by Sand, A. J.
A Fighting Chance
by A.J. Sand
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All named copyrighted or trademarked products are the property of their respective owners.
A Fighting Chance Copyright © 2014 by A.J. Sand
Cover Design © 2014 Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs
Editing and proofreading by Cameron Scheck
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen.
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The author makes no claim to the copyrighted and trademarked products mentioned in this work whatsoever.
A Haunting
The Glorious Ones
A Wish
The Past Is Like Shrapnel To The Present
Wounds
No Puedo
Bite
Crazy
Things You Do For Family
What Do You See?
Hell Is Empty And All The Devils Are Here
What’s Left Of Us?
Debt
Pull
Devil’s Advocate
Of Monsters And Men
Daddy Issues
Redemption Song
Acknowledgments
Here’s to carving out your own path and defining yourself.
A HAUNTING
Tonight I’ve seen a ghost.
Nothing else explains the face from the past in the restaurant window. It vanished when I blinked, but I’m still staring at the glass for the kind of seconds that lasts forever. I don’t know why I’m surprised, though; I have always considered myself haunted.
Bullshit, Jesse, you’re going crazy if you’re seeing things. Also, if you’re arguing with yourself about it.
My girlfriend, Lydia, touches my hand, bringing me back to the moment, to Zoya’s, where all my friends have gathered for my birthday dinner. I’m shaking so much I have to set my glass down. “You okay?” she whispers as her brown eyes widen in concern, and when I nod she mouths Zeta Chi twice, the name of my fraternity. It clicks then that I am in the middle of my thank-you speech, and that I was talking about my frat brothers before I got distracted.
“Uh, and to Duke, my best friend…and the guy who hasn’t kicked my ass for dating his sister…”
“Yet,” he yells from the other end of the table. My dickhead friends laugh, of course.
“Anyway, dude, you were the first person who made me feel welcome at Hamilton, and I’m sure Lydia didn’t plan this on her own,” I continue. “To the guys at Zeta Chi, my family, I’m going to miss you next year, especially the pledges, because I won’t have anyone to serve me drinks on Thirsty Thursdays. I’m incredibly grateful that all of you wanted to spend tonight with me. I guess that’s it. Thank you.” I take my seat as they clap.
“Welcome to twenty-two, JC!” Duke says. “All right, where the hell is the food!” That gets far more appreciation than my speech.
I don’t celebrate my birthdays but Lydia had been insisting all week that we go out, and I hadn’t expected that twenty other people would be waiting for us in Zoya’s private dining room for my surprise party. Hamilton is a midsized East Coast college, so getting to know a lot of people is easy, but I have a sense of belonging here, something I have rarely felt. I am in a room full of friends and not just people looking for free food on a Friday night. My girl went all out, too, with a special three-course meal, which is served a few minutes after my speech.
Once dessert comes, most people have either switched chairs or are moving away from the table to talk in smaller groups. That weird feeling from earlier completely dulls under the liveliness in the room. It was probably my mind forcefully yanking me down memory lane, which is normal because things are changing—I’m a year older and in my final semester of college. But I refuse to take the trip. Not tonight, and not when I have a future bright enough to snuff out the shadows of my past.
A waitress walks in holding a gold label bottle with sparklers flying off the top. Duke points to me and she brings it over, while another waitress is behind her with champagne flutes. I pour and pass, opting to stick with my water. When Duke sees that I won’t have any, he strolls up to my side with a disapproving look. We call him Big Duke because he’s built like a human army tank at 6’2,” 275, which is even funnier because he and Lydia are twins. They have the same round face, dark brown eyes, black hair, and naturally tan complexion, but she is the complete opposite—short and petite.
His forehead creases as he chugs his champagne—he’ll chug anything with a percentage of alcohol by volume. “Not even on your birthday, Buzz? I got the champagne specifically for you, bitch. It’s bad enough you wouldn’t let Lyds throw a party at the House.” Buzz is short for “Buzz Kill,” which is my nickname in the frat because my liver isn’t on life support most days, like everyone else’s.
“I drank enough for the birthdays of everyone in here when I was younger.”
“One drink isn’t going to kill you.” His confused look holds as he runs his hand through his short hair. “All these girls in here and somehow you’re the pussy.” Duke has the kind of mouth that lacks a connection to his brain.
“Watch yourself,” I warn with a shit-eating grin, “before I accidentally tell you what happens with your sister when you’re not around.”
He frowns. “You’re sick. See? It’s all that sobriety. Don’t make me rethink giving you your present.”
