Collateral Damage (From the Damage) (5 page)

“The Alex thing…I can shrug it off. I’ve learned to be without him by now. Gage is the one who gets to me. I understand, given everything he’s been through, but I wish he would let me in. I just keep wondering what it would be like if he did.”

“Maybe it’s just not the right time yet,” Meagan offered. Perking up, she added, “I know exactly what we both need.”

“You do?” Kelly asked suspiciously.

“A girl’s night. Complete with makeovers and chick flicks, maybe even some junk food.” Smiling, she tilted her head. “You in?”

Kelly nodded and grinned. “That sounds perfect.”

***

Ryder

***

Carrying a bucket of water and basket of cleaning supplies, Ryder followed Principal Wood around to the side of the school. Behind them, Shane Rivers followed, dragging his feet with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Thank you for volunteering to help us out on such a sunny Saturday,” the principal said with a smug smile.

“Wait, this a volunteer thing?” Shane spoke up. “See ya.”

“Not so fast, Mr. Rivers,” Wood said, grabbing Shane by the shirt as he tried to bail. “I was only joking. You’re stuck here until five o’clock.”

Shane groaned, jerking out of the older man’s grasp.

Stopping in front of some graffiti painted on the side of the school building, he said, “I trust neither of you know anything about this artwork.”

Ryder shook his head. “They’re gang symbols is all I know.”

Shane merely shrugged and leaned against the wall.

Principal Wood sighed wearily. “Gangs. School shootings. What’s next? Back in my day, Southport used to be a sleepy little town. Now the whole place is going straight to hell.”

“Let me guess,” Shane said around a sleepy yawn. “It’s all because of today’s misguided youth.”

“Something
like that,” he replied. “I want it all gone. If soap doesn’t work, get some paint from the janitor. Find me when you’re finished and we’ll find something else for you two to do.”

He left the boys to their work, and Ryder dropped the bucket of water and cleaning supplies to the pavement. He grabbed a sponge, soaked it in some water, and started scrubbing. After a minute, he looked over at Shane.

Still leaned against the wall, the slacker looked out across the courtyard. Ryder grabbed a sponge and tossed it to him.

“Come on, man,” Shane groaned. “It’s your fault we’re even stuck in here on a Saturday.”

“My fault?” Ryder scoffed. “You started the fight and you know it.”

“You threw the first punch.” Shane started scrubbing at the symbol painted on the wall.

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t start it.”

“Right, I forgot. The
Hero
never does anything wrong.”

“I’m no hero.” Scrubbing harder, he managed to make the paint fade a little. “I wish everyone would quit saying that.”

After about a minute of work, Shane dropped the sponge to the pavement and sat down. “That paint ain’t going anywhere, man.”

Still, he kept trying. What else was there to do?

Shane reached into his pocket, pulled something out and lit it. After a second, the smell of pot grabbed Ryder’s attention and he turned a disbelieving glare to the guy.

“Are you kidding me? You brought a joint to detention?” Ryder turned away. “You’re going to get us both expelled.”

“What, you’re not doing it,” then he added with a raised eyebrow, “are you?”

“You think Wood’s going to believe that?” Ryder ditched the sponge and grabbed a scrub brush. “He won’t.”

“Well, if you can’t beat ‘em…” Shane held the joint out.

Ryder shook his head. “Not my thing.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t tell me you never tried the stuff. You used to sell it.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Not even a year,” Shane corrected, blowing a large cloud of smoke out. He stopped talking long enough to cough and hack for a minute. “And you act so high-and-mighty. Some of us still remember who you used to be, bro.”

Ryder kept scrubbing, but like the stains of his past, the paint refused to wash away.

“So, can I ask you something?” Shane said, leaning his head back against the wall as he continued to smoke.

When Ryder didn’t answer, Shane took it as a cue to go ahead.

“What’s up with you and Seth? From what I hear, you’ve really got it out for the guy.”

“Because, he’s dangerous and nobody will admit it,” Ryder said. “How do you even know him, anyway?”

Shane shrugged. “The guy’s got a coke habit. Rings my cell at least twice a week.”

“Well, that explains his temper.”

“I’m just asking because, if you wanted to fight him, I know a way.”

“
You know a way
?” Ryder repeated, laughing. “I don’t need an excuse to fight him. Violence doesn’t solve anything.”

“Sure, Gandhi,” Shane chuckled,
then kept laughing like this was hilarious. “You might be all peace-and-unity, but word on the street is he wants to kick your ass.”

“He can try.”

“Put up or shut up, tough guy.” Shane took one last hit off the joint and put it out with his fingertips. “Every Saturday night, people meet out on the west side of the lake. Near those abandoned factories. It’s a fighting game.”

Giving up on the graffiti, Ryder dropped the scrub brush into the basket and turned to Shane. “A fighting game?”

“No cops, no weapons. That’s the only rule. And let me tell you man, it’s primal. There’s nothing like it.” Shane’s eyes were puffy and squinted from the buzz, and he talked excitedly. “I  mean, the crowd. The blood. People beating each other senseless. It’s
awesome
.”

“Yeah, sounds like a blast,” Ryder said sarcastically.

“You gotta be there to understand,” he explained. “20 bucks gets you in the audience. 50 gets you in the ring. And Seth wants you in the ring. Winner takes all the money.”

“Forget it,” he said, turning back to examine the graffiti. “He wants to fight me he can do it the old-fashioned way.”

Shane shrugged. “Just passing the message along.”

“Tell him I’m not interested.”

“It’s your own fault he hates you, really,” Shane said. “Moving in on his girl and all.”

