“Get out here, Kessler,” Harry yelled.

I opened the front door six inches and stood in the gap.

“You laid hands on my son,” Harry said, his voice carrying down the quiet street.

“Trent’s the one who grabbed my collar,” I said.

“He’s nineteen years old,” Harry shouted, pushing into the doorway until his face was eight inches from mine.

“You assaulted a teenager on common property.”

On the other side of the kitchen wall, I heard Emily pull her ponytail over her right shoulder.