One Year Earlier
No sound came from the Diamond house as the only two residents ate their dinner. Brenda Diamond sat across from her son, cutting into the chicken she had baked. She looked at James every few minutes, wondering if he would break the silence first, or if she would have to do it again. There were plenty of things she had to say to him, but she wanted to give him the chance to bring up something first. He paid no attention to her, cutting his chicken into smaller pieces before scooping mashed potatoes onto them and eating.
Sighing, Brenda returned her attention to her own plate, knowing she would have to start talking soon. James would always eat quickly, and disappear in his room. Once he left the table, it was hard to get him to come back. He wouldn't listen anywhere else - only at the table did he have no serious distractions. It was the easiest place for Brenda to talk to him.
"James?" she called quietly, knowing he heard her. James paused mid-chew, swallowing before looking up at his mother. She set her fork and knife down, folding her hands together. "Where were you today? You got home five minutes before dinner… I was getting worried." Brenda's eyes pierced into her son, but James refused to look away. His eyes were bored, uncaring. He didn't answer, but instead took another large bite of chicken. "Your report card came in the mail today." There was the clatter of James' fork hitting his plate, and he quickly looked away. He knew where this talk was going.
"Ma, look, these last few weeks have been really hard. I've tried my best, okay?" James immediately stated, defending himself before his mother could even go on the offensive. This was how they'd worked for almost ten years. Both Brenda and James knew what the other was going to do, and how they would do it. There was almost no point in the conversation, but Brenda wanted to try. She reached out to the center of the table where the mail was piled, picking up the first envelope. Opening it and pulling out the sheet, her eyes scanned over the grades and looked back to James.
"Sweetie, they're all C's. Chemistry - 74. Algebra 2 - 75. English 3 - 73. US History - 72." Brenda read off the paper, her frown deepening with each grade she read off. James took a drink from his glass, waiting for her to continue, and when she didn't, he slammed the cup back onto the table.
"Read the rest of the grades. Those are only four classes!" James argued, his brow furrowing. Brenda held up the paper, shaking her head incredulously.
"James! Your other classes are Choir and Hockey-Athletics! Those aren't important. They won't get you into college, James Isaac Diamond! You don't seem to realize this, and it concerns me," Brenda shouted, throwing the paper down. James bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes shifting away from his mother. He folded his arms over his chest, leaning against the back of his chair and trying to shut out Brenda's rant. "You're out all the time with your friends, and when you're not with them, you're doing God knows what with girls! It's Sherwood, James! You complain all the time that it's too small! You should know people talk, and a lot of the time, they're talking about you. It breaks my heart, honey… You're every mother and fathers' nightmare, and they all say it. Clarice Marshall said you got her daughter drunk and took her to a rave, Jack Thurman said that his daughter came in late four nights in a row because of you. Why James? Why do you do this? You have so much potential!" Brenda inhaled to add to her speech, but James slanted forward, stealing the opportunity to speak.
"You don't know if they're telling the truth. Maybe their kids just don't like me because I don't feel like dating them. I've always gotta be the one in trouble, huh? Whatever, then! You don't know what I do mom. So don't try to act like you do-"
"JAMES!"
"And I do have potential! More than you obviously know, because you don't seem to give a damn about what I'm working for. I've got a 100 percent average in Choir. Do you know how impossible that is? I'm perfect there, and you can't appreciate that!" James yelled back, ignoring his mother when she tried to interrupt him. Brenda rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, shutting her eyes. Already she was getting a headache, and the argument wasn't even halfway over.
"Choir won't get you anywhere, Jamie." Brenda stated softly, having expressed this dozens of times before. Hearing the nickname his mother rarely used, James paused. He wasn't used to hearing it, but he knew it meant something. Somehow, he knew he wasn't going to like what she had to say next. "I wish… I wish you could act a little more like your friends. Logan's an absolute dream - he's sweet, and considerate, and he cares about his future. Even Carlos seems to know when to behave. And Kendall… Sweetie, I approved of these friendships so much because I thought they'd have a good influence on you. If you were like Kendall, helping with money, and taking some responsibility, I wouldn't be on your case so much. You just don't seem to care though! All you have on your mind is girls, and a pipe dream of becoming a singer!" James leaped out of his chair, hitting the table and making the dishes tremble.
