Ethan's POV (Bonus Book)

Chapter Twelve - Ethan's POV

"Dad, dad, dad," I called as I raced through the playground.

 Stumbling to a stop in front of the bench my dad was sat on, I fought back my breath. My dad lowered his newspaper and looked over at me with an easy smile on his face, his vibrant blue eyes a mirror against my own. 

The minute he took in my tear-faced expression, his smile fell swiftly from his face. With a furrowed brow, he shuffled to the end of the bench and brought himself down to my eye level.

 "Hey, what's wrong, Ethan? Why are you crying? You're a big six-year-old boy now; you shouldn't be crying," he said, his concerned eyes rocking back and forth between mine.

 Desperately trying to control my wobbling lip, I swiped a frustrated arm over my eyes to wipe away my tears. 

"A-a boy, pushed me, Daddy. I was standing at the top of the climbing frame, and he pushed me right off. He made me cut open my knee, Daddy, look," I cried as I pointed to the newly formed gash peeking out through the tear in my jeans.

My dad's eyes fell to my knee, and a hardened look washed through his eyes before his gaze returned to mine. 

"Which boy, was it?" He asked sternly. 

 I turned around and scoured the playground long and hard for the boy in question.

"He's the tall ginger boy over there," I said, pointing over to where he stood by the swing set.

 Narrowing his eyes, my dad rose sharply to his feet. "Come on, Ethan, let's meet this boy." Then with a gentle hand on my back, he led the two of us over to him.

As we drew closer, the horrible ginger boy looked our way and his eyes set on mine tauntingly. Immediately, my fear returned, and I ducked cowardly behind my father's legs. 

"Brought your Daddy with you now, Ethan? Pathetic," the mean boy laughed.

As my lip wobbled once more, my dad cleared his throat. 

"Is your mother or father here, boy?" My father asked the ginger boy smoothly, his eyes never leaving his once.

The boy let out an ugly snort. "No, of course not. I'm eight, not three; I don't need my parents here with me," he spat out rudely.

Just like that, my father's lip curved up into the smallest of smiles. "I was hoping you would say that," he chuckled.

Then before I got so much of a chance to blink, my father lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of the boy's collar and nearly swung him off his feet. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as I watched the boy wiggle furiously in my father's grip.

 "Let me go, let me go," the boy wailed. 

I stared on with widened eyes, not knowing what to do. I looked around nervously, to see if anyone was watching but nobody was. The playground was empty.

Still wearing a calm expression, my dad swung the boy sharply around to face me. Then he smiled. 

"Hit him, Ethan," he encouraged, nodding his head down to the boy. 

I shook my head and backed away a little, feeling unsure. "I-I can't," I mumbled.

"I said, hit him, Ethan," my dad said, his voice hitting slightly harder this time.

I looked over at the ginger boy, still struggling desperately in my father's grasp. 

"HIT HIM!" My dad yelled.