FIVE YEARS EARLIER
I know something is wrong from the moment I wake up the next morning. My wrist is swollen and throbbing, and I’m flinching in pain every time I so much as flex a finger. I’m in agony as I get dressed, and I feel sick at the thought of heading downstairs for breakfast. There is no possible way to hide the band-aid on my forehead from Mom, so as I force my battered body down the staircase one step at a time, I begin to rack my brain for a new excuse, one that I’ve never used before. I can’t tell her I fell down the stairs again, because there’s no way I’m that clumsy.
My teeth chatter as I stand in the hall, not because it’s cold, but because I’m scared to walk into the kitchen. I can hear Dad’s voice now, gentle and soft as he talks to Mom. Chase is laughing. Why do they all get to be so happy?
With bated breath, I muster up the courage to enter the kitchen. Mom has her back to me, raiding the cutlery drawer, and my brothers and Dad are sitting at the table. None of them knew how angry he was last night, how uncontrollable he was. He’s so calm now, slouched back in his chair with a content smile on his lips and a cup of coffee in his hand. When I walk in, his verdant eyes flash over to meet mine, and that smile disappears. I stop breathing as he runs his eyes over me, and as he looks at that band-aid on my forehead, I can see the muscle in his jaw twitch. His eyes pool with guilt and he drops his gaze to his lap.
“What have you done now, Tyler?” Mom asks as she turns around. I glance over at her, my breath still caught in my throat, and she is frowning with a hand on her hip as she points a spoon at my forehead.
“I slipped getting out of the shower last night,” I tell her. I’m lying straight through my teeth, and I’ve learned that I’m an incredible actor, because even my own mom can’t tell. “I hit my head on the sink. No big deal,” I mumble. Dad still has his head down, his eyes on the floor. I sit down at the table next to Jamie.
“I’ve never known anyone to have such bad luck as you do, Tyler,” Mom comments with the hopeless roll of her eyes. She sets some toast down on the table and runs her hand through my hair. She always does that.
“When did your wrist get so fat?” Jamie asks. I glance sideways at him, and he’s staring wide-eyed at my swollen wrist with morbid curiosity.
Dad’s eyes flicker up to look at me. His expression slowly floods with horror and he sits up in his chair. I’m just about to hide my wrist under the table when Mom grabs my shoulder, leaning over me.
“Oh my God!” she gasps, her lips parting. She stares down at my wrist in alarm and her eyes dilate with worry. “What have you done?”
“It’s fine,” I say. Quickly, I shove my arm under the table, out of sight from my parents, but the sudden movement sends a new shockwave of pain cutting through my arm. I flinch in agony and glance down. The more I look at my wrist, the more it does look funny. It looks almost bent, but it can’t be broken. Not again.
“No, it’s clearly not fine, Tyler,” Mom says, and she swivels around and grabs her phone from the countertop, frantically pressing numbers. “I’m calling Dr. Coleman,” she states, her eyes on her phone. “We’re getting that checked out. No school for you today.” She holds her phone up to her ear as it rings, anxiously chewing her lip as she looks at me again. “It looks so inflamed! Did it get infected or something?”
“I want to see it!” Chase says. Excitedly, he slides off his chair and walks around the table, leaning in against me as he tries to peer down at my wrist under the table. Reluctantly, I hold it up a little, and he stares at it in fascination. I don’t think he would be so amazed if he knew it was Dad that caused it.
“Don’t you have a court case this morning?” I hear Dad quietly ask Mom. With both Jamie and Chase checking out my wrist, I steal a look at him. His elbows are propped on the table now as he leans forward, his hands interlocked. His voice is softer than usual, but he’s also guiltier than usual.
“Shoot. I do,” Mom breathes. With her phone still to her ear, still ringing, she rubs at her temple with her free hand.
“I’ll take him,” Dad tells her. “Don’t worry. It’s a slow day at the office anyway. They’ll manage without me.”
Mom’s shoulders sink with relief and they share a nod of agreement. Someone seems to answer the call then, because Mom says, “Dr. Coleman’s office, please,” and leaves the kitchen to get some silence.
I don’t know why Dad is offering to be the one to take me to see Dr. Coleman. I think it’s the guilt, but I really don’t want to be alone with him today after everything that happened last night. I’m more afraid of him than ever, and now I’m worried that he’s going to be mad at me again for drawing attention. I try to meet his eyes, to figure out if it’s going to be another one of his bad days, but he already has his face buried into his hands.