"If it's such a pipe dream, then why did Gustavo Rocque offer to make the guys and I into a boy band? Why did he offer to fly us out to L.A. tomorrow, and work on demos?" he demanded furiously, glaring at Brenda. Her eyes were wide, and the color drained from her face. "I want to go. Mrs. Knight is taking Kendall, and she suggested watching over all of us, just so you wouldn't have to uproot yourself."
Silence fell over the two, and James returned to sitting in his chair. Their food was left forgotten, neither of them having much of an appetite anymore. Brenda locked eyes with her son, but James was quick to look away. The scowl on his face gradually vanished, but he refused to look back at his mother. Instead, he counted the tiles on the floor around him, waiting for a response.
"You want to leave?" Brenda questioned, obviously trying to accept what James had just said. He looked up at Brenda, his eyes suddenly conflicted. There was sadness, but not much. Coupled with it was passion - something James always had. He wanted to go, and his eyes said it all. Brenda immediately understood this, but masked her true response with a blank face. James never realized he learned that from her, and she wasn't aware either. Picking up her plate and glass, she carried the dishes to the sink, scraping the food into the trash before running the plate under water. A loud clatter echoed throughout the room when she dropped the plate into the sink, and James flinched. "Fine. Go ahead. You're gonna do what you want anyway. I don't see much point in trying to talk you out of it." Her tone was the one she used when her word was final, and James recognized it instantly.
"Mom, I'm gonna be-"
"Don't worry about it, James. I've been waiting for you to get out of the house for a while, anyway. The less money I spend on Cuda products and clothes, the more I'll have to actually get these bills paid." Brenda stated flatly, wiping down her side of the table with a damp napkin. Her eyes focused on what was in front of her, completely overlooking James. He sighed, poking the remainder of his chicken with his fork.
"I love you, mom." James whispered, almost inaudibly. He was afraid to say it louder, but he was almost positive Brenda heard. She paused for just a quick second after the words left his lips, but returned to wiping down the table. Once she finished, she threw the napkin into the trashcan, walking out of the kitchen and down the hall.
"Goodnight James. Make sure you're done packing before Mrs. Knight's ready to leave." Brenda's final words killed whatever appetite James had worked back up. He took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes and trying to calm himself. Copying his mother, he dumped his leftovers into the garbage, throwing his dishes into the sink.
Swallowing whatever sadness that tried to surface, James jogged up the stairs, stopping before he entered his room. Brenda's room was only a few feet away, and behind the closed door, he could hear the faint sounds of her crying. His eyes widened when he realized what she was doing, and his hand gripped the doorknob tightly. He was tempted to turn around and offer his mother some comfort, but after a long moment, he rolled his eyes and stepped into his room, slamming the door behind him.
James stood in front of the door, observing everything in his room. All of his clothes were clean and tucked neatly away in his closet, and his desk appeared unused - which, for the most part, it was. There were textbooks resting on the small shelf that lined his wall, covered in a thin layer of dust, further showing how little time he really spent in his room. Sighing, James knelt down by his bed, pulling out his suitcases from underneath. He propped them open, raiding his closet for the clothes he wanted to bring. There wasn't room for everything, and as much as he didn't like the idea of leaving things behind, he knew it was necessary. More than likely, he'd completely upgrade his wardrobe once in Los Angeles.
He'd forget ever being in the pathetic town of Sherwood, Minnesota.
"So that's him, Kendall?" Katie asked quietly, taking the wet plate from him and drying it with a dishtowel. Kendall paused in the middle of scrubbing another plate, closing his eyes and listening to the voices that echoed from the living room. He stole a glance at his sister, seeing she was patiently waiting for the answer. He rinsed the soap from the plate, handing it to her before saying anything.
