by L. J. Woods
My phone vibrates in my hold. Another text from Dad.
Dad: Get here now!!!!!!!
Jesus. He’s worse than last night.
“What time’s practice?” I ask.
“Eleven. It’s ten now.”
“Be ready in fifteen.”
Isaac gets his shit together while I shower off the remnants from last night.
Am I fucked up for jerking one out to Rayne while I let the water and orgasm soothe my hangover? Maybe. But it’s the least she can do for driving away with my ride.
In twenty-five, we’re pulling up to my old house. Our old house. It’s as big as Isaac’s but while his is a modern masterpiece, ours looks more rustic. As rustic as a nine-bedroom mansion can be.
A girl about our age comes out the wooden front doors. She has on one of my dad’s old jerseys, worth a fortune now, heels and a dress in her hand as she heads for the Rover in the driveway.
“Damn, Georgina!” Isaac calls from beside me in the passenger seat of his Jag. “Can’t get with a King so you sleep with the older model?”
Her brows hit her forehead when she sees us.
Fuck, if Dad's sleeping with a girl from my graduating class, he's definitely still on one.
“Dude.” I nudge him with my fist and I’m happy I drove. Isaac is a non-stop party and he’s only gotten worse since his girlfriend’s death. If you can call her that.
He settles into his seat as Georgina scurries to her Rover. We’re not the only ones back for another dose of Eden.
“Manhattan was fun, but no one knew who we were," he says, reaching into the pocket of his colour-blocked sweater. He pulls out a small bottle of vodka, unscrewing it. “But here? We’re kings. Eden royalty. And everyone knows it.” He laughs, taking a swig. “Well, everyone except Ray and her goonies."
That’s why she was blocking his room. I let my guard down and she used me.
My hands tighten on the wheel. She used me and robbed me. Considering what happened before she left all those years ago, I shouldn’t be surprised.
My phone vibrates again.
With my Dad on his rampage, there’s no time to talk about it. “Gimme a minute.” Hopping out of the driver’s seat, I tell Isaac to hang back.
The house doesn’t feel familiar when I walk in. Most of my mom’s decor is gone with her. Don’t even think he knows how to call the cleaners considering how this place looks. Bottles of beer sit by the door next to remnants of a take-out order from Emilio’s.
It's almost as bad as Isaac's on a Saturday morn—
“Fuck,” I mutter, spotting the trail of blood leading up the staircase. “Dad?” Climbing the steps two at a time, my heart pounds as I follow the splats of blood to the master bathroom.
"Dad!"
My dad sits in the overflowing bathtub, round head to the ceiling, his body taking up most of it, and … no.
There’s a gun in his hand, hanging over the rim.
“Dad!” I’m quick through the room. “Dad!”
He groans, opening an eye.
A weight lifts off my chest. "Fuck," I finally breathe, pulling the gun from his flimsy grip before I collapse on the floor beside him. He’s in a white robe, a gash on his forehead. Looking at the gun in my hand, there are so many questions I have. “Dad, were you—”
“Christian? Christiano,” he chuckles, my name a slur on his tongue. Then his voice hardens. “You’re late.” That confirms it. My dad’s as unpredictable as his nights right now.
“Sorry,” I mutter, thinking of a quick excuse. “I couldn’t come sooner I—”
“Don’t bullshit me, Christian!” He tries to get out of the tub but slips right back in. He was like this when I left town and nothing’s changed. “You always take your mother’s side!”
My jaw clenches as I look around the room. It’s what I remember. Mostly. Beige marble and walnut wood features. The tub sits in the middle of it all, a bottle of Glenfiddich on my mom’s empty vanity.
Dad never tried to fix things. Now he blames everyone but himself.
“Saw Georgina leave the house,” I point out. It still makes me cringe. Girls like that are always looking for hierarchy in this town and my vulnerable former NHL star of a dad is a solid choice.
“That better …” He pauses, his head to the faux candle chandelier above. He burps before he continues, “That better not be a drug … judgemental tone. I made you, son. I can tear you down.”
