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Max has seen Neil beat Billy enough times to know where this argument is going. Her stomach sinks as she watches him unbuckle his belt. He practically whips it out of the loops and Max remains in her seat as still as a statue even though she wants to run. Run out of the room so she doesn’t have to see, like if she doesn’t see it she won’t know and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Run at Neil and yank the belt out of his hands to stop him before he can start. If only she could, if only it were that easy.
Billy shuts his mouth around the curse he doesn’t say, a bovine flare of the nostrils the last hint of his anger as it morphs to resignation. It feels like they don’t even know she’s in the room, like neither Hargrove ever noticed her at all. Not that it would change anything. Whether Max is here or not, it doesn’t matter, Neil’s got the belt in grasp and it’s going to go the way it always does.
Only it doesn’t.
“You’re a goddamn embarrassment,” Neil seethes as he wraps his belt around his hand.
Billy’s face twitches, the slight furrow of his brow the only betrayal of confusion in an otherwise slack expression. Max grips the kitchen table. She’s confused too. It’s almost scarier being confused, like what she doesn’t know might be even worse than what she thought she did.
And then it is.
Neil wraps his hand so the buckle covers his knuckles and quick as a flash, punches Billy in the face. There’s a big BOOM that rattles everything on the kitchen counter when Billy hits the floor, followed by a crack like peanut brittle snapping between teeth when his head bounces against the linoleum. Then everything goes quiet. He doesn’t cry out. He doesn’t get up.
Max gasps as she realizes he’s knocked out cold. Billy's knocked out like a boxer on tv. Her blood turns to ice. Fear flickers through her at the realization she’s made a noise— that Neil might notice her now because she made a noise.
No. Neil only has eyes for Billy right now, standing over him, face twisted in disgust. After a moment he steps back. Pays Max no mind as he turns on his heel and stomps out of the kitchen, belt still in hand.
Suddenly, all is still.
Max chews her lip. She makes it a point to avoid Billy for a awhile after he gets beat. It leaves him in an ugly mood more often than it doesn’t. She knows Neil doesn’t want Billy approached after he gets beat either, once tore into Mom something fierce for— and Max remembers the exact words because they were so hatefully roared— “coddling that cocksucker,” when she brought out the first aid kit. She hasn’t tried that again, not to Max’s knowledge.
This is normally the part where Max quietly slinks off to her room or out of the house. But Billy’s never been knocked out before. This is different. This is disturbing.
She slides out of her chair and trots over to him, kneeling down.
“Billy?” she calls softly, jostling his shoulder. “Hey, you in there?”
No response. His nose is bleeding, streams trickling from his nostrils and over his shaven upper lip. Wondering if it’s broken, Max feels the lump form in her throat as she rises to her feet. She fetches some napkins from the holder on the tabletop and realizes her hands are shaking. She kneels beside him again, blotting and wiping at the blood because she doesn’t know what else to do. She doesn't want to leave him alone unconscious.
According to the clock on the wall, it’s only a couple minutes before Billy stirs. It feels like an eternity.
His eyes creak open and then he’s swatting at Max’s hand.
“Get off me.”
“You have a bloody nose,” she protests, relieved as she tightens her grip around the wadded napkins.
“Off,” Billy repeats, grunting.
Max retracts her hand. Her stepbrother stares at the ceiling, exhaling through his mouth.
“Neil knocked you out.”
Billy’s eyes slide to her.
“He used his belt buckle like brass knuckles and he knocked you out,” she says, trying to be calm even though she actually feels closer to crying than she first thought.
That was really scary. It’s always scary when Neil beats Billy, but the way he cold-clocked him like it was nothing and sent him right to the floor was extra scary. The way all Billy’s weight made a boom and everything shook. The way his head bounced like a rubber ball before he went dummy limp. It was new and horrible and really fucking freaked her out.
“No, he didn’t,” Billy mutters.
“Huh?”
“Neil didn’t knock me out.” Billy blinks at her slowly. “I just played possum to get him to back off.”
No. Nuh-uh. No way.
Max gapes at him in disbelief.
“He didn’t knock me out,” Billy insists, agitated. “M’fine.”
Bullshit. Billy was dead to the world. She called his name, she touched him, and he didn’t even twitch.
“…you ever heard of taking a dive?” Billy sits slowly, propping his elbows up first, rising forward and then bracing on his palms. Max kind of wants to help but she thinks he’d yell at her. “S’when fighters go down on purpose. Usually for money. But, uh, sometimes I take a dive when I want Neil to fuck off, you understand?”
For a heartbeat Max wonders if it’s true, if Billy was just acting. Billy can be a really good actor when he wants to. When he’s flashing his fake ID at liquor stores. When he’s trying to charm some girl or guy into bed, especially if they’re older and he really needs to be impressive. Maybe he was just faking.
But when Billy gets up he’s wobbly, legs like jelly, one hand grasping at the counter for support. He has a strange, pinched look on his face, eyes wet, free hand roving to the back of his head. Max replays the scene in her mind.
No. No, he definitely wasn’t faking.
Max gets up too and dumps the ball of bloodied napkins in the trash, heart heavy in her chest.