"Yeah. That's dad." Kendall stated. He turned off the water, wiping his hands on the dishtowel Katie had used to dry the dishes. Her face was hard for Kendall to read, and he wondered what she was feeling. For so long, Kris Knight had been absent from the picture. Katie had met him only once in her life, and that was years ago when she was four.
Katie gulped, looking at the archway that led down the hall and to the living room. She stared back up at Kendall, and he knew what she wanted. Nodding, he took her hand, and the siblings crept down the dimly lit hall. They stopped just before entering plain sight, and Kendall listened to what his mother and father were discussing. The conversation seemed peaceful enough from what he heard in the kitchen. Kris asked how everyone was doing, and how things had been.
Peering around the wall, Kendall saw Kris eating the sandwich his mother had made for him. His skin was gaunt, and he appeared to not have eaten for months. His hair was identical to Kendall's, though not as healthy. It was greasy and dead. Kris' eyes were wide, and when they weren't focused on the food, they darted around his wife. Behind Kendall, he could feel Katie tugging on his sleeve, and he turned to face her. Holding his finger to his lips, he ushered her forward, allowing her to steal a peek at their father. Katie's eyes widened when she saw him. She hadn't known what to expect, but all the same, she couldn't believe he was sitting just a few feet away from her.
"Are you staying?"
The question broke the silence, and was so sudden, it made both Katie and Kendall jump. They quickly hid behind the wall, Kendall pulling Katie back and leading her towards the stairs. She shook her head, struggling against his push, making it clear she didn't want to leave just yet. Kendall held up his hand, pointing to the spot they were in and signifying that she needed to stay put. His stare softened, and he mouthed 'one minute'. Katie sighed and crossed her arms, but allowed Kendall to take the few steps back to their original spot.
"Kathy… I don't know." Kris answered. Kendall's hopeful smile fell, and his heart sank. "I just need time, baby. I- I'm having some money trouble, and I was wondering if I could borrow some." Kendall's heart sank further, and he leaned against the wall with his head hanging down. Each time his father came home, this was the question he asked. He always needed money for some reason or another, and Kathy could never find it in her heart to say no to him. It was hard when he stared at her the way he used to - before he disappeared.
Kathy Knight still loved her husband. She loved him with everything she had, and letting go of him was too horrifying of a choice. What would she do without her husband? He was hardly around anyway, but she couldn't officially walk away. He didn't cheat on her. He struck her once, but it wasn't his fault. Times were hard, and she couldn't blame him. Kendall didn't like what happened, but he too loved his father. He hoped that one day, Kris would get everything out of his system, and finally come home. Any night Kris dropped by could've been the night, and Kendall still held on to that hope.
"I can't keep giving you money, Kris. I've done it before, and I know what you're doing with it. Kris, just stop this! Come home… We love you - we'll help you! Kendall got this amazing-" Kris stood up, taking Kathy's arms roughly in his hands. She was immediately silenced, staring up at her husband with a mixture of misery and fear.
"You won't give me any money then? You're gonna let the father of your kids suffer? I can't come home, Kathy! You know just as well as I do that you don't want me here. Look at me, Kat. What do you see?" Kris demanded, shaking Kathy once before letting her go. She rubbed her arms, already feeling a bruise forming. Kris paced across the room, stopping when he spotted Katie. Kendall assumed he was the one who had been caught, but only when Katie stepped forward, and appeared in his peripheral vision, did he realize that Kris was looking at her. "Katie-bear, is that you?" Kathy's lips pursed in a thin line, but Katie continued to walk towards Kris. Kendall stepped into sight, staring at his mom apologetically.
Kris closed the distance between himself and Katie, kneeling down to be eye-level with his daughter and hugging her. Katie was hesitant at first, but after a few moments, she warmed up to the unfamiliar man holding her. Resting her head on his shoulder, she allowed him to ruffle her hair once he pulled away. He gazed down at her with a small smile, and for the first time in Kendall's memory, Katie was no different from an ordinary ten-year-old. She was smaller than he remembered, and more fragile.