So he’s on his power trip today. One that almost led to a bullet in his head.
Rising from the floor, I head over to the sink. “You think you should be here? Alone?” As much as I don’t agree with what he does, I can’t handle another death. Especially not his. Grabbing the first aid kit from a drawer, I glance over my shoulder. “I know you don't wanna hear this, but you should spend the week at Doctor Free—”
SMASH!
A bottle shatters behind me and when I spin around, my dad has a finger pointed at me. His red, sweaty face and the rage in his eyes remind me he's far from the role model I once looked up to. “I gave you everything. I will end you."
It’s no use fighting with him. Not when he’s in this state, I know better. “I’m not going anywhere." Coming back to this town to try to piece my family together proves that. When I get by the tub, I crouch behind him, dabbing a soaked cotton pad at his head. He winces, pulling away. “You gotta be careful.”
“Doesn’t matter anymore.” It’s his response to most things these days.
He acted like it didn’t matter when my folks separated or finalized their divorce. He acted like it didn’t matter when we all moved out. But with the way he’s been these past few months, he and I both know it always has. I’m about to ask him why he called before he starts reciting a part of his vows in Spanish. Funny, my mom always asked him to say it and he always brushed her off.
“It’s all bullshit son,” he mutters as I place a bandage on his head. “All bullshit.” The same thing happened a few days ago except I found him in the empty wine cellar. No way my mom was leaving without her vintages. “Remember, you’re a Perez. Not an idiot. Don’t let those girls bring you down. You bring them down, you hear me?” A wet hand comes to my face, forcing me to look into his old, tired green eyes.
He doesn’t let go until I confirm, “I hear you.”
He rambles the entire time I get him cleaned up and into bed. The gun sits in my lap but I'm not leaving it here. And even though it makes me late, I wait the extra twenty minutes by his side until he drifts off to sleep.
When he does, I scroll through my phone for my sister. Handling this shit on my own isn’t gonna get me far.
Christian: Come home. Just for a bit.
For once, she’s quick to respond.
Allie: U kno I cant
Christian: Dad’s not okay.
Allie: Neither am I - Srry
It’s what I expect. While Allie thinks the divorce is for the best, she hasn’t been taking it well. But getting Allie back to Eden is like catching Isaac sober. Not happening. I can’t blame her. This town is a mess. We all are.
My mom’s next on the list but I already know her answer. “No, mijo,” she says when she picks up. A man’s voice rumbles in the background and my grip tightens on the phone. “Your father knew what was coming to him. He had his chance.”
“I know.” My knee bounces, watching what’s left of my dad. He used to have people cheering for him, praising him, myself included. But now, he looks more like a part of The Grove than Eden. Washed up and forgotten. “I came back like you guys asked, but I can’t focus on school if he’s gonna be like this.”
Mom sighs, “Did he hurt himself?”
“No, but he might. I found him with a—”
“Mario!” My mom cuts me off with a yell, her voice sounding like it’s away from the mic. It returns, “Mijo, I have to go. Be strong, okay? I love you.”
“Mom, seriously, I—”
The phone goes silent.
My hea
d hits the back of my seat, phone tight in my grip.
It’s not like I can ask Isaac what to do. He’s likely already on another mini. Everything about this town is what I remember. Full of narcissists who turn a blind eye to anyone but themselves.
It reminds me I'm the only person worth relying on.
“Well, well, well.” Isaac sits up when we pull into the campus rink parking lot. “Looks like your day is looking up.”
Rayne stands at the front of the lot, her ass pressed against the hood of my Aston Martin. She makes a ripped tee and fishnets look amazing. Provocative. Those boots don’t help.
Isaac whistles. “If her and her band of hoodlums didn’t take my shit, I’d give her the big Johnson right against your hood, Perez.”
My grip tightens on the wheel. We’re already late to practice, but at least she brought back my ride. There’s a lot of shit I need inside.
Isaac’s out of the car before I can park it, her eyes on his Jag. Wonder if she’s eyeing it up too.
