Chapter 10
By Friday afternoon an alarm system was installed in the house. Brock didn't care how much it had cost him, it gave him piece of mind, knowing that no one could get into his house without the police being immediately notified, and everyone in the household waking up.
"Alright, code set," Brock said. "No one is getting in this house without the whole police force knowing about it."
Misty looked at the black box with the touch pad mounted by the door. It had made her feel only slightly better, but when Brock emerged from the kitchen with a sandwhich and a can of soda, she knew he was off again.
"I've got another match at 2 o'clock. In fact, I'm booked all day until 7 o'clock, but I should be home for dinner," he kissed her, breifly, before checking the time. It was past one thirty.
"Bye Honey," she said, feeling the house grow colder. The red blinking light on the security pad didn't make her feel any better now that Brock was gone.
Suddenly, a sharp sound emitted from her cell phone, permeating the silence of the house. Her heart was pouding, but slowed down when she realized it was only her phone. She picked it up.
"Hello?" She asked.
"Mrs. Harrison?" The woman on the other end asked.
"Yes, Ma'am, this is her," she said, looking at the clock. She had to leave to pick up Fiona really soon.
"Hi, this is Judy Oliver with the DNA testing lab. We just wanted to inform you that the results on your samples are in," her voice sounded so robotic, so cold, so official. Misty felt a queasiness grip her stomach. She had almost forgotten about that. With the recent events that had went on in the past couple of days, it had completely slipped her mind.
"Oh, thank you," Misty said. "I'll be by to pick them up." She said, and hung up the phone.
As she put on a jacket and slipped on her shoes, she suddenly wasn't so sure if she wanted to stop by the facility and pick up her test results. Sure, it would be almost one hundred dollars wasted, but she didn't really care about that. If the test results matched, and it was Brock...she wasn't sure she could handle that.
She waited in line among the other parents, and was relieved to see that Fiona wasn't crying, despite her being almost 6 minutes late from picking her up. Instead, she was playing a memory game with Holly.
Misty tapped her daughter on the shoulder, and Fiona turned around, smiling. "Mommy!"
"Hey, Sweety!" She cheerfully greeted her. "I'm sorry I'm late. Are you having fun?"
"We were just playing a game," Fiona said. "Holly said when she can spend the night again, she will bring it over and we can play there. Can she spend the night, Mommy?"
Eve's voice sounded before Misty could even form a thought.
"Holly can't spend the night for a while, Honey," she told Fiona, and the two little girls looked equally sad.
"But Mommy!" Holly said, getting to her feet. "Fiona's daddy gives air plane rides and he's funny. And we got to watch Frozen!"
"I know," Eve said. "I promise you can spend the night soon, but not right now." She looked over at Misty and it was almost as if she could read Misty's mind.
"I understand," Misty said, nodding her head. "If Tracey is after us..."
"I don't want Holly in any danger," Eve spoke with a cold tone. "As soon as they catch him, the girls can hang out again."
She nodded her head and grabbed Fiona's hand, leading her out of the school building.
"Why can't Holly spend the night Mommy?" Fiona asked, as Misty buckled her in the backseat.
"Because her mommy doesn't want her to right now. She wants her home with her, just like I want you home with me," she smiled back at her. "Now, listen, we're going to go run an errand, and then after, I'll buy you an ice cream and we can make dinner together."
"OK!" Fiona said, just focusing on the ice cream treat her mother promised her. Misty turned on the radio, singing along to a pop song, and lulling Fiona to sleep with it. No matter what she sang, Fiona would always go to sleep at the sound of her voice. It was a long drive, and when they arrived at the testing center, Misty almost thought about just turning back towards the house and forgetting it.
But she was here now, and curiosity compelled her to get out of the car, pick Fiona up, and walk into the building. Fiona woke up once she felt herself being slung over her mother's shoulder and carried down a hallway.
Misty put Fiona down in a chair and walked up to the desk. The same older woman who was there just a few days ago was there again today, and she smiled at Misty.
"Mrs. Harrison!" She said, sounding delighted. "How are you dear?"