"Kendall! Son, come here… I haven't seen you in a while," Kris smiled as warmly as he could, holding his arm out welcomingly to his son. Kendall didn't waste a second approaching his father, gripping him in a tight embrace. He held on to his father, savoring the affection he missed from his childhood.
Kendall Knight was a lot of things. He was a leader. He was brave. He was strong. However, when it came to his father, Kendall became someone new. He fell back into who he was as a child - dependent, and in need of guidance. All he wanted was for his father to stay, and Kendall was willing to do whatever it took to make him come home. He was a doormat for his father, and if doing something for him meant there was a chance he'd remain at home, Kendall was willing to take it. Giving his father one last squeeze, Kendall let his arms fall back to his sides, and he met Kris' stare. The last time Kris had seen his son, he was still a couple inches shorter. Now they were the same height.
"How've you been, Dad?" Kendall asked, his voice quivering. Katie watched her brother, automatically seeing him turn into a stranger. She wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but thought better of it.
"Fine! Fine… I uh, I heard you got a job." Kris answered, going from somewhat comfortable to antsy. The corner of his mouth twitched when he smiled, and he rocked on the balls of his feet. Kathy frowned, immediately stepping forward. Kris shot a glance at her, however, making her pause. "You - You're getting a paycheck soon?" His expectant look made Kendall falter, and he couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.
"Dad, please," Kendall begged, placing a hand on Kris' shoulder. "We can't give you money anymore. I don't want you to go away again." Kris immediately looked to the floor, too ashamed to meet his sons' gaze. "Please, Dad - Listen, we're going to L.A. tomorrow. I got this offer to be in a band, and I'm going with the guys, and Mom and Katie. Come with us. You'll be happy there, you can get bette-" Unwilling to hear out the offer, Kris pushed Kendall's hand off of his shoulder. He shook his head, instinctively wiping his nose as he stepped away.
"That's good, Kenny. Go to L.A… You could do great things there," Kris interrupted him, moving towards Kathy. He paused in front of her, his eyes darting back to Kendall every few seconds. Katie stood by, watching the interaction between them. She didn't know what to think. "Kendall, I need that paycheck. You take your mom and sister to L.A. Just - just give me the money. Alright?" Kris was beginning to shake, and he rubbed his arms as if he were freezing. His breathing hitched up, and now it was uneven.
"Kris, stop-"
"SHUT UP, KATHY!" Kris roared, suddenly defensive. His hand shot out, moving too fast for Kendall or Katie to do anything about it. Kathy stumbled back, falling against the wall as Kris shoved her. Without another thought, Kendall ran towards his dad, pushing him back against the fireplace.
Angrily, Kris grabbed Kendall's collar, yanking him forward and raising his fist. Katie's eyes widened as the scene went from peaceful to violent within mere seconds, and she covered her mouth to keep from screaming. Kathy reached out to grab Kris' arm, but he'd already swung his fist, slamming it into Kendall's jaw. The whole room went silent. Kris stood in the center of the room, hulking over his son. Kendall hit the ground and stayed there, feeling along his jaw where he was hit. His eyes were wide. Shocked. Never before had his father hit him. He had hurt Kathy before, but never Kendall. Katie's bottom lip quivered, and she resisted the urge to run to her brother. Part of her was too scared to go anywhere near her father.
Kendall gradually pushed himself up, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He glared at his father, a knot of anger and hate forming in his stomach. For years he waited for Kris to come home, and stay home. With all the offers they made, Kris still chose to take their money and go. Kendall wanted him to stay, but not if it would be like this. He didn't want to have to fight his father, and force him to come home. As much as Kendall needed Kris, his was too angry to care right now.
"Get out." Kendall hissed, barely able to contain himself. Kris blinked several times, hearing what his son said, but refusing to listen. The two Knights faced off, neither one of them breaking. Kathy opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What could she say?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kris straightened up. He blinked, his eyes shifting to Kathy, and then to Katie. His first thought was to go to Katie and pat her head before departing, but he knew better. She'd back away from him, or Kendall would stop him. Kris bit down on his tongue, closing his eyes for a moment. Then, without another word, he walked past Kendall, hitting his shoulder as he yanked his coat from the loveseat and threw it over his shoulders.
