“You don’t even have a daddy, boy. I sure as shit ain’t your father, and I’m glad about it.” I frowned up at him and started to push up, but he kicked me back down, a foot on my chest. “Your mama wants you to get a scholarship so bad. But drunk little bastards like you don’t deserve scholarships.”
I swallowed hard, looking towards Lloyd, expecting him to step in and question him—make him stop. He didn’t. He only stared, like he knew exactly what was going on and didn’t care that it was happening.
“What—what did I do, Will? I don’t understand. I thought you said I had a good game!” I shouted, the rain pouring down harder.
“Oh, you did. It was probably one of your best games of the year. But you won’t be having anymore like that. Not again.” He took a step back and lifted the pole in the air.
When it came flying down, I heard something crack, and then pain shot through my right arm. I cried out as I rolled over, howling, but not louder than the crashing waves.
“Dad!” Lloyd gasped.
“What?” he barked at him. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You don’t want him to be better than you! He’s a bastard! Bastards don’t deserve better!” Will swung down again, hitting another part of my leg. “We break this arm—his good arm,” he panted, standing up right as hot tears rolled down my face, “get him a little drunk, say he jumped out of the moving truck because I tried to take the alcohol from him, and he won’t be able to play for a long, long time. He won’t get to see those playoffs and no one will be scouting a quarterback with a broken bone.”
I couldn’t speak through the excruciating pain. “I . . . I don’t get it!” I wailed. “I never did anything to you—to either of you!”
“You’re a waste of space,” Will spat. “And you won’t tell your mother what really happened or I’ll send your ass to military school so quick you won’t even have time to blink.”
Lloyd stepped up, looking down at me with a blank face.
“Lloyd—come on, please,” I begged, shooting my good arm out. “Help me. I’m your brother!”
He stared for a long, long time, his shaggy blonde hair wet now, clinging to his face. From that angle, he was a spitting image of Will. And I realized in that exact moment that he was just like his father—only ten times worse.
He reached for my hand, struggling to help me sit up, but then the bottom of his foot came down on my chest and he forced me back to the ground. He stepped closer, bringing that same foot to my broken arm and pressing down on it, causing me to holler out in pain again.
“That’s a good boy,” Will said, voice raspy. “All right, that’s enough. Come on.” He grunted as he bent down and grabbed my left arm, throwing it around his shoulder. “Help me get him back to the truck.”
My tears were thick and hot as I struggled to say, “I’ll tell Mom what you did.”
“No you won’t.” Will dragged me as Lloyd tried to assist on the other side. “You want to stay under my roof and keep getting taken care of, you won’t say a goddamn word to her about this. You’ll go right along with it if you know what’s good for your sorry ass.”
“Fuck you,” I spat. We neared the car and he ordered Lloyd to open the back door. Once it was, he tossed me inside, not even caring that my arm hit the seat. I cupped my mouth, holding in the rage—the agony.
Will slammed the door and Lloyd climbed into the passenger seat again. I felt him looking back at me, not saying a thing, just watching as I squeezed the leather and cried in pain.
The funny thing is, this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Will knocked me down the stairs when I was six, made me fracture my wrist, and claimed he didn’t see me sitting on the top step.
One time, when I was twelve, he squeezed the back of my neck so hard when I got an F on my report card. It left a bruise. He called me a worthless bastard. I lied to Mom about it and said I got hurt playing football.
From the ages six to twelve, I was afraid of him. I didn’t know why he hated me so much when all I wanted was his approval. He would hurt me sporadically—every couple of years or so. Mentally, he was always trying to tear me down.
He’d never laid a finger on Lloyd, but he had no problem hurting me and I could never understand why. Because I was a bastard? Because I was talented? It might have had more to do with the fact that a man got Mom pregnant before him. It ruined his good look. He despised me so much that he wouldn’t claim me. He thought me being another man’s child made us look bad as a family—like we weren’t whole—or exactly like how he pictured me: as nothing but a mistake. I was just in the way, and it was clear he wanted me out of the picture.
He wanted his family of three, with his real son and his beautiful wife. He wanted the picture-perfect life. He wasn’t going to be able to get that with any other woman. Mom had all the money. He just mooched off of her to eventually make a name for himself.
He always threatened me with military school—saying he would send me off. I was afraid to go when I was younger, but this time I’d had enough, so I told Mom all about what he did to me when she came running to the hospital.
She couldn’t believe it. I mean, who would? The story seemed completely unrealistic and on top of that, I was slurring my words. I was sixteen and drunk and I sounded so fucking stupid.
Will lied and told her he saw me drinking some of the whiskey that he forgot he left in the backseat while he was pumping gas. He proceeded by saying that he told me not to touch his stuff and to put it away, but that I told him to “fuck off” and then ran, but tripped over something and fell a little too hard on my arm.
It was bullshit . . . and the saddest part about it was that Mom fucking believed it. I’d never had a drink that strong before. Never smoked. I didn’t even party much. I spent most of my time playing football and doing homework.
It didn’t help that Lloyd agreed and said he saw me drinking it and running too. It was their word against mine. That was the first time I’d officially disappointed Mom and the first time of many.