"I'm doing great," she said, not sure how much about their lives had been broadcast all over the city.
"Good, good," the woman said. "You are here to pick up your samples?"
"Yes, Ma'am," she said, looking back to see Fiona was playing a game on the tablet she pulled out Misty's purse.
"Just a moment," she said, retreating the back and reappearing a few minutes later with a sealed envelope. "Good luck, Mrs. Harrison."
Misty just nodded and she took the envelope from the woman with shaky hands. She settled down next to Fiona, who didn't look away from the screen of the tablet, and she ripped open the envelope with a slow, precise rip. She could still turn away. She could still just walk out with the envelope and toss it in the trash can, and if it was Brock's DNA that matched the condom, she would never know and she could continue to be happy.
Ignorance is bliss, right?
No, this would drive her crazy to never know.
She built up the nerve and tear the envelope open, unfolding the piece of paper and looking at the results.
The results were negative. Not only that, they weren't even a close match. The only thing determined by the two DNA samples given is that it was both human, and both male. No paternity matched. It wasn't Flint's.
Then, dread washed over her.
Tracey.
The name flashed through her mind and she shuddered. The thought of him touching himself, pleasing himself, as he watched her sleep made her cringe with disgust.
She put the paper in her purse and grabbed Fiona's hand, trying not to let her daughter see the utter terror that she knew was etched on her face.
...
It was almost midnight by the time Fiona had gotten to bed, and Brock hadn't minded. It was a Friday night, and he had no work tomorrow, but he had been dying to spend some alone time with his wife. Misty had been acting strange though for the past couple of days. Brock knew it was the fear and stress that the past couple of days had caused her, from finding that girl's body in the backyard to her horrible nightmare a few nights ago, the last thing she probably felt like doing was having sex.
But Brock never gave up on it. The farthest he had gotten in the past three days was just making out with her, and he felt like that 18 year old guy he was on the beach that night when he had first let Misty knew how he had felt. She had denied him, telling him she just didn't want to tonight. So, he decided he would give her some time, and he settled for wrapping his arm around her and holding her close to him, though that did nothing but make his desire stronger.
Night time was usually their favorite time. When the house was quiet, Fiona was asleep. The two of them would crawl into bed together, talk, and laugh about the most random things, and then their laughter would turn into kissing, and then very passionate sex.
Tonight it was even more heated than the night before. She crawled into bed next to him, wearing just a silk top and the matching bottom shorts, and Brock knew immediately he had to have her tonight. She wanted him too. She wanted him just as bad, if not worse. After all, it had been four days since they had done anything besides make out like a couple of teenagers, and she desparately wanted to feel him inside of her, his heart pounding against his chest so hard she could feel it on her own.
She felt him tug at her silk shorts, pulling them down to her knees in one swift yank. That's when she pulled away from his kiss and looked at him, then immediately pulled them back up.
"Honey..." she said, her eyes darting around the room, towards the closet, then the bathroom.
Brock groaned in frustration. "Oh, c'mon, Baby," he capturd her lips in another kiss, and after several heated seconds she pulled away.
"Brock, I-I can't..." she said, her hand automatically traveling to his very stiff erection. His body spasmed at her touch, and his desire to have her only grew stronger.
"What's wrong, Sweetheart?" He asked, hoping his sexual frustration wasn't coming across as aggressive. "It's been four days and I have been practically begging for sex. I've never had to do that before," he said, with a smile, "Four days is a long time for us. So what's bothering you?"
Misty let her hand trail from his erection to his abs, and she traced the outside of them with her fingers under the quilt. Just that touch was enough to make him lose control, but he was trying not to focus on his need for release right now.
"Is it your mother?" He asked, as he settled down in his pillow. Misty faced him, laying close to him. She shook her head.
"No. It's not my mother," she said, then she decided that she would take a chance on Brock getting mad at her, for her lack of trust, because she had to tell him what she found out from the DNA test and from Eve Castillo.
"Is it me?" He asked, in the middle of her contemplation. Her expression changed from worried to apologetic.