Kris disappeared down the hallway, and Katie, Kathy, and Kendall stood still, flinching when they heard the front door slam shut.
"Mijo, I can't believe you're leaving!" Lola Garcia cried, wrapping her arms around her only son for the thirteenth time that night. Carlos protested playfully against the hug, but returned the affectionate embrace nonetheless. "Hernando, is it ready?" Lola released her son, and his head snapped up eagerly, realizing his parents had something for him. His father appeared from the kitchen, carrying a large cake with chocolate icing. Carlos leaped up, an extra bounce in his step as he ran to his parents.
"What's this?" Carlos asked, using a humorous tone that he knew his mother loved. Lola smiled at him, taking the cake from Hernando and walking around the couch, setting the cake down on the coffee table. She disappeared into the kitchen for a quick minute, returning with paper plates, a knife, and three plastic forks.
"A going away present. When Kathy called with the news, we had to do something!" Hernando explained, taking the knife from Lola and cutting into the cake. He served his wife a slice, then Carlos, and finally himself. Carlos took the paper plate happily, poking at the cake with his fork before realizing what his father had said. It was finally dawning upon him that he was leaving Minnesota. He didn't even think about leaving for college, and now that a move was suddenly upon him, he didn't know how to react. He was excited to be leaving with his friends, but he would miss his parents. In fact, he'd miss everything about Sherwood. Everyone knew him, and everyone loved him. In L.A, everyone would be a stranger.
Taking a bite of cake, Carlos watched his mother and father exchange a loving glance before biting into their own pieces of cake. That would be what he missed the most: seeing his parents. Lola and Hernando showered him with more love an affection than he sometimes wanted. Regardless of how it could get annoying on occasion, he was grateful. Carlos knew what his friends dealt with, and knew he could've had much worse. With that in mind, he was once again taken back to the thought of L.A. being a completely new experience. His energy and persona would most likely be something no one understood, and he would have to start fresh with everyone he encountered.
Carlos took another bite of cake, shrugging off the thoughts and returning to the last night he had with his parents. His eyes wandered around the living room, memorizing every detail while he could. Gazing at the photos on the wall, Carlos stopped when his eyes landed on the oldest family portrait the Garcia family had displayed. He was only six-years-old when the picture was taken, and he still wore his helmet. Lola was behind him, and next to her was Hernando - dressed in their most formal attire. Beside Carlos, was his older sister, Isadora.
About eight months ago, Isadora Garcia had moved to Texas to attend college. Carlos remembered the trip there clearly. He complained the entire drive, remaining quiet only when the family stopped for food. In the end, he almost cried while saying goodbye to his beloved sister. Isadora was expected to be in tears, but she held herself together for her brother. Every day since then, she emailed her family with news on how she was doing, and sometimes added pictures of the city.
Having always looked forward to the emails, Carlos finally had something equally as exciting to share. Isadora talked about visiting California since she was eight, and now Carlos would be able to share photos with her. Once he learned the town well enough, he'd be able to recommend places for her to stay if she wanted to visit, and sights for her to see. The thought alone filled his head with all sorts of plans. He missed his sister, and the possibility of giving her something she'd always wanted made him grin.
"Now listen son, I want you to be on your best behavior over there." Hernando's voice yanked Carlos from his thoughts, and he blinked a few times before nodding. "I'm serious, son. Things are different over there. Sometimes a little more dangerous. Don't go anywhere you'd think your mother and I would disapprove of. Give Kathy your utmost respect, and keep your helmet close." Hernando finished with a smile, and Carlos tapped the helmet on his head.
"I promise, Dad. Everything will be fine. Mrs. Knight loves me!" he insisted, his grin stretching from ear to ear. Finishing off his cake with just a few more large bites, Carlos gathered his mothers' empty plate, walking to the entrance of the kitchen and throwing away the trash. "Besides," he continued, wiping his hands as he returned to his spot on the couch, "I'll be with the guys. Logan will keep us out of trouble. He always does!" Lola chuckled, leaning against her husband as she watched her son plop down on the sofa.