She believed their lies—and because I’d told when he told me not to—they shipped me off to military school. She couldn’t go against Will back then. She wanted what was best for me and she thought military school would do the trick. She thought I was being young and rebellious.
I didn’t see them for a solid eight months. I didn’t get to play football anymore either. It took my arm months to heal, and even when it did, it felt weaker. My game fell off. I wasn’t good anymore.
I lost my future all in one night. All because of a lie that worthless piece of shit conjured up.
I wished Mom would have believed me, but when you have two people agreeing on a lie, and even have proof by having a Breathalyzer test pulled on me, it was hard for her to do so.
He tricked me.
Lied to me.
He had officially broken my trust and I hated him.
I hated both of them.
Not only for destroying my life, but because that first sip became one of many. That first sip of whiskey was the start of my addiction. After graduating military school, I turned to alcohol for comfort. I stole from Will’s liquor cabinet and would run to the nearest party so I didn’t have to be home, only feeding into his wicked ways.
He knew what he’d done, and he never spoke of it again.
He just watched me spiral.
He watched me ruin myself and the bond between me and my mother, while he watched his real son soar and take off like a flying eagle.
I never understood why he hated me so much, but I guess it didn’t matter.
They got what they wanted from me. They always got what they wanted, not even caring about what they had to do in order to get it.
MARLEY
I walked away because I had to.
Because bad memories were starting to haunt me again. I needed to take care of the only family I had left other than Ryan—my mother. Had she always been the best mom? No, but she was still the woman who birthed me and
the woman who tucked me in every night before Luke returned.
I loved Vin—I loved him so much it hurt, but loving someone shouldn’t have hurt this bad.
He’d let me down before, not only about lying when he checked into rehab, claiming he’d done it for us, but also for something else a little more tragic.
It was something I hated thinking about. It gave me nightmares. It snapped me out of my little fantasy world and slammed me right back into reality.
Things were fun, but even I should have known the fun doesn’t last always.
• • • • •
Past
The night when things changed was mostly a blur. I could hardly remember a thing, only the key highlights of the night, but I swear I felt it all.
Vin and I had just left his condo and were on our way to another one of Zay’s house parties. This party was much smaller, but only because Zay had made plans to go to the club. Vin and I were going to tag along.
We were drinking rounds of vodka, while Vin and Noelle did lines of coke. I’d told them to stop doing it. I’d never done coke, and I never even wanted to. It was too hardcore for me, plus it reminded me too much of Mom and Luke. It was all my parents really did. Snort and fuck.
Noelle ignored me, of course. She’d always wanted to try it, so as soon as Vin showed it off, she tagged right along with him, ready to get higher than she’d ever been before.
The music was so loud that night.
I was drunk, but I felt good, ready to dance my night away at the club. Vin kept complaining he wasn’t high enough—that he needed more, but I couldn’t understand how. He’d done coke, drank whiskey, and had even smoked some pot. He looked completely stoned—hell, he could barely walk, let alone drive. He couldn’t stop, despite how fucked up he was. I had never considered it a problem. He always overdid it when we went to parties. This was nothing new to me.
We were stupid to risk driving to the nearest gas station, even if it was less than a mile away, but we did it anyway, not giving a damn about the risks.
I drove Vin’s car and he rode in the passenger seat. He was too high and drunk for his own good, making stupid statements on his way to buy a pack of cigarillos. Some men in the gas station happened to get in his way and he shoved them, causing a riot. I was in the car, witnessing the brawl. My idiot boyfriend had a temper on him, one that honestly couldn’t be controlled while he was intoxicated.
I don’t know how it’d even gotten broken up—I think it was the cashier behind the bar. By the time I rushed inside, I saw the cashier pull out a gun, yell something, and the men left, but not before getting a few hits in on Vinny.
He was so busted up that I panicked and rushed him to the ER. I called Zay, who was already in his garage, and he drove straight to the hospital to meet us.
While Vinny was getting stitched up, I noticed Noelle was missing. I asked Zay where she was, and he shrugged like he didn’t even care. Of course he pretended not to.
Before we left, they had just gotten into some dumb argument about her staying the night and him not wanting her to. They always argued and made up. It had become a routine, especially if one of them had been drinking. I was so used to her getting upset and storming away from him that I thought nothing of it. I figured she was in Zay’s room, sulking, waiting for him to return.
Due to his recklessness, Vinny had gotten a concussion and had to stay the night at the hospital to be monitored. Plans were ruined for the night, so Zay drove me back home. He still wanted to go to the club, but I wasn’t up for it anymore—not without Vin.
“Has Noelle called you back?” I remember asking Zay.
He shrugged one shoulder, still pretending not to care. “No.”
“Me neither.”
We pulled up at Zay’s ten minutes later and the house was practically empty. There were still people there, doing drugs, drinking, and listening to someone’s music from their cellphone, but Noelle was nowhere in sight.
“I’m going to go see if she’s still upstairs, tell her what happened,” I told him.
Zay nodded and walked to the kitchen, and I hurried up the flight of stairs, still feeling a bit loopy.