"Oh, Brock, of course not," she said, kissing him passionately on the lips, parting her lips so he could slip his tongue inside her mouth. It was another several seconds before they parted, and Brock could see it in her eyes that she was turned on, that she had wanted him just as bad as he wanted her.
"I love you," she said, smiling at him. "I've always loved you. You are the sexiest man in the world to me. It's just..." she sighed. "Ok, don't get mad. But do you remember the condom I told you I found in the bathroom?"
"Yea?" He asked, the hand he had rubbing small circles on her hip and squeezing her rear had stopped moving.
"Well, I had it tested..." she said, blushing. "I...I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I just...wanted to know who it could have belonged to."
Brock sighed. "Misty, I told you it wasn't mine. You shouldn't have needed a DNA test to tell you that, Honey. I would never cheat on you!" His voice was raised in affliction, just a bit. Brock never raised his voice really, he just added a note of annoyance to it, to portray his anger.
"I know, Brock. I'm sorry, I feel so bad for having it done, or even thinking about having it done," tears finally spilled out of her eyes, and the hurt and anger Brock had felt just a moment ago melted away and he wrapped his arm around her, letting her cry into his chest.
"Hey, look, it's OK," he said softly. "But honey, you should have told me you wanted to get something like that done. I would have agreed to it, even if it was just to prove my innocence, which you should already know."
"I know," she said, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. She saw the smile come to his face, and she instantly felt better.
"Now don't cry," Brock whispered softly, kissing her tear-soaked cheeks. "Is that what's been bothering you? That you felt like I would be mad at you for getting that condom tested to see if it really wasn't mine?"
Misty nodded, but Brock knew she had more to add to it.
"So, did you get the results?" He asked, and Misty's eyes flashed with something. Fear. Brock recognized the look as fear.
She nodded her head, and her voice was a soft whisper, as if she didn't want anyone else in the world to hear it but him.
"The results weren't even a close match to you," she said, and instead of the relief he was expecting to see on her face, she still looked frightened. Misty had even thought that the results matching Brock would have been better than not matching, with the recent events happening.
"See?" He said. "Innocent."
"Brock, if they didn't match you, then who was it? It wasn't your father..." she said, and Brock suddenly understood her fear.
"It was...someone was in our house," his normally, strong, deep voice, sounded so weak as realization hit him.
"I'm so scared, Brock," she said, looking around the room, the lights did nothing to comfort her. Her own home had suddenly become a nightmarish place for her.
"Hey, honey, it' OK," he said, kissing her forehead, comfortingly. "I've checked every corner of this house and there is no one here but us...and your mother."
"There's also something I haven't told you..." she trailed off, and averted her eyes downwards to his bare chest, then back up to his eyes. "Because I wasn't sure if I really wanted to believe it, or if I even can believe it."
"What is it?" He asked.
"Eve is Tracey's ex-fiance..." Misty said, and she saw shock flash across her husband's face. "Holly is his daughter. She's only about a year older than Fiona."
"Tracey had a kid?" Brock asked, feeling his heart pound in his chest.
"And I didn't kill him," she said, her voice still a low whisper. "I shot him, and I thought he was dead, but...I didn't kill him, Brock. He was in a rehab center in Celadon City since that happened, and he healed...and he escaped. What if the condom belonged to him?"
"Escaped?" Brock asked. "He's alive. Tracey Sketchit...is alive?"
Misty nodded. "They think he's come back to Pewter City to find me. To find us."
Brock's mind flashed back to the corpse he found behind the house, then back to the drawings he and Gary had found in the guest bedroom at Delia's house five years ago when he had first come back from Professor Ivy's place to find Misty.
It's almost time for our second battle.
The words flashed through his mind again. Their second battle...not a Pokemon battle.
"Hey, it's alright," Brock said, his own voice was shaking and he knew he didn't sound confident. "Like I said, I've flushed this entire place out and we have that alarm system now. The police are patrolling the area. If he's around here, they will catch him."
Misty's mind flashed back to the day in the Xanadu nursery, when Tracey had lured her out there, and proposed to her. When she had refused, he immediately knew it was because she was in love with Brock and he had tried to rape her.
