Repentance: The Story of Kace Haywood

by Meghan Quinn

  With determination, Madeline nodded and lifted the bat, barely able to hold the metal tube with her little arms.

  “Is that them?” Jett asked.

  Not able to speak over the knot in my throat, I nodded and stepped closer as Madeline waited for a ball to be placed on the tee in front of her.

  Runners loaded the bases, waiting for Madeline to take her chance at a swing.

  “Play ball,” one of the coaches yelled.

  Loading up, she swung, making direct contact with the tee and missing the ball completely.

  “Strike one,” the umpire called, putting the ball back on the tee.

  Madeline ducked her head as she realized she’d zeroed in on the wrong target.

  My stomach pitched at the look of defeat in her stance.

  Linda went closer on the sidelines and bent so Madeline could see her. “Baby, you got this. Keep your eyes on the ball and swing hard, just like we practiced. You can do this, baby.”

  Madeline lifted her gaze to her mom, adjusted her helmet again, and nodded. She lifted the bat that was entirely too large for her and got in her stance.

  “Play ball,” the umpire called again.

  Madeline took a deep breath and swung again, this time making contact with the ball just as her helmet fell forward.

  “Run, Madeline, run!” Linda cried.

  Comically, Madeline lifted her helmet and looked around, finally spotting the ball she’d hit toward the shortstop. Like a baby giraffe running for the first time, she took off toward third base, colliding with her teammate in the base path. The crowd laughed as the coaches and Linda told Madeline to run the other way.

  Madeline scrambled to her feet and cut across the diamond to the other side of the field, where she touched first base before the other team was able to toss the ball in the right direction.

  The whole attempt had been a clusterfuck of “what the hell do I do with this ball.”

  “That was funny,” Jett said to me. I could hear the smile in his voice, and fuck if my lips didn’t twitch to the side in amusement.

  This was not what I’d wanted to see. I didn’t want to see Linda leaping up and down, cheering for her daughter with a carefree attitude. I didn’t want to see little Madeline prevail and do well. It was like they still had their husband/father, as if I hadn’t robbed them of one of the most important people in their lives.

  “This isn’t right,” I mumbled to Jett, turning away.

  “What do you mean?” Jett asked, walking next to me.

  “They’re… happy.” I gestured toward them. “They’re fucking happy.”

  “And that is a problem because…?”

  I ran my hand over the nape of my neck and looked up at the sky while I tried to find the right words to express my feelings. “I don’t know. I just thought…they should be mourning the loss of Marshal.”

  “Maybe they are trying to move on, Kace. Something you should be doing. What you just saw were two souls trying to get on with their lives. Humans move on after traumatic incidences. The strong move on, Kace. You should be doing the same. If they’re happy, if they’re enjoying life, you should do the same.”

  “I’m not going to fucking learn from them,” I snapped at Jett. “So they’re having a good day. That doesn’t mean they still aren’t reeling from their loss. Appearances aren’t everything.”

  Not wanting to hear Jett’s retort, I took off toward the car. There was a bottle of whiskey waiting for me in my room, and it wasn’t going to drink itself.

  Chapter Seventeen

  My present…

  Numb.

  My entire body was numb, and it wasn’t from sitting on the hardwood floors of my bedroom for hours on end. No, it was from the realization that Lyla was the grown-up version of Madeline.

  It had been a week since I’d last spoken to Lyla, a week of living in my room, not moving from the confines of the four small walls unless I had to go to the bathroom or reload on liquor.

  Diego and Blane had given up trying to get me to come out of my room after day four, especially after I threw my mattress at them.

  My room was torn apart, my bed flipped upside down, my dresser tossed to the ground, and my bedding up against the door, blocking off any invaders. What used to be a safe haven was now a place of desolation.

  A case of Maker’s Mark rested next to me, as well as multiple empty bottles. Booze seeped from my pores, and every time I went to the bathroom, I peed out a little piece of my liver, but I was unfazed. I welcomed the destruction of my body. It was almost a high for me.

