by Hannah Gray
My head hung down. I could have jumped out and run, but I knew he’d likely still talk to my dad, and it would be the same result. Me getting my ass beat. Or worse, he could decide to make me a human dartboard again.
I climbed out of the truck and heard Coach White’s footsteps following close behind me. I couldn’t take him inside my trailer. That would be so embarrassing. With the old food, clothes, needles, and cigarettes everywhere, what would he think?
I knocked on the door. “Dad?”
I was greeted by silence.
Normally, I would go right inside. But if Daddy was in the middle of putting that stuff in his arm, I didn’t want Coach White to see him.
Leaning over the side of the rail, I peeked in through the window.
I saw him. He was lying on the couch, asleep.
“He’s asleep,” I told Coach White. “We’d better leave him be. He’ll be mad if we wake him.”
Coach knocked again loudly before leaning over and looking in the window himself.
He looked in at my dad for a few moments before finally, his head pulled back, and he frowned. “Go sit in my truck, Cole.”
“But I thought—”
“Go on.” He patted my back. “Go on, son. I’ll be right over, and we can go for burgers while your daddy naps.”
A burger did sound really good. All I’d had that day was a cold cheese sandwich with a carton of milk for lunch. Cold lunch was for kids whose parents were so far behind on paying their lunch bill that they got the cheapest thing the kitchen could make. I wasn’t complaining though; food was food.
I walked back to his truck and climbed in. My heart lurched into my throat when I saw him push the door open and go inside. My dad didn’t take to strangers well. This wasn’t going to end well for Coach … or me.
A few minutes later, he came out and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He paced as he talked on the phone to whoever it was. I just hoped to hell he didn’t wake up my dad. I knew Coach wanted to help, but he didn’t know how mad my dad got sometimes.
Once he hung up the phone, he walked back over to the truck and opened the door.
“Cole?” His voice sounded nervous as he ran his hand on the back of his neck.
“Yeah, Coach?”
“Your daddy … he’s, uh … he isn’t well. I called the ambulance. All right?”
“Because of the drugs? The ones he puts in his veins with needles?” I asked, not surprised. He was always passing out after he did that stuff.
I didn’t know who would want to put something that made them feel so awful inside their own body. I often wondered what he would be like if he didn’t use that stuff. I wondered if maybe, just maybe, he would like me more.
“Yeah.” He looked at me and took his sunglasses off. “I think … I think this time, he might have overdone it, son.” Reaching over, he rubbed my shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“He’ll wake up,” I told him. “He always does.” Glancing out the window, I watched the trees sway in the wind.
“I don’t know if he will,” he said. “Is … is there anyone I can call?”
“It’s just him. I don’t have anybody else.” My stomach growled, reminding me the sandwich was long gone. But I was used to this. Normally, I wouldn’t even eat until the next day at school. Unless one of the neighbors saw me passing by and offered something. I loved it when that happened.
A few minutes later, an ambulance screeched in. Followed by a cop car. Causing everyone to pop their nosy heads out of their trailers. I’d had to call an ambulance for Daddy before. They had given him medicine, and he had come back to life. They’d do the same thing. And by the next day, he’d be back to himself. His mean, angry self.
I started to open the door. It was clear we weren’t going to get burgers.
“Stay in here, buddy,” Coach’s voice told me. “Just stay in here. I’m going to go check with the paramedics. I need you to stay here, okay?”
I nodded. Maybe he wanted to take me to dinner after all.
I watched him walk up to the officer standing on the stairs. Pulling his hat off, he clutched it in his hand before shaking his head. He glanced at me in the truck before walking over.
Getting back in the truck, he closed his eyes briefly. “Cole, your dad … he’s … I’m sorry to tell you this, son, but he’s gone.”
“Gone,” I mimicked.
I’d hoped for that man to be gone for a long, long time. I doubted today was the day it finally happened. He’d go on to live another day and hurt more people.