Brock had almost killed him then, but left him to suffer in his own misery in the nursery.
"No one's going to hurt you," Brock's voice snapped her back to the present and she looked into his eyes. "Not as long as I'm here. Remember when I told you that I would protect you until the day I die?"
She smiled and nodded. "Yes, of course I do."
"And I've stuck by that promise, and I'm still here." he offered her a smile, kissing her lips. "You're so beautiful."
When he kissed her, she knew that making love to her husband was exactly what she needed right now.
...
Brock wouldn't admit it to Misty, partially because of his pride, and mostly because he didn't want to scare her any worse than she already was, but he felt uneasy in the house. He wasn't sleeping well. He had fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning, probably after three A.M., after he had laid there for hours, holding Misty close to him until she fell into her own uneasy sleep.
But his eyes had snapped open at around 5:30 A.M., and though he turned his pillow over to cool side, and flipped over on his other side, a half an hour later, sleep still did not come back to him. He kept looking at the closet. The golden, shiny handle was reflecting what little moonlight came through the window, and he knew dawn would take another hour to get here at this time of year.
He heard Misty's quiet breathing beside him, and he remembered the conversation she had with him just a few hours ago. All of it was bizarre. Tracey being alive. Tracey coming into their home and stalking them, leaving used condoms outside of their shower.
He quietly got out of bed, and reached for the clothes he had abandoned on the floor just a few hours ago. His hand touched nothing but carpet in the dark, and as his tired eyes adjusted, he grabbed his cell phone from the night stand.
Where were his clothes? He went all around the bed, but his cell phone light picked up nothing but carpet. He clicked on the bedside lamp, and squinted against the sudden light of it all and looked around the room. His clothes were gone. He could tell that Misty had not gotten dressed either, but her silk pajamas were also missing.
He sighed. Alright, there is absolutely nothing weird about this. You probably threw them in the hamper to be washed this weekend. It's not unsual for you to tidy up a little bit without even thinking about. You are a rational man. That's probably what happened."
He reached for a new pair of boxers and a new tank top of his drawer and clicked back off the light, as not to disturb Misty.
He crept out into the hallway, looking over at Fiona's room, her nightlight giving the hallway a little bit light. He made his way into the kitchen and flipped on the light. One of the bulbs had burned out in the ceiling fan above the kitchen table, he would need to replace that, but not right now. Two bulbs was plenty for him to see, but it did give the kitchen an eerie feeling.
He started a pot of his favorite Cerulean coffee and went outside to fetch the newspaper. Flipping to the front page, he settled down on the kitchen stool and began to read. The front page story made his blood run cold.
Eighteen year old girl, found murdered in Pewter man's yard. No, they hadn't used his name. He hadn't even had an interview with the press about it, but he knew exactly what it was. He read through the story and saw that detective stone had given an interview, along with the girl's twin brother, Jared, and her best friend, Kelly.
Brock heard his coffee maker start to brew coffee, but the steam he saw rising from the top of it, did nothing to calm him down. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard footsteps coming down the staircase at such a rapid place, that by the time he got to his feet, he saw that it was just Rose.
"I thought I heard someone down here," she said, giving him a smile.
"Oh, hey," he said, clearing his throat, hoping she hadn't noticed the look of panic in his eyes, or the terror in his voice. "I...I made some coffee, if you want some."
"I'd love a cup," she said, and watched Brock as he poured two cups of the dark, rick coffee into the ceramic mugs, and then pulled the flavored cream out of the fridge and flipped over the sugar container.
"You like yours straight black, right?" Brock asked, and Rose nodded. He handed her the mug, and he noticed she had gotten herself a fresh manicure. Her nails were shiny, red, and perfectly filed.
She smiled at him and Brock started to become uneasy. She seemed to have picked up on this.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to stare at you, Brock..." Rose said, softly. "You are just so handsome. You look so much like Flint."
Brock hated hearing that. He hated hearing that he looked like his father, because he didn't feel like his father's son, but when he looked in the mirror, he could see that he clearly was. He was only 27 years old, but when Flint was his age, he could have been his twin brother.
