Can anyone hear us?

8

"Please just respect him. He is a good man." I pleaded.

"Yeah and a quitter." He replied.

"Dad, you're a coach for a team. You're a dad. And a dad has to coach his family. But you aren't. Please just give him a chance." He seemed to be in deep thought.

"Fine, Elizabeth. But this is Aron's only chance."

A smile spread across my face. After minutes and minutes of trying to persuade my dad, I had finally won him over. Now he can give Aron a chance.

Aron.

His name remained in my thoughts. The last time I saw him, we argued with each other. I should call him.

I dialed his number twice but each time it didn't even ring-just went straight to voicemail. Maybe he has it off....

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"I can't give you any money."

"We'll see about that." My dad smirked and ripped my wallet from my pocket. He took everything I had in there.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

"So I can live." Was his response. He told me he didn't see my mom much anymore because they were splitting up. Good for her.

We were standing in the old kitchen in his house.

I couldn't take it anymore. Fury built up inside of me and I lunged at my dad, knocking him on his back to the floor. He struggled to get his hands free from my hands, but failed. I held his legs down with my knees.

"Stop struggling." I said. He chuckled.

"What do you think you're gonna do? Escape? I'll find you."

He had a point...

"Treat me like I'm you're son. They way you're supposed to."

"Aron, you know I can't do that. It's not my fault that I hate you. I never wanted a son, by you're mom did. I just wanted to make you happy. Then you came." He spat.

I punched him in the face, blood spurting from his cheekbone. He quickly but my wrist, and I was forced to let go so he didn't cut any further than he had into my skin. He pushed me forcefully against the wall, knocking the breath out of my lungs.

He turned around to get something off the counter when I dashed into the hallway, hoping to find a weapon. I ran into his room and frantically searched for something. Anything!

Not watching my back, my dad caught me off guard and tackled me. Hard. I crashed through the wall.

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I moved my head from side to side, my conscience returning. I slowly opened my eyes, taking in my surrounding. I was in my room on the floor. I felt a sharp pain on my head and touched it. Wincing, I raised my fingers to my eyes. Blood.

I got to my feet and walked over to the window to get an idea on what time it was. It was dark. Knowing I had to escape the house somehow, I decided now might be my only chance.

As carefully as I could, I opened the door to my room. It creaked slightly, but opened enough for me to get through. I tried to walk quietly, as if I was as light as a feather. Slowly I tip-toed down the stairs. I could hear the small television screen on and my dad was sleeping on the couch.

Miraculously I made it out of the house alive, and managed to check the time on a clock in the kitchen. It was 11:01.

I quickly walked to the field, hoping I wasn't too late. When I arrived, I saw two figures standing on the pitcher's mound.

As I walked closer, I could tell that it was Ted and Coach. Barely any light illuminated the field.

"Aron, what's goin' on?" Ted began. But the coach 'took over'.

"Aron you need to tell me what is going on or I will have no choice but to take this to the police."

"It's him." My voice barely made it out as a whisper when tears formed in my eyes. I thought about how I have to live with my dad. And one word made me tear up: forever.

"I'll kill him." Coach muttered under his breath.

"He is making me stay with him so he can get all of my money."

"You're hurt." Coach said as he saw blood matting down my hair.

"It's nothing."

"Did your dad do that?"

"Long story." I replied, not wanting to recall what happened.

"Come to my place. I'll get ya fixed up."

"There's gotta be a way to get rid of 'em." Ted said.

"I know a way." Coach began. He pulled us in closer, like someone might be listening, and told us his plan.

We walked to Coach's place, Ted helping me stay steady every time I stumbled from my concussion; at least, I hope it wasn't one. As we opened the door, his house had a nice vibe to it.

It was cozy and small, making you comfortable as soon as you step foot in it. A girl looked at us from a couch.

"Jack, what is going on?" She asked.

"Boys, this is my wife Mary." He replied. "Aron, sit on the couch." I did as he instructed.

Mary pulled Ted over to talk while Ted sat besides me.

"You gonna be ok? At your dads?" He asked.

"Yeah. This injury was my fault, anyway. I told him to respect me more and got myself into an argument. He tackled me through a wall."

"Jeez." He thought for a minute. "I'm worried 'bout ya."

"Don't be. During the argument I took my phone from my dad without him knowing. I will text you everything."

"You better. And show up at least an hour early for tomorrow's practice so I know your ok. As long as ya recover from that injury."

"Yeah yeah."

The coach walked into the living room.

"Mary is a doctor. She will help you." He said. I nodded my head.

"It isn't a concussion, just needs stitches." She said while examining my cut.

The stitches had hurt, but not as bad as my cut hurt. When she was done, I knew I had to go back to the house before my dad woke up, but I was too tired to think about it and fell asleep on the couch.