“He … died. I’m sorry.” He reached over and clutched my shoulder, causing me to jump. Noticing my reaction, he pulled his hand back slowly. “Do you want to stay? Or go and say your good-byes or …”
“No,” I said before turning my attention back to the window. “I don’t want to go back in there.”
A big part of me still thought he was probably going to be saved, and then I’d be stuck, living with him. Back in that hell. I despised that old, dirty trailer so much. Even though I was just a kid, a kid who shouldn’t think these types of thoughts, I wished I could light it on fire and watch it burn. Some days, I even wished for this to happen with him inside of it.
I knew that was awful to say. He was my dad. But he made me feel so worthless. He hated me so much, and I didn’t even know what I had done wrong. I did okay in school. I got mostly Bs. I passed my tests. They said I was talented at football. I didn’t know what I had done that made him hate me so much.
I still prayed each day for my angel. My hope was wearing thin—and fast. But I knew my angel was out there somewhere, waiting for me.
“Are you sure he’s dead?” I asked him one last time.
His jaw was tense as he nodded his head once. “Yes, he is. I’m sorry.”
The thing is, I didn’t feel sadness. I wasn’t angry or upset. I wasn’t in shock either, and I didn’t cry. Not even a little.
The day my father died, I felt a different type of feeling. I felt … relieved. And I understand how completely messed up that really is.
thirty-one
Ally
“They are going to lose this game,” Sloane mutters to me.
“And it’ll be Cole’s fault,” I say the sentence I know she’s thinking.
“Well … I wasn’t going to say that. But …”
I can’t defend him because he is sucking ass out there. But I know why he’s struggling so much. Not only did I unload my secrets, but I also unloaded Jenn and Matt’s too. I damaged him before this game. If they lose, it’ll be as much my fault as his.
Normally, he dominates the field. He demands attention. He’s six foot two and as graceful as a damn tiny dancer. He’s light on his feet, and he always seems to know exactly what’s going to happen next. It’s truly an honor to watch him play to his full potential.
Unfortunately, tonight isn’t that.
“Storms is fucking terrible tonight,” a guy with gelled hair says in front of me. “They ought to shit-can his ass. Embarrassment to the team.”
“And you ought to shit-can your hairstyle, asshole. It isn’t exactly hiding your receding hairline,” I mumble much louder than I anticipated.
“What the fuck did you say, bitch?” He stands up, not looking intimidating at all.
“Pfft … please. You’re a balding, middle-aged man who likely never played sports and who likely didn’t get off your mom’s tit till you were fifteen years old. Please sit down and shut your mouth. Or better yet, shove some more of that popcorn in it.”
Reluctantly, he huffs and puffs before sitting back down. Never saying another word besides a few inaudible grumbles.
“Remind me not to piss you off,” Sloane says quietly, leaning into me. “You go for the jugular.”
“Fuck with my family, and I’ll piss in your Cheerios.” I shrug. “Cole is family, and so are you.”
She smiles and pats my shoulder. “Thanks, Al.”
Cole’s body is out there, runn
ing around. Physically, he’s there. Mentally, he’s not even in the same state. It’s heartbreaking to watch. Each throw that he doesn’t catch, sack he doesn’t avoid, and incomplete pass he launches into the air only seems to make losing feel inevitable.
Normally, if he messes up, he turns his game up to one hundred and ten percent, just to prove himself. But not this game. This game, he just seems more defeated with each mistake he makes.
Looking at the clock winding down, I can’t wait for it to be over. All I want to do is run to him and make sure that he’s all right. He’s saved me more times than I can count. It’s my turn to save him. Or at least try.
Cole
Pulling my helmet off, I walk into the locker room. Unable to even look my teammates in the eye, not wanting to see the disappointment I’m sure is written all over their faces.
They really fucking wanted this win.