"Rose, my mother knows that you two are sleeping together," he said, sipping his coffee.
"I know she does," she told him, trying to hide her shame, but knowing it wasn't working. "Your mother has always known. I've been in love with your father since you were very little."
"You knew me when I was little?" He asked, and he only faintly remembered her now. She had been much younger than, she kind of looked like Misty, but the drugs and the drinking had aged her, and taken that natural beauty away from her that Misty still had, and would always have.
"Your mother used to baby sit Daisy, Violet and Lilly. Before Misty was born," she said, her mind flashing back to the night Lola stormed out, taking Brock with her, who was screaming when that man she had taken home had beaten him harder than he should have. That man was Misty's father, but she had never told him she was pregnant, or even told him about Misty. She felt bad about that, but she wasn't sure if Brock even remembered it.
Or if it had blended in with all the other beatings he had gotten from his father growing up.
He grinned, and Rose's heart skipped a beat. Flint had that same grin, the same mannerisms. He sounded like Flint until he spoke, then she was reminded that it was his son, and he had a certain boyish charm that Flint had lacked, even back then.
"I thought the first time you saw me was when..." he paused. "Well, you know."
Rose giggled. "When you were making me another grandbaby? No! It's the first time I've seen you so handsome though."
"Misty and I are going to try for another baby," he said, and Rose watched him as he sipped the last of his coffee from the cup, and pored him another cup. Rose suddenly felt jealous of Misty. Why should she have someone as sexy, smart and kind as Brock? Why couldn't she have had Flint when they were younger? Why couldn't she have had Flint's children, instead of Lola? Why did Misty get so lucky and get Brock? Why did she deserve it?
Stop it, Rose! She shouted to herself in her mind. That is your daughter. You should be thrilled she has a guy like Brock! What the hell is wrong with you?
"I think that's great," Rose said, outloud, sipping her coffee, finishing it and putting the mug down on the counter. She stood up and approached Brock as he stirred up his coffee. She couldn't help herself any longer, the soft cotton of his tank top laying against his dark, smooth skin was driving her crazy.
Brock felt her press her body against his, and her manicured nails scratched just hard enough to leave little white marks down his arm. His eyes went wide, and he turned around and saw Rose standing there, trapping him against the counter.
"Brock, will you make love to me?" Rose asked.
"R-rose," he backed away from her. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I want to feel the way I felt when I was with Flint all those years ago..." she said, pushing her against the counter, rubbing her hand on his crotch. He wasn't aroused, at least not yet, she thought, but she could tell he would definitely satisfy her.
"Rose, stop," he pushed her back, gently, but hard enough to tell her he wasn't interested and that he meant business. "I'm not my father, Rose. I won't cheat on my beautiful wife, especially with her own mother, and even if I did, I'm still not Flint, no matter how much you want to tell yourself I am."
Rose reached out her hand, squeezing her shoulder. "Then just kiss me. Just once, just kiss me. I've been wanting to feel something, ever since that day I walked in on you and Misty, I've been wanting to feel you. I miss the feeling of being dominated by a man. Like Flint used to do to me."
"Rose, please, stop," he said, backing away from her, looking for an escape. "I let you stay in my home to help you. Don't make me regret it. Don't disrespect my decision."
Her eyes flooded with tears. "It's because I am old, isn't it?"
"No," Brock said, shaking his head. "You're not old. I'm just married, to your daughter. And I love her. I traveled half way around the world to be with her, and find her, and beg for her forgiveness for being a horny teenage guy, and I'm not about to mess that up ever again."
Rose looked into his eyes and cupped his face with her hand. "You are right, Brock. You are a good man and a good husband. You are nothing like Flint."
...
November 1999
It was thanksgiving. Brock knew it because he could smell the turkey cooking as the scent of it came up the stairs and slipped under the crack of his door. He opened his eyes, not wanting to get out of the comfort of his bed. He finally had the week off from school, and he just wanted to sleep until dinner time.