Ryder turned, gawking at his former friend. “Are you serious? That’s what he’s been saying?”

He nodded.

“First of all, he and Meagan were never dating,” he exclaimed. “And second, we’re just friends. And third, if you want a girl to like you, you don’t try to kill her!” He stopped, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering telling you this.”

Shane looked up. “Did he really try to kill her?”

“Why don’t you ask him? But I doubt he’ll tell you the truth.” Ryder headed for the side entrance. “I’m gonna go find some paint. Try not to get us expelled while I’m gone.”

***

Kay

***

By the time Kay arrived home after visiting Alex and working her shift at Jill’s Grill, the sun was setting. Already, her house looked so dark. The small lamp in the living room gave a dim light, and the other windows were black.

Kay let herself in the front door and walked into the living room. The house was so quiet, and no smells of food—just booze and sweat. Looking over, she saw her dad doing front-clap pushups between the coffee table and the TV.

His dog tags dangled from his neck, and the only sound in the room was the steady clap-land, clap-
land rhythm. Those strong and deadly muscles in his arms rippled and flexed with the movements and his back was perfectly straight and stiff beneath the fabric of his black wife-beater.

Looking around, she didn’t see any sign of her mom. The house was too dark for her to be there, since her dad was the one who like to sulk around in the shadows.
She wondered if she should interrupt him. If she made him lose his momentum, he’d get angry. Cautiously, she asked, “Where’s Mom?”

“She left,” he said, without missing a beat of his exercise.

Of course, she thought bitterly. She probably bailed because she didn’t believe Kay would keep her mouth shut about the affair, and didn’t want to be around for the fallout. Trying to fight off the feeling of immense, consuming disappointment, she mumbled, “I’m just going to take a shower.”

Turning, she walked over to the staircase. Not so fast he’d think she was trying to run away from him, but fast enough so hopefully she’d be upstairs by the time her tears fell.

He waited until her hand was on the banister, and her foot on the first step, before he said, “Kay.”

At the sound of his stern, demanding voice, she froze, every muscle going stiff with alertness and tension. Swallowing hard, she tried to seem calm and unafraid as she turned to face him. “Yes?”

Standing from his push-ups, he stretched his arms above his head as he turned to her. “Come here.”

She took a few steps forward, until she was standing by the edge of the couch.

He walked toward her, each step loud in the quiet house. Reaching forward, he picked an envelope up off the table.

“Your bank statement came today.” He held it out to her. “I circled a couple…
suspicious
charges. Why don’t you take a look?”

She didn’t bother to comment on the fact he’d opened her mail, or looked through personal financial information. He’d only claim he was her father and it was his right. So, remaining silent, she did as he said and pulled out the bank statement. Feeling all the blood drain from her face when she saw the circled charge.

“Forty bucks a week to Southport Self-Defense. Tell me, Kay, what have you learned?” He spoke in a tone that made her feel like the dumbest girl alive. And his dark brown eyes peered into hers, studying, analyzing, mocking. “Learned how to protect yourself from scary men?”

“Apparently not,” she whispered, and let the paper fall back to the table.  

He gave a smug chuckle as he walked over to get a drink of his beer. “I
have
wondered where that attitude’s been coming from. The talking back,
fighting
back. Seeing that boy after I specifically told you not to.”

“Dad, he’d just been hit by a—”

“I’m not finished,” he snapped. He downed the beer, cracked open another and started walking toward her again. “You know the first thing they taught me when I enlisted? Go ahead. Guess.”

“Brutality?”

He laughed. “There’s that attitude again.” All humor vanished from his face, leaving only that stone-cold soldier. “Obedience.”

She looked away, knowing where this was going, but he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. It was everything she could do not to squirm, or flinch or pull away.

“You followed orders or people died. Or
you
could die. You had to trust that your superiors knew what they were talking about.” His hold on her chin tightened. “So, when I tell you not to see somebody, I expect you to listen. When I tell you to do something, you do it. End. Of. Story. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Where’s your respect? Yes
what
?”  

Her face immobilized by his grip, she tried to keep from shaking, but didn’t bother to hide her bitterness and disdain as she said, “Yes,
sir
.”

He let go with a shove and she backed up, but he held his hand up, motioning for her to stop. “Now, about these classes.”

“Dad, I’m sorry, I—”

He set his beer bottle on the coffee table with a loud thud. “You want to learn how to fight, Kay?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“Really? Cuz forty bucks a week tells a different story.” He started cracking his knuckles, one at a time, each POP ringing through the air like a gunshot. “If you want to learn how to fight, I’ll teach you.”

“No,” she said. When he narrowed his eyes at her, she added, “sir.”

“Oh, come on. Where’s that bravery now? Where’s that attitude?”

She just stood there, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get out of this. Wishing she could reach her car before he caught her.

Suddenly, his arms shot out and grabbed her. Twisting one arm behind her back, pinning the other to her stomach, he pulled her against his chest and held her there. “They teach you how to get out of this one?” his voice was mean and gruff against her ear. “Come on! Show me what you got!”

She attempted to stomp on his foot, but he slid it to the side. Struggling, she tried to wrestle out of his grip, but the pain shooting through her arms kept her from moving much. Bringing her legs up, she kicked off the couch and they both tumbled backward onto the coffee table. It cracked and broke under their weight, and before she could scramble free, he grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the floor.

“What are you going to do, Kay?” he taunted. “Go running to one of your boyfriends? Or that counselor? Yeah, your mom let that slip, too. You think you’re so abused? So miserable?”