Before he could catch his breath, I drove my knee lightly into his chest, pinning his shoulder down, and locked his wrist in a leverage hold that froze him in place.
He gasped, a high, desperate sound.
“You’re right about one thing, Derek,” I whispered down at him, close enough that only he could hear. “You do need discipline. But you’ve been taking it out on a child because you knew he couldn’t fight back.”
I applied just enough pressure to make him wince, then let go and stood up cleanly.
Derek scrambled backward like a crab, clutching his arm, his face flushed bright purple. He looked around the yard, waiting for someone to jump to his defense.
Mallory stared at him in shock, her mouth open. My mother sat frozen, her iced tea forgotten. And my husband slowly lowered his head, unable to meet my eyes.