He was thirteen now, and all he wanted to do was sleep, eat, and look at girls.
Forest, his nine year old brother, however, was awake at 10 A.M. and there is nothing he wanted to do, but to sit in front of the television and watch the parade with his big brother. So Brock was dragged out of bed, and he was pleasently surprised at how warm the house was. His mother was in a red checkered apron, her hair done in curls.
She smiled as she turned on the television, and the screen was filled with a giant Sonic The Hedgehod baloon floating down Celadon City streets. Erika Green, who was the up and coming gym leader of Celadon City, waved on a float, and Brock was suddenly glad he had woken up. Erika was a couple years older than he was, and he thought she was beautiful.
"I'm going to bring you guys some samples of my pumpkin pie, so you can taste it," she said, retreating off into the kitchen. Brock picked up a throw pillow and smacked his brother in the face with it, just because he wanted to.
"Hey!" Forest whined, and hit Brock back in the face. They both started laughing and Lola's voice rang out over the announcer's voice on the television.
"Boys! Boys! Stop it, now! Someone is going to get hurt!" She scolded them, but her voice was always so soft that none of her children felt threatened anytime she reprimanded them.
"Here," she gave them each a plate and fork with a tiny bit of pie. "Taste it. See if you like it."
Brock took a bite. "This is good, Mom." He said, with his mouth full.
Forest ate his piece one bite and just nodded his head.
"Oh, Good!" She cheered. "I'm making your father blueberry cobbler."
"Where is Dad anyway?" Brock asked, but he could tell by his mother's expression that he wasn't home. It was ten in the morning, on thanksgiving, and he wasn't home. He watched her as she searched for an answer.
"He must be at the gym," she said, knowing that all gym were closed on holidays, especially major ones. "I think he's redoing the landscaping or something."
But Brock knew where he was. He was down at the bar, drinking, and he had probably been there all night.
Hours passed, and Brock and Forest had fallen asleep on the couch while watching the parade. They were both awoken by smoke filling the house, the loud alarm peircing their ears, and Lola was coughing. Brock rushed into the kitchen to check on his mother, but she was fine. He coughed a bit in the smoke.
"Mom, are you OK?"
"I'm fine, honey," she said, waving the smoke away from her with an over mitt. "I was doing the laundry and I forgot about the cobbler I made. I burnt it. I'll have to run to the supermarker and get some more ingredients. Do you think you can look after everyone while I'm gone?"
"Sure, Mom, you got it," Brock said, feeling overjoyed that his mother always left him in charge. But his happiness quickly turned to dread when he heard the front door open.
"Lola!" His father's voice boomed through the house, and Forest jumped up off the couch, his heart pouding.
"Daddy!" Forest ran over to him, to hug him, but Flint pushed him off, knocking him down on his butt. Pain shot through his tail bone,and he struggled to his feet, hiding behind Brock for protection like he always did.
His little sister, Susie, who was four years old, had come down the staircase when she heard the smoke alarm and was now cowering down as he father stomped around the house.
"What in the hell is going on in here?" He asked, looking over at Lola who was scraping a blackened cobbler into the trash. "Oh Jesus H. Christ! Lola, are you so fucking stupid you can't even cook a cobbler?"
"I'm sorry, Honey. I was just about to run to the store and-"
He cut her off. "And what? Buy more to make a second one. Do I look like I'm made of money? Do you know how bad the gym is doing? The Pokemon league has already sent me two notices saying they are going to shut us down and take our credit away if I don't pick up the wins in the next month. Do you think I have the money for you two make two fucking cobblers?"
"I'm sorry," she said, timidly. "I got busy with the laundry."
"Mom," Brock spoke up, as he scooped up his little sister who had ran to him for protection. "I can take care of the laundry. I really don't mind helping out."
"Oh hell no!" Flint screamed, the scent of alchohol on his breath made Brock want to gag. "No son of mine is going to do pussy work. You'll have people thinking maybe you ain't right, if you know what I mean. Ain't no son of mine ever going to be doing a woman's work."
Brock scowled at him. "You know what, Dad? I'm getting pretty sick of the way you treat everyone around here."