"You, James, and Kendall are still a handful. Your father and I are serious, though. Be careful out there." she stated, with a soft, but austere tone. Carlos took off his helmet, scratching the back of his head and nodding. Lola stood up, stepping in front of her son and kissing his forehead. "We're going to miss you, honey." She wrapped her arms around Carlos, and though it threw him off, he quickly warmed up to the hug, and returned the affection. When his mother pulled away, Carlos stood up, seeing his father holding out his arms as well. Once again, he was hugged, held for a few long moments by the man he'd always looked up to. Carlos already missed his parents, but the opportunity presented to him wasn't going to be passed up. He always wanted to take chances, and this one was no exception.
"I love you Dad… Mom," Carlos whispered, loud enough for his parents to hear. He felt a reassuring hand rubbing his back, and as he pulled away from his father, his mother kissed the side of his head.
"We love you too, Mijo." Lola replied, taking Hernando's hand. "We're going to get ready for bed. You should too, Carlos. You have a big day tomorrow." Carlos smirked and nodded, all three of them knowing that he still needed to pack. "Your suitcases are in the basement. I heard you looking for them earlier." Hernando and Lola both chuckled as their sons' cheeks flushed pink, and left for their bedroom. Once they were on the stairs, Carlos approached the door underneath them. Slowly pushing it open, he felt along the wall for the switch, squinting when the light blinded him. He rubbed his eyes, carefully walking down the steps.
Dusty boxes lined the walls, and in the center of the fairly large basement was a maroon couch, its' color slightly faded. A small TV sat on milk crates across from the couch, and between the space was a circular black rug. When Carlos could have the boys over, they spent their time here, watching hockey games or horror movies. Only once had they actually spent the entire night in the basement, and that happened to be the night Carlos discovered the photos he was searching for now.
Pushing a few of the smaller boxes out of his way, Carlos dug deeper into the junk piled in the corner, pausing when he finally reached the box he wanted. He knew it was the one, because of how off the hue was compared to the other boxes. It was so much lighter, the color fading away with time. Carlos bit his lip, looking over his shoulder to make sure he was alone before opening the box. Inside were dusty manila envelopes, marked with his fingerprints, and a pink photo album. Carefully, he picked up the album, treating it as though it were some type of fragile glass. Slowly, he opened to the first page, immediately losing sense to everything else, and only focusing on the picture.
Lola was lying in a hospital bed, with Hernando right by her side. The two seemed fairly young, compared to what Carlos was used to seeing of them. Cradled in Lola's arms was a baby girl, wrapped in a light pink blanket. The baby's eyes were closed, and it looked peaceful. Written neatly under the Polaroid was a name and date: Carla Lianne Garcia, 4/12/91. Carlos ran his thumb over the smooth photo, observing the smiling faces of his parents before turning to the next page. There were four more pictures pasted into the book. The first showed Carla in her stroller, her eyes clamped shut - either because she was sleeping, or because the sun was bright. In the next picture, Lola was giving her a bath, and the small patch of hair Carla had was spiked up. The next two pictures were Carla's hand and footprints.
Carlos turned the page of the photo album again, leaning against a stack of boxes as he absorbed the detail of each photo. Each passing month was documented, and all the pictures hosted something precious that Carlos couldn't help but smile at. Everything was perfect in the album, until it reached the middle pages. After six months of pictures, the book was suddenly empty. There was nothing in the remaining pages, which were yellowing around the edges, and it was easy enough for Carlos to understand why. He never knew a Carla existed in his family until he found the photo album. His parents hadn't told him, and though he didn't like it, he could forgive them. Carla was dead. He didn't know how she died, but he knew she was gone. After finding the pictures, and feeling too afraid to look through anything else in the box, Carlos visited the only cemetery in Sherwood. He roamed for hours, looking at each headstone before he found one that matched the name and date he had. His sister, who would've been three years older than him, lived to only be six-months-old.
