Mixed up families, huh?

Chapter Twenty: Noah's POV

It was awkward and the tension was deafening. I didn't know how to ease the situation, because I had never dealt with something like this before. I've had to deal with Tyson when he's been moody before, and even that's rare. And Tyson and I almost never argued, even less after our parents died. So, being in the middle of Reagan and Tyson arguing was tough.

I understood both sides. Tyson felt like he did what he had to. He could've gone about it in a better way, but he's young. He made a mistake. Tyson didn't deserve to be blamed for that, even though he put himself in danger.

Reagan was mad because Tyson had put his life at risk for her, and he didn't even seem to care that something much worse could've happened. I was angry, too, but I realized that yelling at Tyson would only make the situation worse. Tyson always hated being yelled at.

As a kid, he would cry. He would curl up and sob. It made it horrible to yell at him. My mom would never shout at Tyson because it broke her heart to hear his whimpering and see his tiny body quivering. My dad would get so angry with Tyson that he wouldn't care how upset Tyson got until it was over.

As Tyson got older, he would fight back. He hated getting yelled at, but he was stubborn. Tyson finally learned to argue his point of view. So, the only way to get Tyson to see reason was to calm him down and speak gently. Tyson always responded best to a soothing voice and comforting hands.

I still remembered calming Tyson down after every argument.

Flashback

I knew it would be bad as soon as dad saw the broken vase on the floor. Tyson was 8 years old, and he loved soccer right now. He went through phases where he would absolutely love something one day, and that completely hate it the next. It made it hard to do anything with him.

Dad had told him to not play ball in the house. Tyson hadn't. He had thrown the ball at me when I teased him playfully about his haircut. And the ball had flown over my head, hitting mom's pretty flowers. The pink flowers hit the floor first, water following, soaking the wood floor. We watched in horror as the green vase fell fast, too quick for either of us to catch. "No!" Tyson screamed.

We both watched, terrified, as the vase shattered into a million pieces. Mom sprang into the room, her brown hair flowing in gentle curls behind her. Panic was settled in her green eyes.

"What? What happened? Are you okay?" I didn't speak, my throat closing up completely. I was gaping, still not sure if what I had just seen was real. I whipped my head back, realizing that Tyson was in deep trouble this time. Tyson didn't often get in trouble, he was a good kid, but when he did anger our parents, it was always bad.

Tyson already had tears in his eyes, obviously not accepting his dreaded fate. He was gasping for breath, his eyebrows furrowed. His cute little nose was scrunched up, his blue eyes looking to me for help. There was nothing I could do for my little brother, though. I would be in just as much trouble as him.

Mom gasped, shocked at the sight of her precious vase in pieces on the floor. The pretty flowers were soaked in water and smashed from hitting the rough floor. She looked at us both, back and forth. Wondering who was responsible. I hesitated. I didn't want to get in trouble, either, but my older brother instincts decided for me.

"It was me." I could tell my mother wanted to believe me, she didn't want Tyson to be upset when he got yelled at, but she was angry. My father burst in the room. One look at the situation, and he knew what had happened. My mother whispered in his ear, something I couldn't hear, and they both turned to me.

My father shook his head. He took one look at Tyson, and immediately knew that Tyson was responsible for the broken vase. I saw the anger flood his expression, the rage deep within his brown eyes. He balled up a fist, took a deep breath. I tuned it out, knowing what was coming next.