  My brain was in a fog as I looked around my room, taking in the torn curtains, the broken cellphone that rested at the baseboard of my floor from when I’d smashed it into the wall. Then there were the multiple holes in the wall from where my fists had plowed through it, searching for a little relief from the misery I was feeling.

  My hands were swollen, bruised, and battered. Multiple lacerations lined them, and dried blood crusted my knuckles.

  The last time I had taken a shower was about a week ago, and even though I smelled like a rotting body, I didn’t give one fuck. The only thing I cared about was the bottle in my hand and how quickly it was able to reach my lips.

  I took pride in my ability to hold my alcohol, live a liquid diet, and waste my life away one amber droplet at a time.

  I welcomed the challenge.

  I rested my forehead against my arm that was propped against my knee while my hand gripped onto the neck of my bottle. I stared down at the ground, the cold, hard floor, wishing for the miserable life of mine to end. There was too much pain in my body, too much regret. I promised myself I would live this life out in torment, to pay back my sins through the agony of remorse but right about now, I would give anything to have it end.

  Lyla had lost her dad, taken from her by the hands of another man. She’d grown up in the foster care system, fending for herself, praying day in and day out to be removed from her situation, to be extracted from the hell she was living in.

  Now, she lived in a crumbling apartment, spending her nights stripping for horny and creepy men, wishing they could bone her in the back, wasting her life away just so she could earn a living.

  Because of everything that had happened to her, she relied on no one, which was the main reason she wouldn’t take Jett’s help. She believed in the idea of being able to provide for herself, which was commendable, but she deserved so much better.

  The telltale creak of the stairs gave away the approach of someone coming to my room. I kept my eyes on the ground, not letting the room spin on me from the amount of alcohol blazing through me, instead of trying to search out the intruder.

  In a matter of seconds, there was a knock on my door. “Kace?”

  Jett fucking Colby. I should have bet a million dollars on him showing up today. I’d felt it in my bones he would be making an appearance soon.

  “Go the fuck away,” I grumbled, feeling the effects of the alcohol in my system.

  Not listening to my demand, not that I thought he would, he pushed the bedroom door but was stopped by my mattress on the floor. I smiled inwardly at my attempt at a barrier.

  “What the fuck,” Jett said behind the door, still pushing forward.

  “I can squeeze through,” Goldie said, making me groan.

  What the fuck was she doing here? “Don’t fucking come in here, Goldie,” I shouted, lifting my head and toppling to the side, spilling my liquor on the floor. With great panic, I swiped the bottle upright and tipped it toward my mouth while my cheek rested on the hard wood.

  My taste buds were completely anesthetized from the alcohol, allowing the liquor to burn down my throat at an easier and faster rate.

  “Shut up, Kace,” Goldie said. She wiggled in through the crack between the door and jamb, letting herself in.

  From where I could see her, she was a blur of black cotton-covered legs and long golden hair.

  “Holy shit,” she said. “What the hell did yo
u do?”

  “Let me in, Goldie,” Jett said from the other side of the door.

  “Hold on. The dresser is blocking the mattress propped up against the door.”

  In a fog, I watched Goldie struggle with moving the mattress to the side, trying to make room for the door to open. Her heels clicked on the floor, and she grunted as she worked.

  Even if I’d wanted to fucking help her, I couldn’t. I could barely focus on what she was doing, let alone get up.

  She must have made enough room for Jett to get in because from my perch on the ground, I saw two pairs of suit-covered legs walk into the room.

  “Shit,” Jett mumbled as he entered and took in the devastation I’d created. Bending down to my level, Jett tried to grab the bottle from my hand, but I cradled it closer to my chest. “Kace, give me the bottle,” Jett warned in his domineering voice.

  “Fuck you,” I spat, bringing the opening of the bottle to my lips.