I shake my head. “Dude, we talked about this. I said—”
“No presents. Yeah, yeah, I heard you the million other times; you get off on murdering fun. But I couldn’t help myself, and you’re going to think I’m pretty fucking awesome. It’s as much for me as it is for you, anyway,” Duke says as he reaches into his pocket for his cell phone. He hands it to me after pulling up a screen. “It didn’t need public speech fanfare.” It’s confirmation for plane tickets and a hotel suite. “Vegas. MGM Grand. Spring break. Me. You. Lydia and Carmen, for four days.”
“Whoa…really? Duke, man, this is the fanfare. But…with me and Lydia’s trip coming up this summer, I can’t afford—”
“Present, remember? It’s done and covered. I had already planned for us to go for at least the weekend, but then last week Lydia told Mom and Dad about this surprise dinner thing, so they took care of the rest.” The Prices are great. They’re the real-life versions of the people smiling in the stock photos in the frames at Target. “Lyds got us all tickets to Cirque de Soleil, too. No way I’m going with just the girls to see dudes in leotards twirl in the air for two fuckin’ hours.”
“Fine…thanks, dude,” I say, pulling him in for the handshake-hug combo. “Tell your parents I said thank you, too.”
“Plus, I owe you for getting me through Franklin’s hard ass quizzes.”
“How’d you do on the last one?” I ask.
Duke shrugs. “Eighty. Good enough. But the one before that was a seventy. If I keep it up, and manage to pull off a B minus on the final, I can graduate without looking like a complete dumbass.” Last semester he got an email from the registrar stating that he was short a math course, and statistics was the only thing he could fit into his schedule. Lucky for him, I took the
class last year, and the prof is a lazy shit who doesn’t change his material much. I promised Duke that I wouldn’t let him fail. We’re getting out of Hamilton together.
“Call for you, Jess,” Lydia says as she walks over with my cell. As soon as I take it, a cold noose tightens around my heart, but I do my best not to react to the Texas area code. Home. A place I cut ties with four years ago, and counting. My plan is to have “and counting” go all the way to the grave.
“Thanks…” Walking out of the dining room, I head for the hallway. My pulse slips into a sprint as I stare at the lit screen. I know who’s on the other end. For the past four years, she has called on this day. My choices are always to either be a dick and not answer or be selfish and do, and every year I make the same shitty decision. Swallowing my guilt, I force the call to voicemail and push the phone into my pocket. Sometimes I wish she’d just give up and figure out that anyone who won’t take her calls for four years isn’t worth calling anymore. I flinch when my phone vibrates after a few seconds of stillness. She left a message. That’s a first.
“The mysterious birthday call?” Lydia asks, running her hand over my shaved head after she turns the corner.
“Yeah…” I keep the details of my background to a controlled bare minimum, even for Duke and Lydia. Everyone knows I’m from a small town called Glory, my mom died freshman year, and my father may as well be dead. My orphan bomb detonated—once you mention a dead parent and a deadbeat parent, people stop asking questions.
Lydia wraps her arms around my waist and aims a worried look up at me. “Was this too much? You seemed pretty freaked out earlier. I know you said you didn’t want—”
“I’ve never had a birthday party thrown for me before. I’m not mad, Lyds. Thank you.” I give her a reassuring smile and kiss her.
She shoots me that same uncertain look Duke always does. “Never? I looked up your town a while back…it’s so small. As popular as you are here, I’m sure you knew enough people there to have tons of parties. A guy like you must’ve been, like, a big fish in a small pond, especially at that tiny high school—”
“I didn’t have that high school experience.” Or life. At home she has bedroom walls covered in a lifetime of cheerful memories with friends, and sometimes I think she has no fucking idea the kind of bubble frozen smiles under frame glass creates. Her parents’ divorce was so amicable that everyone—new partners included—is currently vacationing together in Aspen. “But I’m glad this was my first birthday party.”
“Good. Because there’s something else.” She caresses my jawline and pulls my face to hers. Pressing me against the wall, she winds her hips on mine, all slow and sexy. I’m easy, so this guarantees that at some point tonight one of us is going to end up on our back before the door to my apartment closes.
“Oh yeah?”
Lydia nods. “It’s red, lacy…and it’ll be on your floor later…or in the next ten minutes if we leave right now….” After a look around, she cups my groin.
“What kind of guy leaves his own party?”
“The tab’s paid and closed out, so the kind who’ll get to see me in his favorite position”—with a devilish smile, Lydia leans in and bites my lip—“in the next ten minutes if we leave right now.”
“Done.” We head back into the private room for her purse.