I’m not one who gets inside my own head. I don’t make mistakes, yet I just blew the game for my team because I made one mistake after another. We’d set out to be undefeated this season, and now, we can kiss that good-bye. All. Because. Of. Me.
The press is the absolute last thing I want to deal with right now. I’d rather go to Ally, find a long dirt road to drive down in my truck, and let off some steam before going and seeing Matt and Jenn.
That would make me feel much better.
But Coach says we need to let a few people interview us and that it isn’t an option. So, I’ll suck it up and do it.
After all, I did just lose this game for him, so the least I can do is a lousy interview.
“Cole Storms, your team was expected to win tonight. What do you think happened?” the first vulture asks, shoving a microphone in my face.
“You know what? No game is a guarantee. All we can do is our best. My team did their job. Unfortunately, I had an off night. It happens to all of us.”
“Are you worried you won’t make it to the championship? That’s been your goal this season along with being undefeated, hasn’t it? Now that that’s gone, do you still think you’ve got a shot?”
“I’m not worried at all,” I say calmly. “It wasn’t our night. Wasn’t my night. It won’t happen again. We’ll be there. I’ll make sure of it.”
“You sound so sure for a guy who just lost a game against a team who has lost half their games,” the asshole says. His bald head shining in the stadium lights, basically blinding me.
I choose that moment to give the reporters my most charming smile. “All right, that’s all from me. Have yourselves a good night.”
The questions continue to fire at me, but I hoist my duffel bag over my shoulder and walk away. I have bigger fish to fry tonight than football.
It’s called finding Ally and forgetting the hell that has been this day.
thirty-two
Cole
“Hey,” I hear Ally’s voice come from the darkness before I see her beautiful face. “Tough loss. I’m sorry, baby,” she says and wraps her arms around me.
Before I can answer, some of my teammates join us near my truck.
“We’re going out. Going to go get drunk and soften the blow of what just happened. You coming with?” Weston says to me.
“Nah, not tonight, man. Have fun.”
“So, you lose the game for us, and then your pussy ass is too much of a bitch to even respect us enough to come out?” Dex’s voice speaks with fury.
“Dex,” Knox warns. “Cut the shit.”
“No, fuck that. Ricky would have gone out with us. He wouldn’t have ditched us for some piece of as—”
Ally’s hand lets go of mine, and before I even have time to process it, she’s in Dex’s face.
“Get off his dick, douche bag. He’s your fucking team captain. Treat him like it.” She might be small, but she can be a savage.
“A shit team captain at that.” He smirks.
Ally is on her tippy-toes and in his face. Her dark hair whips around as she furiously shakes her head at him, coming to my rescue. “Bitch, it took you till your senior year to even get off the fucking bench,” Ally spews more words. “Just because you are a mediocre football player with, I’m sure, a teeny pencil dick, leave him the hell alone.”
He looks baffled, and I’m enjoying watching this tiny girl put this meathead in his place. “I can see why he likes you. A psychotic bitch like you is probably wild in the shee—”
I have him by the throat, pressed against the wall before he even saw me coming.
“Finish that sentence,” I growl, “and you can forget about football because you won’t even be able to walk. I’ll break your legs, motherfucker. And your fucking hands.”
He gasps for air, and I press down harder.
“Storm!” Coach’s voice booms. “What the fuck is going on?”
When I release him, he falls down, grabbing his neck. “He disrespected me and my girl.”
Coach’s eyes slowly shift from mine to his. “That true?”
“He’s the team captain. He should fucking play and act like it,” he manages to say between coughs.
“Dex, you weren’t out there, setting the world on fire yourself, son. So, if I were you … I’d shut the hell up!” His voice rises with every word he says. “Now, I’m going to say this once: all of you, get the hell out of my sight. You all sucked tonight. Each and every one of you!”
And with that, he storms off. Luckily, the others do too—besides Knox and Weston, who both laugh and look at Ally.
“Shit, Ally. You had even me shaking in my Nikes.” Knox shakes his head.