He has a sway as he approaches her. “Tell me where my shit is and I won’t have you de-gens arrested for grand theft auto.” Isaac pulls out his phone. He’s bluffing but with the way she doesn’t even flinch, tatted arms crossed over her chest, she must know it too.
“You can’t arrest me,” she says, as calm and cool as she was last night. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a joint. Likely from Isaac's stash. “Unless you wanna tell the cops what was in that chest of yours that is. Besides …” Her eyes meet mine, joint hanging from her lips, a foot on my now scratched-up paint job. “I brought it back.” She tosses me the keys.
Catching it with a hand, it’s hard to take my eyes off her, and now that I know who she is, I'm stupid for not seeing it sooner. I knew those eyes reminded me of someone and that someone is standing right in front of me a decade later.
She grew. A lot. And while she traded designer clothes for what looks like thrift store finds, her presence is still hard to ignore.
“Rayne Rose." I approach her, our gaze still locked on each other and that electricity from last night is still there. “Still a thief. Scared of what happens when the cops find out?”
She blows out a puff of skunky smoke, squaring up with me, chin lifted high. “My brother might be stupid, but I’m not.” Thick black makeup lines her lids, a tattoo that looks like a ZIP code on her neck.
Vanilla and amber enter my nose as I take a step closer. “You scratched it.” My eyes fall to the tires before my eyes narrow. “And where are my rims?”
“Brought your car back.” She smirks like she’s proud of it, those plump lips upturning in black lipstick. “Didn’t mean all of it.”
It’s not a big deal. I can replace them no problem but having her in my face gives me an idea. “Well, now you owe me. Twice. I know you got a big payday out of that chrome. Sold it, right?” Her silence speaks volumes. “Least you can do is take me on a date with the money you got." I return her smirk. "That's before I fuck you until the only cock you think about is mine.”
Thinking about it again, after this morning, a one-on-one with Ray is just what I need. Like cheesecake on a diet, I should stay away. But there’s something about her that always keeps me coming back.
She scoffs. “I don’t date guys I’m likely to steal from, Christian Perez.”
“I like the way you say my name.” I shouldn’t but I do. “Can’t wait to hear you scream it.” I’m not sure if this kinda shit works on the girl Rayne’s become, but at least I’m telling the truth. Something tells me this thing between us has been a long time coming. Taking a step closer, she tries to take a step back but there’s nowhere for her to go. I lower my voice, brushing a strand of her hair to the side. “We can continue what we started last night, and we can forget this ever happened. My boy’s stash included.”
She laughs, one that brightens her eyes, her cheeks rising and under the sun, I notice small freckles. “Yeah, no thanks.”
“You must not know who we are,” Isaac speaks up from behind.
“I do,” she says, holding her eye contact with me and that alone is a thrill. I watch as she puffs on her joint and the desire to kiss her again rises inside me. “And I don’t care.”
“I’ll make you care,” I respond.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she fires back.
“Gonna fetch my sticks like you did my car?” The car I have the urge to bend her over on and show her why girls here don't forget my name.
She shakes her head, ashing her joint like we’re having a casual conversation. “Nope. Sold ‘em. Surprising how much you can get for this shit. Especially the one with your dad’s name in the wood.”
No. “You sold my dad’s championship stick?” My lucky stick?
“No wonder I got so much for it.” I’m too stunned when she pushes me, my sneaker falling back so she can move around me. She pats my face, blowing a puff of smoke in my nose. “Nice doing business with you, Perez.”
How I can be this horny and this pissed off is beyond me. Not only has she returned my brand new car in a state not even worthy of the LuxuryPages, but she sold my gear too. A few of the guys watching the show let out some laughs and cackles as Rayne walks towards the library. A tall building with columns and vines.
“Fuck that girl, dude,” Isaac’s hand lands on my shoulder and it’s hard to stop thinking about just that. Fucking her. “She’s got an ass of angel but we don’t need any more fucking trouble, man.” That’s the smartest thing he’s said in a long time.
