Slippery Slopes (Winterhaven Series - Vol. 1)

Chapter 31

"Dad?" The boy entered through the rear door, peering anxiously into the kitchen. The room was empty. The whole house felt empty. He closed the door quietly and slid his book bag off his shoulder, gripping the strap tightly. His dad was supposed to be home early from work today—home before his mom. "Dad...are you here?"

The living room was empty, too, and the boy hurried over to the window when he heard a car pull up into the driveway. His stomach pinched and he started to feel sick as he watched his mom get out of the white Cadillac; his dad's car nowhere to be seen.

Clutching his bag, the boy rushed upstairs and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He wanted to lock it but if he did, he'd just get in more trouble.

Just lie to her, he thought fearfully. For now—just lie.

He tensed when he heard the front door open and his mom call his name. Where was his dad? He was supposed to be home by now! It was better when his dad was here.

Footsteps on the stairs heralded his mom's approach. He sat on the edge of his bed and waited, his heart racing. He'd never lied to his mom before; would she know?

A single knock and the door opened before he could answer it. His mom stood in the doorway in her neat, soft gray pantsuit, her golden blond hair pulled back stylishly—the way she always wore it for work. She was very pretty—all the men said so. But they never saw her the way her son did; face tight, eyes angry, glossed lips nothing more than a rigid straight line. The boy didn't see "beauty", but rather an angry force to be feared.

"How was practice?" she asked with a neutral tone, waiting for the boy's answer before she decided how to react. "Did you make the team?"

The look in her cool eyes—as gray as her suit—warned him not to lie. But in those eyes he also saw the consequences of telling her the truth.

He swallowed thickly and tried to keep his voice from shaking. "Yes."

"Yes?" She stared at him, studied him.

The boy nodded and squeezed the strap of his bag that lay on the bed beside him.

"What position?"

Oh no! He didn't know what to tell her. He didn't even know the positions. "I-I don't know yet," he murmured. "The coach hasn't assigned them to us yet."

"I see." His mom's face softened a fraction and the boy relaxed a little as she walked into the room. "You've surprised me. I didn't expect this of you."

The boy looked up, a small smile wavering on his lips.

The woman stood before him and cupped his face. "You are certainly your father's son."

The smile faltered and he cried out suddenly as she slapped him hard, knocking him down on the bed.

"Neither of you can lie for shit."

The boy huddled on the bed, face buried in his arms, sobbing.

"I called Coach Pearson," she said with a brittle tone. "He said you never showed up." She grabbed his arm and jerked him upright, wrenching his shoulder socket. The boy choked on another cry as pain shot through his shoulder. "Where were you?" When he looked at her fearfully, his throat working, she slapped him again but held onto his arm, keeping him in place. "Don't you dare lie to me again!"

"I...I was in drama class," he whispered, shaking.

"Drama?" Her face twisted and she threw him down on the bed. "What are you—queer? I gave birth to a son! When are you going to start acting like a fucking boy?!"