“Am I?” He chuckles. “Officer, I know he’s my stepson and I love him dearly, but I think this time I need to teach him a lesson. I want to press full charges for all of these infractions, because this time he got off lucky and didn’t kill anyone, but next time . . . and there will be a next time, it might be a lot worse.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” But the look in Sal’s eyes says he would.

“I can be real convincing.” Another creepy smile that makes me feel like he’s been planning on getting me out of their life for some time now, and I just gave him the opportunity to put it in motion. “I already put in a call last night to my friend at the station. He said you’d be in a good three, four years.” He shrugs.

“Fuck this. Fuck you.” He’s bluffing. He wouldn’t. And yet deep down, I know he’s not. He’s been trying to damage my mother’s view of me ever since they got married. And now that my stepbrother Marcus is getting attention for baseball, wouldn’t it be easier to get rid of the one who shines brighter?

I feel sick to my stomach and not just because I’m hungover. But because he means it. He means this.

“By the look on your face, you’re getting it now.” He leans in closer so I can smell the stale smell of alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. “I own a piece of everything you are, Ryan.”

“Go to hell.”

His chuckle is low and degrading and has me clenching my fists. “What do you think your dad would say if he could see you now? At least he was an honorable man. At least he would have taken responsibility for his actions. At least—”

“You don’t know shit about my father.” Tears burn and rage fires inside of me. Fuck Sal. Fuck my father for never coming home and leaving me here with this asshole. And fuck my mother for letting this happen. All of it. Every damn part of it.

“What I do know, is that I’m marching you into this recruitment office and making you enlist, or I’m calling the cops and pressing charges. Fuck if I care. But you can spend four years becoming a man serving your country or four years behind bars being Billy-Bob’s girlfriend. You decide, son.”

My heart stops, fucking dies, at his words . . . especially when it hits me that we are literally standing ten feet from the army recruitment office’s doors.

I was so preoccupied worrying and anticipating another fist, that I didn’t think to notice where he parked. Where we were headed.

And now I’m frozen with dread.

“But baseball. What about baseball and—”