Chapter 2
His hands hit my jacket and didn't let go.
The weight of him coming down that hallway was still in his shoulders when he reached me. He grabbed a fistful of my henley at the chest and drove me back a half step, and my heel caught the edge of the rug in front of the sofa. I could smell beer and cold air on him, and the hallway light was still open behind him, a cool blue rectangle framing his long hair as he leaned in.
I had my hands up already. My right hand found his wrist where he held my shirt, my left went to his shoulder to keep him off. I could have hit him. His chin was right there, his mouth open and breathing hard, his beard close enough I could see it was damp from the night outside. My fist was already half-closed from the way I'd braced. It would have been one short strike.
I didn't take it.
Because Emma was still behind my legs.
She'd gone completely quiet when he grabbed me, and then I felt her small hands fisting the back of my jeans, pulling the denim tight against my calves. That pull was what stopped my arm. If I swung, I'd have to turn my weight forward. I'd have to leave her side open to him for even a second. I couldn't do it.
I locked my forearm instead and shoved, hard, trying to drive him back toward the hallway without opening myself up. He stumbled but his grip held and we turned a quarter turn together, my shoulder hitting the side table and rattling the lamp. The light swung and threw our shadows big against the bookshelf.
"Dad," Emma whimpered behind me. It wasn't loud. It was that thin, high sound she made when she was trying not to cry, her face pressed against my leg. Her pajama sleeve caught on my pocket as she clutched harder.
That sound forced me to move. I wasn't keeping her safe enough with her directly behind me while he had hold of my front. I needed her to the side, out of his reach if he got past my hands.
I shifted my feet, dragging him slightly left while I reached back with my right hand without looking, found her shoulder, and pushed her gently sideways, toward the end of the sofa. "Behind the couch, honey," I said, low and fast. "Go behind the couch."
She didn't want to let go. Her fingers stayed knotted in my jeans for another second, and I felt her whole body resist. Then she slipped sideways, her light brown hair brushing my hand as she ducked. I heard her knees hit the carpet behind the arm of the sofa.
He saw it too. His eyes flicked down past me to where she'd moved, and something in his face changed. Not calmer. More certain.
"This is my family too," he said. His voice was hoarse from running, from shouting in the hallway, and he got the words out in one hard breath right against my face. "You don't get to keep her from me."
The words hit harder than the shove had. Family. He said it like it was a fact I was denying, like he had a right to be standing in my living room with his hands on my shirt.
We were still chest to chest, his hand still twisted in my henley, my hands still locked on his arms, both of us breathing hard enough I could see his jacket rise and fall. We were inches apart, close enough I could see the gray in his beard and a cut on his knuckle. The fireplace mantel was right behind him, the framed art over it crooked from when we'd hit the table. The front door was still open behind him down the hall, letting in cold night air I could feel now on the back of my neck.
May you like
He didn't let go, and I didn't let go, but neither of us was moving forward anymore. We were just holding that strained, ugly stalemate in the middle of my living room with Emma hidden behind the couch and that one sentence hanging between us.
I knew that name he hadn't said yet. I knew exactly who he was claiming to be to her, and I hadn't told anyone he was coming.
