Chapter 3

The door was dented, the frame warped and hanging off the wall.

Kyle wiped the sweat off his forehead and turned back to the crowd, a cocky smirk plastered across his face.

"See that? That’s how you get things done."

Mason instantly started clapping like a loyal lapdog. "Kyle, you're a freaking legend!"

The rest of our classmates just exchanged uneasy glances. Nobody joined in on the laughter.

I stood by the doorway, my body completely still. I hadn't raised a hand. Not out of fear.

The security camera mounted down the hallway pointed directly right at us. The second Kyle raised his fist, I knew he was dead meat.

Seeing me freeze up, Kyle figured I was terrified.

He sauntered over to the doorway and kicked the pair of shoes resting on my shoe rack.

They were faded, worn-out sneakers. The soles were peeling away from the cloth, but I could never bring myself to throw them out.

They were the last gift my grandpa gave me before he passed away.

"Why are you keeping this trash around?"

Kyle scowled, grabbed the sneakers, and dumped them straight into the nearby trash can.

Mason caught the hint immediately. He darted over, pulling the sneakers back out of the trash.

"Kyle, want me to trash 'em for good?"

"Stomp on them."

Mason hesitated, blinking.

Kyle glared, his voice dropping into a dangerous bite. "You deaf?"

Mason gritted his teeth and brought his heavy boot slamming down.

The sneakers sank into a puddle of disgusting, murky water.

Watching those shoes get ruined, my fingers curled into tight, white-knuckle fists.

Mason stomped on them a second time, forcing a slimy grin onto his face. "Clean as a whistle now, Kyle."

I lifted my gaze, fixing my eyes straight on him.

"Pick them up."

Mason’s fake smile froze. "What the hell did you just say?"

"Pick. Them. Up."

"You really think you're hot stuff, don't you?"

Kyle stepped in front of Mason, his face twisting into a cruel sneer.

"What? It's just a pair of beat-up kicks. Are you expecting me to pay you back?"

"My grandpa gave me those."

"So what? Your grandpa's six feet under. What's he gonna do? Crawl out of his casket to come after me?"

The hallway went dead silent.

I stared at him, my mouth set in a hard line.

Kyle took my silence as a total victory.

"Cat got your tongue? Where’d all that tough-guy attitude go?"

He strode up and shoved his shoulder hard into mine.

"Today, I'm not just changing the locks. I'm tossing every piece of your garbage out on the street."

Right then, the door across the hall swung open.

Molly Gable stepped out holding a grocery basket. She froze the second she saw the broken door frame and my ruined shoes in the puddle.

She rushed over, her face pale with worry. "Liam! What on earth is happening here?"

"Mrs. Gable, please go back inside," I said, stepping between her and the mess.

Kyle snapped back, irritation oozing from his voice. "Mind your own damn business, old lady."

Mrs. Gable looked at the heavy hammer resting in his hand, her expression turning red-hot with outrage.

"Have you lost your mind, boy? He pays rent here! Nothing in that apartment is damaged. What right do you have to break down his door?"

"I'm breaking down my door."

"This is his home!"

"It's my family's property! I'll do whatever the hell I want with it."

Mrs. Gable raised a trembling finger at him. "You think having daddy's money lets you walk all over people? Liam is a good kid. He's always the first to help out around here. You aren't afraid of karma coming for you?"

Kyle laughed like he’d just heard the funniest joke of his life.

"A good kid?"

He sneered, eyeing my faded black hoodie.

"He’s a broke tenant living off dirt. And you're sticking your neck out for him?"

"You..."

"Back off, grandma."

Kyle pointed the head of the hammer right at her face.

"Keep sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, and I'll kick you out tomorrow, too. You people have lived here so long you actually think you own the place."

Mrs. Gable shook with rage. "You can't just kick me out!"

"I own this whole damn building," Kyle roared, his voice echoing off the concrete walls, "I decide who stays and who gets tossed onto the street!"

"Kyle," I said, my voice dropping an octave, "Don't touch her."

"Oh, look at you! Playing the hero now?"

Kyle had been seething ever since I stood my ground earlier. Seeing Mrs. Gable shielding me pushed him over the edge.

He shoved her back hard.

Mrs. Gable stumbled, losing her balance completely before crashing hard into the brick wall.

Her grocery basket spilled across the floor, fresh vegetables and broken eggs splattering everywhere.

I lunged forward, catching her before she slumped down.

"Mrs. Gable! Are you okay?"

She clutched her lower back, her face drained of color. "It hurts... Liam, my back..."

Kyle stood over us, letting out a cold, heartless laugh. "Oh, come on! A tiny nudge and you're playing the victim? Are you trying to scam me?"

I looked up at him, my eyes burning.

"You pushed her."

"She couldn't keep her feet under her! How is that my problem?"

"The camera caught everything."

"So, what if it did?"

Kyle pointed at the splintered door frame.

"Now I'm going in there to clear out his crap. Anyone who tries to stop me gets thrown out next."

He turned around and raised his heavy boot toward the door.

…

"Kyle!"

Holding onto Mrs. Gable, my voice chilled to sub-zero.

"Take one more step, and God himself won't be able to save you today."

Kyle paused.

Then, he threw his head back and burst into a loud, mocking laugh.

"Who's saving who?"

Mason chimed in from the side, "Just apologize to Kyle already, man! Mrs. Gable just needs a quick trip to the ER. Don't blow this out of proportion."

"Shut up," I snapped, glaring at Mason, "If anything happens to her, you're an accomplice."

The color drained from Mason's face.

However, Kyle had completely lost his mind.

He glared down at my hands supporting Mrs. Gable, his jaw clenching tight. "You were acting so tough earlier! What, now all you can do is hold onto an old lady?"

The second I turned my head to inspect Mrs. Gable's injuries, he charged straight for the entrance.

“Bang!”

He kicked the door wide open.

The compromised lock snapped into pieces, and the heavy door slammed violently into the interior drywall, echoing like a gunshot.

Mason scurried in right behind him. "Kyle, what should we clear out first?"

"Smash the valuable stuff first."

Kyle strutted around like he owned the place, scanning the small room.

There wasn't much inside.

A wooden study desk, a small TV, and the antique wooden cabinet my grandpa left behind.

Kyle walked up to the TV and grabbed a heavy wooden chair nearby.

"This TV isn't half bad. It would be a shame to wreck it."

Mason asked, "Then what should we smash?"

"That desk."

Kyle pointed his chin toward my study desk.

"It's an eyesore."

He raised the chair high over his head, ready to slam it down, when a ferocious roar shattered the room from behind.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Everyone whipped around.

The elevator doors had just slid open.

A middle-aged man sprinted out into the hallway.

He wore a grease-stained DoorDash delivery jacket, his helmet sitting lopsided on his head, his face lined with sunburn and exhaustion.

He was clutching a crushed, battered insulated delivery bag.

The man was wheezing violently, but the second his eyes swept across the room, he froze dead in his tracks.

Kyle froze, too.

The chair stayed suspended mid-air.

The man's gaze bypassed Mason and locked directly onto Kyle.

Shock registered in his eyes first, instantly collapsing into a wave of unadulterated, explosive fury.

The chair slipped right out of Kyle’s hands, crashing onto the floor.

"Dad?"