I’ve always been patient. Ever since I used to have to sit silently in the bathroom while my whore of a mother banged random men in dingy hotels for a fistful of bills. And I developed my patience further at the bottom of the oubliette.
I bided my time before I showed Ella how to love me. I waited until each of my children were the right age, never rushing things unless they needed it. And if Richter thinks he can bait me into action before I’m ready… the boy is going to be gravely disappointed.
Not that I’m going to make him wait long.
He’s been sulking and stomping around the house since our conversation. I can tell it’s making Skylar nervous, but she doesn’t have to worry. Everyone in my house is on alert now. They’ve seen his true colors.
I sit in my chair in the living room after dinner, listening to the girls explain the bedtime routine to Skylar. Heather shares some of her clothes with her and, just as I’d planned, Cleo is excited to have Skylar in her room for the night.
The little ones are already in their cribs, falling asleep amidst the sounds they’ve known since they were born. Everyone is doing what they’re supposed to… and I’m waiting.
It doesn’t take long for Richter to realize he doesn’t have an assigned place to sleep, and after he’s done harassing Skylar, he walks into the living room and drops himself onto the couch. Almost exactly where I taught Wesley how to receive my love.
“I guess I have to sleep out here?” he asks, pushing at the cushions, but I just raise a finger to my lips and point at the cribs.
“Come with me,” I whisper. Standing, I move to the backdoor, opening it quietly. To my surprise, he follows me without any of his dramatic attitude. We both put our coats on in silence, and then I grab the flashlight and tuck it into my pocket before I step out onto the patio. In the open area of the backyard, the moon on the snow is more than enough light to see by. We won’t need the flashlight until later.
Richter rubs his hands together in the chill, looking out over the landscape while I close the door, and then I move to stand beside him. Enjoying the silence, letting my patience test his—and I win.
“Okay, let’s handle this,” he says, turning to face me, and I chuckle as he shakes out his hands. If he thinks we’re going to fight, he has no idea how different he is from our father.
Luke rarely went for the direct fight.
It was always so much easier to break the spirit first.
“I told you that if you wanted to be treated like a man in this house, I’d show you what that means.”
“Just get it over with, Bryden,” he snaps, trying to sound like he’s in charge.
“I’ve already had the conversation with you that disrespect won’t be tolerated in this house. Not to me, or to anyone in our family.”
“You’re not my family.” Richter crosses his arms, staring at me, and I shrug, ignoring his comment.
“Tell me, did Luke allow disrespect in his house when you lived with him?” I ask, looking over at him, but I can read the quick flash of fear on his face. No.
“Dad never had to ask for respect.”
“To be clear, I’m not asking,” I reply, feeling the cold air fill my lungs on a deep inhale. “But when I was with Luke, he used to put us in the oubliette when we misbehaved. If we were disrespectful or disobedient or disappointing. Did he ever put you in the oubliette, Richter?”
“No,” he answers, lifting his chin defiantly. “We knew how to behave when Dad told us to do something.”
Right.
“Well, I feel it’s only fair to let you know that my house has the same rules around disrespect, and I expect you to follow them.”
“You’re not my father,” he growls.
“I’m well aware of who our father was,” I answer with a chuckle, remembering the way Luke used to hit me in the back of the head when I made a mistake. How he’d do much worse when I was disrespectful or disappointing. It was harsh, but effective. “Wait here.”
Richter watches me as I walk across the moon-drenched yard, stopping near the neat pile of logs Casey prepared for our family. Wrapping my fingers over the handle of the axe, I yank it out of the tree stump with a sharp tug. On my way back to the patio, I swing it onto my shoulder with a grin that feels natural, and Richter’s eyes go wide.
He doesn’t look like an angry young man anymore; he looks like a scared little boy.
“Look, Richter, I don’t want to put you in the ground,” I say, looking him in the eyes as I adjust the axe on my shoulder. “So, I’m giving you a choice.”
“A choice?” Richter asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but he telegraphs his fear in the way he looks around. Searching for an escape, or someone that will help him… but he’ll find neither.
“Yes. You can either choose to act like a man, or I can treat you like an errant little boy.” The damn grin won’t leave my face, and I can remember Luke holding a shovel just like this when he told me to bury Stephanie. It shouldn’t feel right, I’ve always prided myself on my differences with Luke, but seeing the haze of panic on Richter’s face is… satisfying. “What’s your choice?”
“I’m not your son, or one of the little kids running around here. I have my own house, and I’m the man of my house.”
“Okay then, I’m going to show you what it means to be the man of the house.” Flicking the flashlight on, I point toward the tree line. “Go on.”
“What?”
“Are you scared, Richter?” I ask, letting the grin stretch, and he shifts his eyes from me, looking at the dark