  The lid of the bottle clattered against my teeth before I was able to place my lips over the opening. In one smooth motion, I dipped my head back and waited for the liquid to burn down my throat, but I wasn’t awarded with the sweet smolder of whiskey. Instead, the bottle was ripped from my grasp, and I was pushed to the side.

  My head fell forward, my neck muscles no longer working in accordance with my brain.

  “Goddamn it,” Jett said. “Goldie, go get me some water and bread. I need to get something in him.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” I replied, falling forward.

  “Go, little one,” Jett said softly.

  “Jett, I’m scared.” Goldie’s voice sounded weak. For the first time in my life, I could tell she was frightened.

  “I got this, little one. Please go get some water and bread, okay?”

  “Okay.” She sniffed and then left.

  I felt relief at her departure. I welcomed my drunken state—I relished it, actually—but I hadn’t wanted Goldie to see me like this. I didn’t want her to see me wearing my demons like a fucking scarlet letter.

  Jett pushed me back against my bed frame so my head was at eye level with his. My vision was blurry, but from what I could see, Jett wasn’t happy.

  “What the fuck happened?” Jett asked, holding my head still so he could look at me straight.

  “Aw, you look upset,” I taunted him.

  “Of course I’m fucking upset. I haven’t seen you in a week and come to find you’re drinking your life away. What the fuck, Kace?”

  I reached out to the cloudy vision of his head and made contact with his cheek. “Don’t cry, baby.”

  “You’re a dick,” Jett said, grabbing hold of my arm.

  “Whoa, fucking slow down,” I demanded when the room started to spin.

  My world tilted on its end as Jett guided me to the bathroom, me stumbling the entire time. My stomach twisted, and I knew the quick movements were going to result in me purging every last drop of alcohol I’d stocked up on.

  “Slow the fuck down,” I demanded again.

  Jett didn’t listen and continued to drag me into the bathroom. “You smell like shit,” he said, pushing me toward the toilet.

  The cool porcelain called to me. I grabbed hold of the round bowl, moving my head forward just in time as my stomach convulsed and I threw up.

  Sitting in my own filth, not moving, just drinking, was an almost serene position, but the minute you moved me, the minute you made me focus on something other than the grain in the hardwood floors, all the alcohol I had consumed over a week threatened to come back up, and that was what happened to me now.

  Jett pushed my head into the hole of the toilet, making sure everything coming up made it into the right area.

  A cold chill ran over me as sweat slicked my skin from the convulsions of my stomach. Retching, I gripped the toilet, praying for it to finally be over.

  Slowly, my stomach stopped rolling, and in its place was a scorching headache, throbbing through my brain.

  I collapsed on the floor and placed a forearm over my eyes, blocking out the florescent lighting of the bathroom. My shirt stuck to my sweat-slicked skin and my head pounded while it rested against the tile of the floor, begging for relief.

  “You done?” Jett asked, showing no mercy.

  “Yeah,” I croaked. My throat burned raw from the mixture of stomach acid and alcohol. Talking was currently an alien concept to me.

  “Good.” Jett picked me up again, impressing me since I had a couple more pounds of muscle than him. He dragged me into the shower, placed me on the floor, and turned on the cold water.

  An arctic rainfall fell down upon me, erasing the fog in my brain.

  I didn’t squirm, I didn’t even move. I welcomed the frigid water, turning my once hazy outlook into a more crisp view.

  Jett stood outside the shower with his arms crossed and a disapproving look on his face. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d disappointed him.

  “When was the last time you took a shower?” Jett asked.

  “The last time you sucked my dick,” I retorted, pleased with my smartass comment.

  “Glad you think this is funny.”

  “The only thing funny in this whole world is the unrelenting bad luck I was fucking blessed with.”

  “That’s cryptic,” Jett replied.

  “But is it, really? You know everything about me. You should know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “All I know is you’ve taken a perfectly good life and wasted it, living in the shadows of your past and never moving forward.”

