You've Found Oliver (You've Reached Sam, #2)(5)

“Then you might as well be Fred,” I say back.

Everyone laughs.

“Where’s Julie, by the way?” Sarah asks.

“She’s visiting her dad in Seattle,” Sam answers.

People are moving toward the living room, where a game of beer pong is being set up. As Sam and I head over to watch, my phone vibrates. There’s a long text from my mom. I pause for a second to read it. Unfortunately, there’s something going on at home. I had a bad feeling when I left. There’s been some issues with my stepdad lately. I was hoping things would get better at some point. I send her a reply, letting her know I’m on the way. Then I turn to Sam. “Do you mind if I borrow your car?”

“What for?” he asks.

“I have to go home for a minute.”

“Is something wrong?”

I don’t really want to discuss it, but Sam knows enough about the situation to guess for himself. “I just have to go home really quick,” I say.

“Okay, I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No, I’m going with you,” he insists.

Sam takes out his keys. Then we head outside and get in the car. I toss my cape in the back seat as he starts the engine. Thankfully, it’s not a long drive to my house. I’m nervous as we pull up to the driveway. My stepdad’s truck is parked in the garage, meaning he’s still at home. I tell Sam to wait in the car, but he follows me anyway.

“Seriously, just stay here.”

“I’m going in with you,” he keeps saying.

I take a deep breath and open the front door. There’s some clothes lying around, but nothing out of the ordinary. Then I notice a broken dish on the floor.

“Mom? Are you home?”

There’s a silence before their bedroom door opens. Mom comes out, carrying a small bag. My stepdad shouts something from inside the room.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Mom shakes her head and whispers, “It’s nothing, Oliver.” She sets the bag on the table and places her wallet inside.

“Then what is he yelling about?”

“Please ignore him, okay? Just help me get my things.”

That’s when I understand what’s happening. They must have had another fight. I exchange a look with Sam. Part of me is glad he’s here now. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you pack,” I say.

I walk her back to the room, where my stepdad is sitting on the bed, watching television. He turns his head toward us, the ceiling fan oscillating above him. I’ve rarely come into their room while he’s here.

“You don’t knock?” he sneers.

I don’t say anything. Neither does Mom as she crosses the room and retrieves another bag from the closet.

“Where do you think you’re going with that?”

She ignores him, grabbing some clothes from the dresser.

“You better answer when I’m talking.”

I hate the sound of his voice. And the way he speaks to her. I don’t know what the argument was about, but it doesn’t matter right now. When he rises from the bed, my stomach tenses. He’s not a big guy by any means, so he uses his voice to fill the room.

“Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever snapped at him.

“Oliver,” Mom shushes me.

“You need to watch that boy. And you’re not going anywhere.” The moment he grabs her bag, something takes over me. I step forward and push him away from her. A lamp falls over as he stumbles to the floor. He looks up at me in shock.

As he rises to his feet, Sam puts himself between us, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s help your mom get her things,” he says calmly.

But my stepdad isn’t nearly as calm. He grabs the lamp and throws it against the mirror, shattering the glass.

My blood boils. I shout at him, “You think I’m scared of you?”

“Why don’t you get out!” he shouts.

“Gladly! I never wanted to live here.”

“Take your mom with you and don’t bother coming back.” He turns to her. “You see what you did? Because you keep walking in front of the TV and blocking the game.”

That’s when it hits me. “Is that what this is about? The stupid television again?” This isn’t the first time he’s yelled at her for blocking his view or accidently changing the channel. One time he even threw a plate of food at her. My mom denied it, but I heard it hit the wall from my room.

“You better watch who you’re talking to,” he says.

“I’m talking to an asshole, that’s who.”

“Get the hell out of my house!”

Sam stays between us, making sure nothing happens. Eventually, my mom finishes packing and zips up her bags.

“Please, let’s go, boys,” she says. Sam picks up her bag and walks her to the door.

“I hope you enjoy sleeping on the street,” he spits at her.

I clench my first, turning to Sam. “Take my mom to the car,” I whisper.

“Oliver…”

“Just do it.”

Sam presses his lips tight. Then he takes her out of the room. I’ll probably regret this later. But the anger I’ve built up over the last four years breaks like a dam. I grab the golf club he keeps behind the dresser and smash it into the television screen. Then I toss it to the floor. “There. Problem solved.”