Afire: Entire Blinded Series by Sarah Masters Read Free Book Online

forehead so sharp they looked like knife slashes in Playdoh. Poor bastard never won an argument, and in later years he didn't bother to try. I must have been about ten the day he left—a Saturday if I remember right. His bags piled up in the hallway gave me a clue he was going, but the eruption of harsh words earlier in the day had been the first inkling it wasn't one of their usual arguments. Mum's icy tones accusing him of having an affair, Dad's weary responses that he wasn't, never had, but wished he fucking was. I'd widened my eyes at his words, amazed he'd had the bollocks to utter them, and hugged myself while sitting on the sofa, attention focused on those bags.
    He hunkered down in front of me, hands on my knees, skin warm against my own, what with me having a rip in my jeans from climbing trees with Ryan. I stared at the grass stains on the fabric covering my thighs. The swatch of deep green faded at the edges to yellow. I thought about Mum belting my arse over it later. I remember betting she'd really go to town. Dad wouldn't be there to protect me, and I didn't care, just didn't fucking care. She could hit me all she liked. Nothing would hurt as much as seeing my old man's eyes staring at me, moist, like he was holding back tears.
    "I'm gonna have to go, son. I can't stay here anymore.” He sighed so hard, the breath reaching my face, and I wished for his arms about me, my face pressed against his chest, Dad's hand smoothing my hair and easing my worries. His fingers tightened on my knees, a quick squeeze that wasn't enough, didn't do anything much to dispel the fear inside me, the panic that unfurled in my gut and sent me lightheaded. “I'll work out something with your mum, for when you can come and stay with me, all right?"
    I nodded, tears burning, and looked away, out the window to where kids played football on the green. Their shouts and hoots proved our lives were so damn different right then. I envied them their parents, ones who stayed together, ones who made home a safe place. Ones who didn't argue, their screams and jibes searing, hurtful, wounding.
    Dad stood, leaned over and ruffled my hair, and I hugged myself tighter so I didn't jump out of my seat and grip him around the waist. I should have done it, I know that now—and damn that saying about hindsight!—but I remained in my seat as he walked into the hallway. He hefted a couple of bags over his shoulder and stepped over the others, the sound of the front door squeaking open so fucking loud it seemed to fill the house. Mum, she was upstairs, probably cursing the day she'd married Dad, telling herself she was better off without him. That he didn't deserve her, and why hadn't she listened to her parents all those years ago? Hadn't they predicted this outcome? Hadn't they told her Dad wasn't the right one for her? I frowned, knowing even at my young age that it was the other way around. Dad was better than she'd ever be, and there he was, back in the hallway, picking up a bag in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He glanced through the doorway at me, his expression one of utter sadness. My bottom lip wobbled. I ground my teeth together, silently cursing and relishing doing so, something Mum wouldn't have abided had I screamed those words aloud.
    Why are you fucking leaving me here with her, Dad? Why can't I bloody well go with you? Take me with you. Please? I can't stay here. Not with her the way she is. Fucking mad woman. Shitting, fucking, bastard mad woman.
    But he'd gone, a wink and a watery smile the last I saw of him that year, and God, did I cry. Silent tears, though, me unwilling to let Mum know how much I hurt inside. If she knew she'd use it against me—gladly.
    I sigh now, a hard lump in my throat, and stare into the distance at the winding path that leads to the shop. I should just keep walking, plodding on until I can't go any further, tiredness making me slump down on the ground, hunched in a ball, my eyes closing, brain