doubt any of it is true. He's always been somewhat overdramatic. He likes to exaggerate. I guess he enjoys the attention."

God, this fucking guy. I want to smash his face into the ground, but I promised Mal I wouldn't do anything. I promised. And that's the only thing holding me back. Still, I adjust my grip on the food cartons as my knuckles itch.

I won't do anything rash, but I can't stop myself from saying, "Did it make you feel big beating up a kid?" I can barely speak, my jaw is clenched so hard. "Can't take on people your own size? People like you disgust me. You're a coward."

His face deadpans, like he's heard all of this before and he's tired as hell of hearing it.

"I gave everything to him. I have worked tirelessly to provide everything he could possibly need and more. And I don't ask for a fucking thing in return. Just some goddamn respect and appreciation."

People like him will never learn. They will never realize or accept that what they do is wrong.

"You don't deserve respect," I spit.

Patrick curls his lip. "I've been around far longer than you, kid, and I know your type exactly." He steps closer to me, so cocky and sure of himself, and my conviction to keep my promise wavers dangerously. "The hillbilly freeloader who just can't help himself when he sees a pathetic guy like my son with money to spend. I'll bet Malcolm was an easy target huh? Weak-minded, willing to do whatever you wanted for a piece of ass?"

"Mal is the least weak-minded person I have ever met, you sack of shit. You know absolutely nothing about him."

He stares at me with a possessive gleam in his eye that turns my stomach. "I raised him. If you think I'm going to let you ruin my son's life any more than he already has, you're mistaken. I know exactly how to deal with people like you."

That fires off in my head and I shift my stance. But he just snorts and reaches into his pocket. "I didn't get where I am today by being dumb. I'm not here for a fight." He pulls something out. A checkbook. Then produces a pen from his other pocket and clicks it. "How much?"

I blink at him, totally blindsided. "What?"

He looks at me like I'm a fucking idiot, and gestures with his pen. "How much to leave my son alone?"

It still takes me far too long to figure out what he means. I was ready for some kind of threat and now he's . . . offering me money? I try to back up, but the mental gear change has me spinning. He can't be saying what I think he's saying.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you fucking dumb?" He raises his voice and enunciates each word, shooting it out like a bullet. "How much money will it take for you to end it with my son? End it, dump him, whatever, I don't fucking care, but just keep the fuck away from him. I don't know what you've done to make him act like this, but it stops now."

He's offering to pay me money to break up with his son. To break up with Mal.

The thought makes me sick. After what he's been through, something like that would absolutely destroy him.

And I know, after everything that Mal has told me, after everything I've seen with my own eyes, I know I shouldn't be shocked that Patrick would do something like this, that he would sink this low.

What kind of father would do that to his own son? But the answer is right in front of me, waving his pen and checkbook in my face like I'm the dumbest person he's ever met. The kind that sees his own son as a possession, like something he owns, and not a human being at all.

"Do you understand how much damage that would do to him?" I say.

"He'll get over it."

"It'll destroy him."

He snorts. And it dawns on me that he actually doesn't care. He doesn't care if it would break Mal's heart, because that's exactly what he wants. He wants Mal to be alone and broken so he can control him, so he'll go home with Patrick without putting up a fight. That's what he decided needed to happen when Malcolm said no to him.

And then he says, quietly, flippantly, "Not as much as I will."

I see red.

Everything moves in slow motion. The food cartons hit the ground. Waffles, bacon, and pancakes spill across the ground.

My shoulder connects hard with his stomach in a low tackle. He folds around me with a satisfying oof of air.

The checkbook and pen fly off in opposite directions as he goes down under my full weight and crashes to the floor.

Then everything speeds up into a blur of furious motion as my body takes over. My brain doesn't process any thoughts, just the need to take out Mal's pain on this monster. To make him feel as bad as he's made Mal feel his whole life.

I get my knees around his chest and straddle him with his arms pinned, so he can't defend himself. Just like Mal couldn't defend himself.

Slamming my fists into his face again and again, my body jolts with each impact, sending splintering force up my arms that makes my blood sing.

He struggles, trying to squirm out from under me, but I'm two hundred pounds of pure fury and muscle, and he's nothing but an overgrown bully.

I grit my teeth and keep on going until there's blood smeared across my hands.

Someone calls my name from a distance, but it barely registers through the red haze.

Patrick's nose crunches under my knuckles and blood gushes out. His eyes are round and wide and I drink it in like it's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted.

Hands pull at me, hooking under my armpits, and I fight them, desperate for more. I manage one last punch before I'm pulled away, panting.

He slithers back away from me, clutching at his face, fear painted all over him. Fierce pleasure surges through me at the sight.

"Don't like it when they fight back?" I growl. "Stay away from Mal, or I will fucking end you, you abusive piece of shit."

The red haze fades and I finally take in my surroundings again. There's a crowd of silent faces watching us. I recognize Randy, Paul, and a few other people from college among them. Randy is next to me, holding onto me tightly with his arms under mine and wrapped around my chest like I might surge back in for round two. And I just might.

"What the fuck, man?" he says.

Patrick struggles to his feet and he looks like he's about to run away, but then he turns back, the fear drains from his eyes and they light with hatred.

"You've just made a huge fucking mistake you little shit," he says, and spits blood on the ground. "I've got the best fucking lawyers money can buy. I hope you enjoy prison food because that's where you're gonna be for the next fifteen years."

As if summoned by his words, the flash of police sirens echoes around the buildings. The last of the red fades away.

Oh shit. What have I done?

Patrick smiles, and there's blood on his teeth. "Good luck trying to make bail with your trailer-trash family."