Though the revelation was a lot to take in, Carlos handled it well enough. He told his friends of the visit to Carla's grave, and asked them to keep it a secret. His parents would tell him when they thought it was best. He had that trust in them. Sighing, Carlos closed the photo album, holding it tightly in his hands for a few moments before laying it carefully back in the box. He closed the flaps of cardboard, stacking the other boxes back in the correct order, aligning them just right to hide that he had been looking through them. Biting his lip, he wondered if his parents would say anything about Carla before he left. Something in his mind told him it wouldn't happen, but he had hope.
It was all he could have.
Blowing out a gust of air, Carlos turned, spotting his suitcases and lifting them up. He took one final glance at the direction the photo album lay hidden in, then hitched the suitcases higher under his arms as he trudged up the stairs to pack his belongings. Tomorrow was a day for change, and even if he didn't hear anything from his parents about Carla, he expected nothing but good to come from the future.
Logan stopped in front of the door, hesitating before his hand was completely on the handle. He could hear the TV on the other side, and knew his father had to have just finished dinner. As usual, Logan had eaten at Kendall's house. He never ate in his own home. He never did anything at home unless it was absolutely necessary. For half an hour now, he had been sauntering around the neighborhood, taking the longest route he knew at the slowest pace possible. Even though the air froze him, he suffered through it gladly. Anything was worth staying out of his house.
Trembling, Logan opened the door and stepped inside. The small living room was empty, as was the connecting kitchen. Quietly, Logan closed the front door, then walked over to the TV, shutting it off. He returned to the staircase that faced the front door, jogging up the steps. He wanted to go to bed, but he knew he had to inform his father of what Kendall had gotten all of the boys into. There was no telling what could happen if Paul thought Logan ran away. Would he do anything at all?
"D-Dad?" Logan called out after reaching the top of the stairs. The narrow hallway that led to his fathers' bedroom always frightened him, and made him feel claustrophobic, but he had an important issue to discuss. Making it halfway through the hall, Logan heard the bathroom door fly open behind him. Startled, he ran forward, back to the stairs. It was an instinctive reaction, one that had developed over the years. Pausing at the top of the steps, Logan took a deep breath. Paul stared at him as he walked out of the bathroom, his eyebrow raised.
"Logan, did you turn that TV off?" Paul quickly asked, not hearing the sounds of the commercials or his show. His voice was gruff. Harsh. Logan's eye twitched slightly at the sound of it. Paul walked towards his son, closing the short distance between them.
"I thought you'd gone to your room or s-something." Logan answered apologetically. His knees were weak, and he could feel the cold sweat threatening to break out.
"Do I look stupid, son? Have I ever left the TV on?" Paul demanded. He'd asked that question before. Logan knew exactly what to answer at this point. Even if it was wrong, the answer was always no.
"N-n-no-" A sharp stinging stopped Logan from finishing his answer, and his hand flew up to his cheek where his father struck him. He allowed himself to shake for only a moment before peeking up at the angry man.
"Stop stuttering, Logan. You sound like a complete pussy when you do that." Paul ordered, folding his arms over his chest. "God damn it, the day you leave this house-" Logan couldn't take it.
"Tomorrow! I'm leaving tomorrow, dad!" he exclaimed, unable to hold it back. "Kendall accidentally auditioned for s-something, and Gustavo Rocque wants to fly us all out to L.A. because Kendall suggested we be a band, and I'm leaving tomorrow... Sir." Logan clenched his fists, afraid to look back up at his father. Paul had never remained silent for long, and Logan never shouted - he didn't know what to expect now.
"You're gonna leave?" Paul finally questioned, his face expressionless. Logan blinked back the tears that were still burning his eyes, and gulped. He faced his father, trying to force some confidence into his stance. "Figures that bastard Knight kid would get you into something. Go! See if I give a rats' ass - You're really gonna leave your old man?" Paul's mixed reaction scared Logan. One second, he didn't care. The next, he sounded angry.