  “You don’t fucking know anything,” I spat back. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me, to live with the guilt of what I did.”

  “Have you even talked to them?” Jett asked, referring to Linda and Madeline. “Have you even tried to see how they’ve been? Last time you made an attempt was watching them at the tee-ball game. Now you just sneak around, being an elusive fuck and never facing them. They could be doing just fine, Kace, and you would have no clue.”

  “They’re not fine. How could someone ever recover from losing a parent? Fuck, you lost your mom several years ago, and you’re still affected by it today.”

  Jett went to respond but then shut his mouth.

  That’s what I fucking thought.

  I reached up and turned off the water. I sat on the bottom of the shower and shucked my shirts and pants as Jett tossed me a towel. I ran it over my face and then slowly stood, letting my legs adjust to the weight of my body. I wrapped the towel around my waist, grabbed the side of the shower, and exited.

  Jett stood in front of me with his hands in his pockets and the cuffs of his long-sleeved business shirt rolled up to his elbows. He exuded wealth and power, but I knew differently. The man was hurting as much as anyone else who’d lost a parent. I knew the toll it had taken on him when his mom passed away from AIDS. I knew the grief he’d experienced. I knew because I was the one person who’d stood by him during those dark days, and even though he’d been blinded by pain, he’d continued to move forward with his life, just like Linda and Madeline. He couldn’t tell me he still didn’t think of his mom.

  “It was different,” Jett said. “My loss was different from theirs.”

  “A loss is a loss, Jett.”

  “It was different.” Jett cleared his throat. “I didn’t even get a chance to be with my mom. I had a little glimpse of what it was like to have a mother in my life at a late age. I saw what my life could have been. Madeline is young. She can move on not knowing the regret I experienced.”

  “I know you like control, Jett, but you can’t dictate people’s feelings.”

  “I know that, but it was different.”

  Jett’s dad had been a dick of epic proportions, using Jett’s mom for providing a kin and then ditching her to the streets after she gave birth, leaving her homeless with nothing but the clothes on her back to fend for herself. It wasn’t until Jett was able to leave the raft of his father and have his own life that
he was able to welcome his mom back into his life, but it was too late. He’d only had a short while with her before she died of AIDS in the comfort of his house.

  I could see the difference Jett was talking about, but I stood by my statement. A loss was a loss, and who were we to judge how someone reacted? It wasn’t our place as humans to judge; it was our place to love and support or mourn and grieve with them.

  I’d chosen the route of grievance, but instead of slowly coming out of my place of darkness, I felt it reasonable to stay there, to mourn for a lifetime.

  “I got the water!” Goldie shouted from the bedroom, breaking the tension between Jett and myself. “Where are you?”

  “In here,” Jett called, still looking at me.

  Her little heels clacked against the floor, but she halted when she saw Jett and me staring each other down. I glanced at her and saw her heated gaze peruse my body. Even though I was still half drunk, I appreciated her appraisal of my body.

  “Get a good look?” I asked, swaying a little.

  “You look like a turd nugget,” she responded.

  “Hottest turd nugget in town,” I replied, stretching my arms above my head, knowing fully well that my towel hung low. Too bad I still had my briefs on, or else I could have possibly put on a very good show for both Jett and Goldie.

  Shit, I really was still drunk.

  “I will take those,” Jett said to Goldie. “Go hang out with Diego. I won’t be much longer.”

  “No,” she said defiantly. “I want an explanation.”

  “An explanation of what?” I asked. I walked past them and back into my room. Normally, I would have flopped on my bed, but since that was deconstructed, I sat on the edge of the dresser that was lying flat on the ground.

  Goldie and Jett followed and stood in front of me, waiting for me to say something.

  “What?” I asked, rubbing my face, wishing I had a bottle of valium at my disposal.

  “What the fuck did you do to Lyla?” Goldie asked, her temper rising.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, my pulse picking up from the mention of Lyla’s name.