Rayne is nothing but trouble.
When we get to practice, forty minutes late I’ll add, the boys are already running drills around the ice.
“Here’s Captain Princess rolling in right now!” A tall, muscular man stands in the middle of the ice, blowing a whistle our way as we stand at the door.
“No fucking way,” I mutter, walking towards the locker rooms.
So this is the job she referred to.
“Dude, Rayne’s dad is our new coach?” Isaac notices too.
Then he should already know the drill. Doesn't matter when we arrive. We're Kings.
“New coach!” Isaac points a finger his way. “Sorry, my man, we’ll get suited up.”
I nod at Mister Rose or should I say, Coach Rose, as we pass his narrow gaze. It’s as sharp as Rayne’s. His black tracksuit has stains, the fabric faded and the buzzcut on his coils looks like he did it himself. No flair at all. Far from the Emery Rose I grew up with.
He skates up to us, hopping off the ice, standing in our path. “Since you boys are late, you didn’t hear the rules.” Emery looks a little older and balder than I remember, but he’s still tall as fuck, and with those skates, he’s even taller. “Late for practice means you sit out.”
“Sit out?” My brow raises. I don’t sit out. Ever. “I’m the captain.”
“Then act like it,” he says. “Take the bench.”
Still a hardass.
“Fuck the bench.” Isaac’s loud. “All these newbies in town must not know who the fuck we are! Well, let me reintroduce ourselves.” Isaac takes a step towards Coach, but I pinch his shirt, pulling him back so Coach doesn’t smell the vodka off him. “We’re the fucking Kings of Eden.”
Coach blows a whistle in his face. “And I’m Coach Rose. Feel free to make the bench your throne.”
Five
Christian
A depressed, suicidal, and alcoholic father means I’m late another few times during the week.
If Dad did anything to hurt himself in his booze-fuelled terrors, my heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
Still, Coach sits me out, every single time.
It doesn’t matter how much I protest.
“If you can’t perform off the ice, you can’t perform on the ice.”
His words. What a piece of work.
I’d wonder if he’s this bad at home, but then I’d be thinking about Rayne again.
Keep your
eyes on the ice.
If I’m not playing, this team is going downhill fast. But with the emphasis he’s putting on our grades, I don’t know if I’m going to stay on this team. Being a King of Eden means I don’t ever have to worry. About anything. I used to have my dad’s name to thank, but if I don’t get my shit together, my name won’t be worth a damn thing.
Snifffff!
“We gotta show Rose who runs things in these halls, Perez.” Isaac wiggles his nose, house music pumping in the background. His jaw’s already working nonstop and his knee won’t stop bouncing. Same with mine.
It’s Friday night, a few guys over from the team and after the week we had, these party favours are well deserved.
“He reminds me of Rayne.” Bobbing my head to the beat, I take a swig from my crystal glass, settling into the long yellow sofa. “Stubborn.”
“Listen, I love me some Christiano Casanova.” That’s his nickname for my new player status. “But this is more than pussy.” Isaac leans back in his seat next to me, bringing a finger to my head. “It’s about power. Our power. We own this fucking campus just like high school. New building, same rules. And we don’t own it until we own him.”
“Johnson’s right,” Hoffman, calls from the pool table near the window. A new addition to Isaac’s living room. He readies up a shot, his shiny blonde pompadour catching the light. “Coach Rose sat me out for being hungover on Wednesday. Can’t have that.” His dad’s like mine. Old hockey royalty with a hardon for their sons following their footsteps. “Besides, it’s harder getting wet pussy in this town when you’re not playing on the ice. We gotta send a message.”
“See?” Isaac spreads his arms wide in a Burberry shirt. “Hoffman knows.”
“Fine.” I glance at Isaac who’s white grin grows. “But nothing fucked up.” The last year flashes through my mind, a shiver rolling through me. This time in Eden has to be different.
Isaac hops to his feet, puffing on a giant blunt. “I got an idea.”