Chapter 1: Between a Mother and Her Son
That stupid boy. I'm not letting you kill that bastard.
Monica's thoughts screamed inside her head.
Her lips didn't move.
Her breathing came in short, painful bursts as she stared at the sixteen-year-old boy standing in the doorway, his backpack still hanging from one shoulder and a gun trembling in his right hand.
Curtis had one fist twisted into the sleeve of her blouse. His grip was so tight that the fabric pulled painfully against her arm.
"You're not walking away from me while I'm talking!"" Curtis snapped.
Monica tried to pull free.
"Let go of me, Curtis.""
Instead, he jerked her backward, nearly sending her hip-first into the edge of the kitchen table.
Then Malik appeared.
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
The afternoon sunlight came through the window of their Cleveland home, illuminating the dust floating above the living room carpet. A basketball game played quietly on the television. Malik's sneakers were still untied from his walk home.
But he wasn't looking at any of that.
He was looking at his mother's face.
At the red mark spreading across her cheek.
At the way Curtis was holding her.
And at the fear she was trying so desperately to hide.
"Mom?""
Curtis loosened his grip.
Monica saw the gun.
Her stomach dropped.
"Malik, no!""
She pulled her sleeve from Curtis's hand and immediately stepped between them.
Curtis released her completely and stumbled backward.
Monica spread both arms, positioning her body directly in front of her husband while keeping her face turned toward her son.
She wasn't looking at Curtis.
She wasn't checking whether he was hurt.
All she could see was Malik.
The boy she'd carried for nine months.
The little boy who used to sleep with his bedroom light on.
The teenager who still called her Mom when he was sick.
Now he was standing in her kitchen with a gun.
"Stay away from my mother!"" Malik shouted.
Curtis straightened his shirt behind Monica.
"This is my house!"" he barked.
"You don't come into my house pointing things at me!""
"Don't you touch him!"" Monica snapped.
Malik's eyes widened.
"He just hit you!""
Monica swallowed.
"Look at me, baby.""
"Mom, he hit you!""
"I know what you saw.""
"Then move!""
Curtis let out a contemptuous laugh.
"Your son has lost his damn mind.""
Monica whipped her head around.
"Don't talk to my son.""
Curtis stopped.
It was the first time that afternoon she'd spoken to him without fear in her voice.
But she immediately turned back toward Malik.
"Please," she whispered.
Malik's jaw tightened.
"You're protecting him?""
Monica extended one open hand.
She didn't approach him.
She didn't try to grab the gun.
"Put it down, sweetheart.""
"But, Mom—"
"Listen to me.""
Her eyes were filling with tears.
"I'm not letting you go to prison because of him.""
Malik froze.
For a moment, the anger in his face began to collapse.
He looked at his mother.
Then at the man standing behind her.
The gun remained in his hand, but his expression changed. He wasn't looking at Curtis like an enemy anymore.
He was looking at his mother like someone who had just told him something he couldn't understand.
"Come back to me, baby," Monica whispered.
A tear slipped down Malik's cheek.
His eyes dropped to her outstretched hand.
His arm moved slightly.
But the gun wasn't completely lowered.
And Monica didn't move.
Ten minutes earlier, Monica had been standing at that same kitchen counter, washing a coffee mug.
It had been an ordinary Thursday.
The smell of fried chicken from the previous night's dinner still lingered in the kitchen. A load of laundry sat waiting beside the hallway. On the refrigerator, a photograph showed Malik at his eighth-grade graduation, smiling with a missing front tooth.
Curtis had come home irritated.
Again.
"Where's my food?"" he'd demanded.
Monica glanced at the clock.
"It's in the microwave. I was waiting for you.""
"You were waiting for me?"" Curtis repeated.
"You couldn't put it on the table?""
"I just finished cleaning the kitchen.""
He opened the microwave and stared at the plate.
"This is cold.""
"I can warm it up.""
"Everything around here has to be done twice.""
Monica took the plate from him.
"Okay, Curtis.""
That was what she'd learned to say.
Okay.
Not because she agreed.
Because arguing with Curtis had become like throwing stones at a wall. Eventually, the stones came back.
He followed her toward the microwave.
"Did you pay the electric bill?""
"Yes.""
"With what money?""
"My paycheck.""
"Your paycheck?"" He laughed.
"You mean the money I give you to work with?""
Monica turned around.
"I work forty hours a week, Curtis.""
"And I pay most of the bills.""
"I never said you didn't.""
He stepped closer.
"Then stop acting like you do everything.""
Monica placed the plate inside the microwave.
Her fingers were shaking.
Curtis noticed.
"What's wrong with you?""
"Nothing.""
"Look at me when I'm talking.""
She turned.
His expression was hard.
"Malik needs to learn some respect," he said.
Monica sighed.
"He's sixteen. He's a good kid.""
"He's a mouthy kid.""
"He just got home from school. He's not even here.""
"That's exactly the problem. He thinks he can come and go whenever he wants.""
Monica closed the microwave.
"He's been going to school, coming home, and doing his homework. What more do you want?""
Curtis stared at her.
Then he reached for her arm.
"Watch your tone.""
She pulled away.
"Don't grab me.""
His face changed.
The slap came so quickly that Monica barely saw his hand move.
Her cheek burned.
For a few seconds, she couldn't hear anything except the ringing in her ears.
Curtis looked at her as if she had caused the incident herself.
"Now look what you made me do.""
Monica pressed her palm against her cheek.
And then she heard the front door.
Back in the kitchen, Malik was still standing in the doorway.
"Mom," he whispered.
Monica nodded.
"That's it. Just look at me.""
Curtis shifted behind her.
"Boy, you better put that thing down before you ruin your life.""
"Shut up!"" Malik shouted.
"Malik!"" Monica cried.
The teenager flinched at his mother's voice.
Curtis took advantage of the moment.
"See? That's what I'm talking about. Your mother can't even control you.""
Monica's stomach twisted.
"Stop provoking him.""
Curtis stared at her.
For once, he didn't have an immediate answer.
Monica kept her hand extended.
"Baby, breathe.""
Malik's chest rose and fell.
He looked sixteen.
Not dangerous.
Not powerful.
Just sixteen.
A frightened child who had walked into his own home and seen his mother being hurt.
"Mom," he whispered, "I can't let him do that to you.""
Monica's tears finally spilled.
"I know.""
"Then why are you standing in front of him?""
She struggled to answer.
Because she was afraid.
Because she knew what happened when Curtis felt cornered.
Because she knew what one terrible decision could do to her son's entire future.
And because she had already spent too many years watching Curtis take things from her.
She wasn't going to let him take Malik, too.
"Because I love you," she whispered.
Malik's hand trembled.
Then, somewhere outside, a car horn sounded.
Curtis glanced toward the front window.
And Monica noticed something that made her blood run cold.
Curtis wasn't looking at Malik anymore.
He was looking at the street.
May you like
As if he had just remembered someone was supposed to arrive.
Someone who wasn't supposed to see this.