“For real, I think Sexy Dexy almost shit his pantalones.” Weston puts a hand on his stomach and laughs.
I smile proudly at my girl. Who at one hundred ten pounds, soaking wet, just put a two-hundred-forty-pound dude in his place with ease.
Just another reason why I fucking love this girl. Because when it comes to me, she’ll go to war, just to stand by my side.
Ally
Once everyone’s gone, Cole backs me up against his truck.
“You can say it. I sucked donkey dick tonight.”
“I saw no such thing.” I widen my eyes. “Wait, there were donkeys there?”
“Har-har, so funny,” he sighs. “I feel like a useless fuck, losing that game for the guys.”
Running my hand through his hair, I kiss his cheek. “You had an off night; it happens to everyone.”
“Even Tom Brady?” he says, trying to act surprised.
He knows I’ve always had a thing for Brady.
“Fuck yes.” I nod. “Most games, that fine motherfucker doesn’t even show up until the fourth quarter.”
“But at least he shows up,” he says, looking at the ground. I can tell it’s eating away at him, losing that game. “Dex was right to say what he did about me. Not about you.”
“Fuck Dex,” I say bluntly. “He’s a toolbag who needs to stay in his own damn lane.” I look at him and sigh. “I feel like tonight’s loss is my fault. If I had just kept it together until the end of football season, I wouldn’t have burdened you with all of this shit.”
He vigorously shakes his head and tilts my chin up. “I would have been pissed if you’d kept that from me any longer. I needed to know. There will never be a right time for information like that.”
When I look unconvinced, he presses his minty lips to mine. “Trust me when I say, any pain you’re carrying, well, I want to carry it with you. If I could, I’d take the whole load on my back so that you didn’t have to feel it.” He looks discouraged. “Unfortunately, life doesn’t work like that.”
My eyes water as I wrap my arms around his huge frame. “I know you would.”
thirty-three
Ally
“You sure you don’t need me to come in?” I ask Lenny on the phone. Praying he’ll say he needs me to work.
After telling Cole everything and the tough loss his team had, things were finally starting to settle down. Until today.
Birthdays
aren’t my favorite. In fact, they sort of put me in a weird funk. Every. Single. Year.
“Kid, it’s slower than a herd of turtles walking through peanut butter,” his Southern accent says, unimpressed. “Stay the heck home. We’re thinking of closing early anyway.”
“All right,” I sigh. “Guess I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Yes, you will. Go study or learn something. Damn kids these days just want to party.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, old man,” I joke back before ending the call.
I glance at the clock. It’s only three in the afternoon. I’ve finished my classes and schoolwork for the day. Sloane has a late class tonight, and Cole had an away game yesterday and isn’t due back for another few hours.
Lying back on my bed, I close my eyes. Just get through this day. It’ll be over before you know it.
A knock at the door sends me shooting straight up.
“Allycat, open up,” Cole’s deep voice yells. I don’t even have time to answer when he drawls, “I know what day it is, you knucklehead. I know you’re in there, hiding.”
Rolling my eyes, I walk over and pull the door open. “I was hoping you wouldn’t look at the calendar.” Putting a hand on my hip, I give him a cutting look. “I thought you wouldn’t be back until later.”
He gives me a charming look before kissing my cheek. “Why, it’s November 2, sweetheart. You know I wouldn’t forget your birthday,” he says, holding his arm behind his back. “And I lied about the time. I didn’t want your ass trying to escape before I got home.”
“I hate this day,” I point out. “I wish we could just skip it.”
Pulling out a pack of Hostess CupCakes from behind his back, he opens them, and then he pulls a candle out of his pocket and sticks it in the middle of one. “Traditions are traditions, Al.”
Birthdays were never a thing when I was growing up. It also didn’t help that I spent my twelfth birthday dealing with the aftermath of finding my mother’s overdosed body that morning.