Flint scoffed at him. "Well, look at you, Boss. You think you are the man of the house now?"
Susie buried her face in Brock's neck, to keep the scent of alcohol from burning her nose.
"More of a man than you will ever be!" Brock said, letting Susie slide from his arms. She ran to Lola and Lola held her close, sheilding her eyes.
"Brock, honey, please," Lola said. "Just go up to your room. Don't get yourself in the middle of this."
"No, Mom," he said, puffing out his chest and standing up to his father. He had almost reached his father's height, even at thirteen, but he still had a few inches to go, and his body mass hadn't developed yet. He still had the body of a kid, but he had the confidence and the courage of a man, and he wasn't going to let Flint push his mother around anymore.
Flint stared at him in the eyes, his drunkeness made him stumble a bit and his eyes were bloodshot.
"Oh, I get it," he said. "You're gonna grow up and be one of them, ain't ya? A guy who likes the guys?"
"So what if I do?" Brock asked. "There is nothing wrong with that. At least I won't be an alcoholic wife beater. You'll still be the same drunken idiot you are now."
"Don't call me names like that, you fucking little bitch!" Flint yelled at the top of his lungs, and Brock felt saliva hit him in the face and the stech of alchohol fill his nostrils, but he didn't flinch, he just stood up to him.
"What are you going to do, Dad?" Brock asked. "Hit me?"
With a sickening crack, Lola watched as her husband struck Brock in the face, sending him flying to the ground on his back. His lip was bleeding, but he lifted his head up, ignoring the dizziness.
"That all you got, drunk?" Brock asked, laughing."You always taught me to be tough. Strong like a stone. You hit like a girl!"
Flint spit at him as Brock got to his feet. Then he focused on Lola who was sitting on the kitchen floor, clutching Forest and Susie in her arms.
"Get up, Lola!" He screamed. "Now!" He demanded at the top of his lungs.
She sprang to her feet, and Brock got to his, slowly, trying to shake off the dizziness he felt after being struck that hard.
He raced towards her, and Brock felt anger rise within, making his blood boil.
"Hey! This fight is between you and me!" Brock said, hitting his own chest with his fist. "Come on and fight me like a man, you drunk bastard!"
"I don't fight pussies!" Flint said, kicking the remaining burnt cobbler at him. "Have that for dinner, pussy!"
When he saw Flint grab Lola by her perfectly curled hair and slam her against the wall, something inside him just snapped. He pulled Flint off of Lola and sent him across the room, knocking him into the dining room table. In less than a second, before Flint could get his bearings, Brock was on top of him, beating him in the face with his fist, pummeling him until Lola was sure he was going to kill.
"Brock, No! Please! Stop it!" She screamed, tears rushing down her face. "Stop it, baby! Please don't do that!"
She grabbed his arm, feeling the tight muscle in it quivering as he spent all of his force and energy on beating his father's face in. He heard her crying and his anger disappated, he sobered up and looked down at his father.
His eye was bloody, as was his nose, and his teeth were practically gone.
His own knuckles were bloody, and he thought maybe they were broken, but he felt no pain.
Lola pulled him into her arms and cradled him. "Oh, baby, what did you do? What did you do?"
"I...I don't know, Mom...I...I just lost it," Brock looked up at her, tears were in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. "I am tired of watching him hit you."
Lola kissed the top of his head and cradled him some more, rubbing his arm. "It's OK, Baby. I won't let him do anything to you. I won't ever let him hurt you." Hot tears streamed down her face and she hugged Brock so close to her, that she felt like she just wanted to pull him into her, protect him like she had before he was born.
He had protected her, probably saved her life.
That very same night, Flint had left, and Lola had wrapped up Brock's hand, and then he repaired the table and they ate thanksgiving dinner on the wobbly table. Lola looked at all her children sitting at the dinner table, and then she realized, she couldn't raise all of them by herself. Not now, not with Flint gone. What was she going to do?
Then she looked over at Brock, who was spoon feeding his youngest brother.
He was the one. He was the one who would save the family and Pewter Gym.