The Paths We Take [boyxboy]

The Paths We Take {4}

No one could say that Brett Kizziar hadn't tried to be a good father to his sons.

He'd been to every parent-teacher meeting, every open house at school, every event, every sports game, every chorus concert, every field trip. He volunteered regularly when the boys were in elementary school. He threw them nice birthday parties and invited all the other kids. He made sure he always had holidays off to spend with his family.

He'd been there nearly every single time Aaron or Bruce had ever been to the principal's office, or made a meeting to talk about it later. He'd always kept close contact with their teachers to know how they were behaving and how their grades were.

When Aaron first started acting up as a child, Brett had put him on a hockey team, then a soccer team, and then a lacrosse team. Aaron was kicked off of all the teams, and coaches didn't want him anymore, so Brett tried taking matters into his own hands, only to give up when he realized that Aaron would never cooperate.

He'd tried his best, and it had worked better with Bruce than with Aaron. His wife, Nicole Kizziar, wasn't the best mother in the world, but she wasn't the worst. She was quiet, withdrawn, and would rather leave the parenting up to Brett, but she stepped in if she needed to.

We walked into the Kizziar house and were met by Nicole. She was just taking pills as we entered the kitchen. She suffered from depression, and sometimes she could be friendly, but she mostly had low points.

"Hi boys," she greeted, setting her pills back in the cabinet.

"Where's dad?" Bruce asked.

"He was in the garage," she said.

The door behind us suddenly banged open and we all turned around. Brett Kizziar stormed into the house and right up to Aaron. He shoved Aaron against the wall and yanked his backpack off, unzipping it and digging through it.

"Son of a bitch," he snarled as he yanked out the cigarettes. "I could smell it in the car, Aaron."

Aaron's features twisted into that dangerous smile and he pushed himself off the wall. "Hey, dad? Don't ever push me like that again, or I'll break your damn arms."

"You will not talk to me like that," Brett hissed, getting in Aaron's face. "You want to say that to me again, Aaron? Huh?"

"I. Will. Break. Your. Damn. Arms." Aaron's voice was slow and cheerful.

Brett backhanded him so hard that Bruce looked away. Aaron slowly brought his hand up to touch his face.

"Now that," he said, pointing at his father, "really sank my mood."

"And you disobeying me really sinks my damn mood, Aaron." Brett grabbed the back of Aaron's neck in an iron grip. "I ever catch you smoking again and I'll burn your hands with the lighter to teach you a listen, do you hear me?"

Aaron's body had tensed up, because this position meant his father was not screwing around and would be more than willing to hit him. He kept his face neutrally composed, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Do you hear me?" Brett tightened his hold on Aaron's neck and shook him.

"Hm? Were you talking?" Aaron looked up at his father.