"Y-Yes, sir. I'm leaving. I want to. I'll ask your permis-" Once again, Logan was cut off. Paul's eyes became vicious, and his glare made his son wince. Angrily, he shoved Logan back, and the frail boy could feel himself falling. He tripped over his feet, and his hands flailed in the air as he tried to grab on to something.
Logan's back surged with pain when it made contact with the stairs, and he rolled down, getting to his feet only to be overwhelmed by how the room was spinning, and slamming into the rail. His hip was screaming in agony now, and Logan felt more tears surfacing. Hitting the ground with a loud thud, he winced and lie motionless. He could hear Paul coming down the stairs, the angry sound too familiar for him. Coughing, Logan used whatever strength he had to push himself up and scramble to the door. He flung it open, bolting outside and onto the street. Paul remained at the door, watching as his son ran off.
"GO ON! GET OUT OF HERE, YOU LITTLE SHIT! DON'T YOU FUCKING COME BACK!" Paul screamed into the freezing night, slamming the door shut. Logan's mind was blank as he ran, forgetting that he was cold, and ignoring the small drizzle that picked up. He pushed his legs to go faster, returning to the first house that came to mind.
It was one of the few houses that provided Logan with warmth.
The Knight house.
Logan took the front steps two at a time, sliding into the door and banging on it loudly. It took a few minutes, but the hallway light finally flickered on, and he could see Mrs. Knight through the glass. She opened the door in her robe, shivering from the chill that quickly hit her. Seeing Logan, her eyes widened.
"Sweetie, what's going on?" Mrs. Knight questioned. She was filled in on Logan's suffering only a year ago, when he finally felt comfortable enough to tell her. He begged her to keep it quiet though, claiming he was changing his father, and he wouldn't quit until the beating became too severe. Though Mrs. Knight was dead set against him going back, she saw from the look in his eyes that he was desperate. Besides, who was she to stand in his way - especially when she knew how it felt? Him trusting her was a large step, and if she did everything right, he would let her help him.
Tonight was possibly the night she was waiting for.
"Mom?" Kendall called, suddenly appearing in the hallway. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, nearing the door. When he saw Logan, his jaw dropped. The look on his friends' face said it all.
Logan suddenly let out a sob, running into the house. Mrs. Knight quickly moved, closing the door behind him. Logan ran straight to Kendall, hugging his best friend. Kendall, shocked by the situation, took a moment to register what was happening, and soon held on to Logan, patting his back to comfort the boy.
"Please Kendall, don't make me go back there! I don't wanna go home!" Logan shouted through sobs, his words coming out with difficulty. It was somewhat hard to understand him with the way he cried as he spoke, and how his face was pressed against Kendall's shoulder, but he didn't seem to care. Mrs. Knight covered her mouth with one hand, staring at her sons' best friend with pity. She had hoped it wouldn't come to this, and that Logan knew what he was talking about when he said he could help his father, but in the back of her mind, she knew the current situation was inevitable.
"Don't worry, Logie," Kendall assured his friend, placing his hands on both of Logan's shoulders and looking down at him. Logan hiccuped, a few tears falling from his eyes. The angry pink mark from where his father had hit him was still evident on his face. Seeing this, Kendall had to pause, and take a deep breath to keep from growing too outraged. Logan tried to calm himself, hating how uneven his breathing was, and how weak he felt. "We'll all go to get your stuff tomorrow. You won't be alone. Just come on, you can sleep on my bed. I'll take the couch tonight."
Kathy Knight watched Kendall lead Logan upstairs, and felt a twinge of pain in her heart. Logan would need closure if he truly wanted to move on. She knew, like any mother would know, that Logan was just as much running away from his father as he was taking a step to something great with his friends. Kendall was doing almost the same thing. His own father had meant so much to him, and after tonight, Kathy didn't know what to expect from her son. She could only hope that things would get better in L.A, and the past wouldn't haunt them as much as she feared it would.
Sighing, Kathy turned off the hallway light and walked back upstairs. She would need all the sleep she could get tonight, because tomorrow was the first day of a new life.
Hopefully a better life.