At the Right Time

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Maxwell ~ Four and a half years ago

My baby sister is back at school after staying with us for the weekend. My mom tried to talk her into staying here, but even as a kid, I think Sophie knows she needs a little piece of normalcy. My mom also decided to pay for an on-campus therapist. Hopefully she can heal.

My mom said Sophie can begin to stay with us on the weekends, and that we can legally work out something with my biological father.

I haven't told her there will be no need for that.

It's just after midnight, and since it's a school and work night, everyone is asleep.

The perfect time to finish what I started Friday night.

I'm holding Rylie, listening to the soft pattern of her breathing. This might be the last time I ever hold her, but I know what I need to do. If I end up behind bars, so be it.

"I love you, Ryles." I whisper, leaning up to my elbow and caressing her cheek. "No matter what. I will always love you."

"Mm." She murmurs. "I love you."

I slide out of her bed, heading over to my room so I can get dressed. I put on black pants and a black hoodie, then leave my phone on the nightstand. Rule number one to committing a crime—don't have your trackable cellphone with you.

I quietly go downstairs, sliding into my car and leaving the headlights off until I'm backed out of the driveway.

On the way to my dad's house, I breathe in a controlled manner, keeping the last shred of sanity I have. I can't lose it yet. I have to do what I need to do and then I can go crazy.

Pulling up to his house sends chills down my spine. Tonight has been a long time coming. It's something I've dreamed of since the first time he hit me.

Thing is, I probably wouldn't of ever went through with it. When he touched my baby sister, and then the love of my life? That's unforgivable.

I use my key to get inside, listening for any sign he's still awake. I'm never here on weeknights, but from the way I've heard him talk, it seems like he only gets a few hours of sleep even when he's got to be at work in the morning.

As I turn the corner, I still hear nothing but the humming of the appliances in the kitchen and the AC unit pumping cool air through the already bone-chilling house.

I walk into his room, slightly happy to find him sleeping. That gives me the element of surprise.

I'm not a coward. My dad will be awake when I beat the shit out of him, but I like having a second to gather my thoughts.

He looks weak lying there, like maybe in another life he would've been a great dad. One that taught his kids how to play baseball and took them to the beach during the summer. A dad who would tell us funny stories and take videos of every big milestone.

That's not who my father is. He'd rather drown himself in alcohol and take out his regrets on me. And he might not have raised me right, but he did teach me one thing: I'm fucking strong, and no one, not even him anymore, can walk all over me.

"You know..." I plop down on the bed near his feet, talking despite him not being conscious. "You should have known this day was coming old man."

He rustles a little, but his eyes stay closed.

"I've been dreaming about this day since I was a kid. Guess what?" I lean down close to his face and whisper, "I'm not a kid now."

"You've been plotting, huh?"

My father's sleepy, but ever-menacing voice startles me, but I don't jump. The goal was to wake him up. I just didn't think he'd wake so easily. I had more to say.

Instead of answering, I bring my balled fist back and slam it down onto his face.

He grunts and attempts to rise from the bed. I use that to my advantage and stand, using my force to push him back down. It feels good. Maybe I'm a monster, but the way my knuckles pop and his skin splits is the most fucking satisfying thing I've ever felt.

"I fucking hate you!" I spew, "You're worthless. A piece of shit." I avoid his attempt to hit me and throw another punch. This one connects with his nose and I hear a crack cut through the air like music to my ears.

"That how you feel son? Look at you. You're no better than me."

Even with a busted nose and two eyes bruising as we speak, the motherfucker knows how to strike my nerves.

I stop to gather a breath. My heart is pounding against my ribcage and adrenaline swooshes through my ears.

"Look at you." He grimaces as he sits up, still managing an arrogant smirk on his face. "You think you're better than me. That you can play God and serve justice? Look at you son, you look just like me right now."

I turn my attention to my form. My shoulders are squared and my jaw is taught. I'm standing as if I'm ten feet tall.

I do look like him.

I stumble backwards, attempting to calm my breathing. I want justice, but I don't want to turn into my own worst enemy.

I look exactly like what my nightmares as a child were made of.

Turning my back to him, I grip at the ends of my hair as I walk out his bedroom door. I need to go home. I need to hold Rylie. I need to be the best older brother to my two sisters that I can be. I don't need to get even with my father to move on with my life.

All that bullshit about being the bigger man? Maybe it's true. When I look at my reflection, I don't want to see anything close to the man I despise.

My feet hit the stairs and my breathing has finally begun to steady. I'm ready to get the hell out of here.

But a sound stops me in my tracks. The safety of a gun being clicked off.

I turn slowly, preparing myself for what I'm about to see.

"I don't appreciate having somebody think they can put their hands on me."

In defeat, I put my hands up. I didn't even know he owned a gun.

"That's right, kid." A humorless laugh crackles in his chest. "Go down the stairs and then get on your knees."

My mind is racing with solutions, but I comply. All I know is that I need to get out of here and back to my girl.

I should want to cry, or fight. I should be doing anything except listening to him, but I'm numb. I don't feel a thing.

The hardwood floor is cold through my jeans as I sink down. I hear my dad's agonizingly slow footsteps coming one at a time. He's toying with me. He wants me to shit my pants.

I want to turn around and watch him, but I'm scared that'll set him off. Instead, I tense my body and wait for the blow.

I wonder if I'll see Heaven. Or will it just be black? Will Rylie cry for me? My sisters?

My father takes the last couple of stairs, and my fight or flight kicks in. A surge of adrenaline rushes through my veins like a drug.

Fuck my prior thoughts. I'm not going to die tonight.

Using the advantage of me having already roughed him up a bit, I abruptly hop to my feet. Spinning, with no real plan, I lunge for the gun.

I knock it out of his hand but don't manage to grab it. The metal hits the floor with a thud. I dash for it, as does he.

A kick to my head knocks my vision blurry, but I still manage to grasp the metal.

He's on top of me, wrestling me for the weapon.

Blindly, I pull the trigger.