I was drunk before, but after the fight Vinny had gotten into, I’d sobered up rather quickly. I realized how stupid he was—how foolish he would be to get into a fight with guys who looked like they belonged to an MC gang.
Hurrying down the hall, I called Noelle’s name. I heard the shower running when I walked into Zay’s room, spotting light seeping through the cracks of his door. The room was completely dark, giving me a really bad vibe, but again I ignored it. Noelle wasn’t known for doing normal shit. She was weird, and it was one of the many things I loved about her.
I hurried for the door, knocking on it. “Noelle?” I called. “Babe, it’s me? Are you okay?”
No response.
“Noelle?” I grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, but it was locked. “Noelle, open the door, babe. It’s Marley.”
Still nothing but that running shower. Footsteps sounded behind me and Zay came into the room with a beer in hand, frowning as he flipped the light switch on.
“What the hell is she doing in there?” he asked.
“I don’t know. She won’t answer me.”
“Fuck.” He ran a hand over his face. “Noelle, it’s one thing to not answer me because you’re pissed, but Marley is just checking on you, babe!”
It was strange. See, Noelle usually would have responded to a comment like this from Zay, negatively or positively. It was how they always made up. But she didn’t. There was still silence. A silence that didn’t sit well with me one fucking bit.
“Noelle?” Zay tapped on the door, brows stitching, getting serious now.
I looked at him, and it was like we both had the same thought running through our minds. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. She always answered.
I pounded on the door, still not getting a response. Zay bent down to look through the crack and it was the first time in my life I heard him gasp and curse the way he did. The sound made my blood run cold.
He hopped up and pushed me aside, kicking the door in. It banged against the wall and he stormed into the bathroom.
He was clearly running on pure adrenaline, but me? I wasn’t.
My heart sank to the pit of my belly as soon as I saw her.
I couldn’t hear anything but a heavy whoosh in my ears. I felt paralyzed to the core.
In that bathroom was my best friend Noelle, hanging over the edge of the bathtub. There were scarce lines of coke on the counter, like she was doing them by herself. There was a bottle of vodka there too.
Zay was shouting something and pointing at me, but I could only watch. I felt like I wasn’t there—like this was some fucking illusion.
Zay hauled her body out of the tub and into his arms
Her lips were shriveled like prunes—like her face had been down in the water for hours. Her red hair was wet, and her lips were blue. Her eyes were halfway open, and there was foam in the corner of her mouth. She was . . . completely naked, so vulnerable and pale.
I wasn’t quick enough for Zay. He left Noelle’s body on the floor and rushed out of the room. I had no idea where he went and I wasn’t sure how much time had passed.
I just remember finally taking action—finally feeling my heart pounding—and running into that bathroom, pressing on her chest, trying to revive her. I remember screaming at her, begging her to wake up—praying she was only in a coma and nothing worse.
I remember EMT’s coming into the bathroom and pulling me out of the way. They checked for a pulse repeatedly, pumped her chest, looked at one another, and finally shook their heads.
She was gone long before we’d found her.
My best friend was dead, and had been for hours.
That night was one of the hardest, longest nights of my life. There were so many sirens. An investigation team came, making sure it wasn’t homicide or suicide. It wasn’t.
It was a freak accident that could have been prevented if one of us had cared enough to check on her sooner.
Zay had even gotten arrested for having drugs all over his home, but was let off with a warning because his uncle knew the Sheriff. I don’t think he ever had another house party after that night.
After the house was clear and her body had been taken away, I went back to the hospital that night to see Vin. I didn’t know where else to go. I could have gone back to his penthouse, but I didn’t want to be alone.
Vin was still awake, and when he saw the cold, blank stare I wore, his eyes stretched wide. “Jesus, Marlena, what happened?” he demanded when I just sat there, staring at the ground.
I finally looked up at him, and I know I shouldn’t have said what I did, but I did it anyway. I did it because I was angry and hurt and my emotions were running on high. I did it because . . . it felt like I was the one to blame too.
“Noelle is dead,” I told him, voice scratchy and foreign. “She overdosed on the coke you bought and shared with her, even when I told you guys not to do it.”
He blinked too many times to count, unsure of what to say.
That night changed everything between us. I blamed him, even though he truly wasn’t the blame for her actions at all. She chose to do coke. Vin didn’t make her. I blamed myself because I was there for Vin that night, instead of her. I had even ridden with Vin to buy the damn coke before we arrived at Zay’s with it.
He didn’t need me as much as she needed me that night. He was fine and would have been taken care of regardless, but Noelle wasn’t.
Seeing her that way was an image that would forever be seared in my brain.
To top it off, not even a month later, Luke died too. He was hit by a 4x4 after walking home from a gambling match. Of course there were traces of coke in his bloodstream, alcohol as well, and since we couldn’t afford life support, Mom had no choice but to make them pull the plug.
I felt nothing for Luke, but it did trigger something inside me, and it definitely led Mom to snort even more. I wasn’t sure what it was that happened to me—perhaps a nerve or maybe it was just a reality check. Whatever it was, it made me see things differently.
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