From where he’s standing, Duke gestures at us to come over. “Kickback at the House?” he asks. I knew he was going to try to pull the party thing anyway. But birthday sex with my girl versus having beer spilled on me in a loud house with a bunch of other dudes, and chicks I’m not sleeping with? Yeah, no fuckin’ competition there. “Wait…are y’all leaving?”
Trying not to laugh, I say, “Netflix.”
“Long queue. Sorry, bro,” Lydia adds.
“Fine. Catch you suckas later…” Duke says, leaving us with a jerk-off motion, which in Duke Speak can mean any number of things, like a simple good-bye. Lydia shoves his shoulder and we bolt for the exit before anyone else notices. When we’re away from the lights out front, I pull her close and steer her backward toward my car.
“I forgot to tell you. My mom got you a book about Spain! She’s so excited about our trip.” Lydia links our fingers and I kiss the back of her hand. “She even left Post-its in the architecture section for you. Places we must see and buildings you’ll love. Madrid is where my dad proposed, you know. Maybe it’ll become a special place for us, too…”
“I hope so.” Not in a marriage way because we’re way too young for that shit, but our summer trip through Europe is the first big step in the direction we’re headed as a couple. We’ve been together on and off for two years, but we’ll be living together in Huntsville, Alabama, where I finally landed part-time work as an assistant at a small architecture firm. For some reason, though, the thought of our future, which should feel right, especially as things fall into place, only pushes a burning ache through my stomach. And the closer we get to graduation, the stronger the feeling. My “real world” choices seem daunting and final, but it’s nothing Lydia’s doing. All the anxiety and uncertainty is coming from me.
I lean in to kiss her and my eye catches movement near my car. There’s a shadowy figure peering into the driver’s side window. Like before in the restaurant, I wonder if it’s really there or if it’s another episode of my apparent birthday psychosis. But as Lydia’s nails press into my skin, I know she sees him, too.
“Someone’s breaking into my goddamn car,” I whisper, and I push her behind me. “Unless…is this a prank, Lyds? Part of my birthday?” When we got here, I parallel-parked on a dark side street because Lydia wanted me to. I didn’t think anything of it at the time when she pressured me into taking the spot—she’s notorious for backseat driving—but now I know she probably didn’t want me to see Duke’s monstrous red Hummer. So, this street is a great place to put a car to keep a birthday surprise ruse going and the perfect spot to enable thieves, too, apparently.
She gasps, nails going in a little deeper. “No, only dinner. I swear.” Her voice is wavering and my instincts also tell me she didn’t set this up. What’s strange is that the person’s mannerisms are actually familiar to me. Like I know whoever it is. Suddenly the voicemail is on my mind, and I can’t help drawing a connection between the two. It’s way too coincidental.
“Go back to the restaurant, Lydia.” I take careful steps toward my car, hoping the person won’t see me until I want him to.
Lydia cuffs my wrist. “Jesse, are you crazy? He might have a knife…or gun.” There’s palpable fear in her tone. “You know, the thing that puts new but unwanted holes in your body?”
“That’s why you need to go.” I move away from her and creep to the bumper of a parked car before she can protest further. The man, who is wearing a battered leather jacket and scuffed dress shoes, continues inspecting my car, taking a slow, relaxed walk around the front. He’s smoking and he even gives one of my tires a light kick. He doesn’t look around and he isn’t jumpy, so either he’s the world’s shittiest robber…
Or he’s just killing time.
Because he’s waiting for me.
I sneak to another car, the one directly behind mine. The man is whistling a tune I know, one I’ve only ever heard from one person, and frigid dread snakes through my core. No fucking way. No. My anger fuels an impulse and I pounce on him, slamming him facedown onto my hood and twisting his arm against his back.
He yells out in pain and struggles to break away from me, swinging his free arm. “I just want to talk! Just talk, Jesse!” He turns his head, trying to look at me, and the moonlight illuminates his entire face, his eyes in particular. Those same fucking dark brown, close-set ones I have, too. The same ones I saw in the window tonight. It’s my ghost. My worst fear is confirmed. My father is here. The motherfucker found me. And with him comes the life I left behind but apparently can’t outrun.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I whisper as I back away from him like he’s on fire, colliding with Lyd
ia. Henry pushes himself upright off the hood and winces as he flexes his arm. He’s haggard, his hair is a wash of gray, and he has aged beyond the four years since we last saw each other.
“Wow, okay, guess I don’t need the Mace after all.” Lydia steps in front of me for a better look at Henry, and I pull her away because he’s poison, like an airborne toxin that you don’t even realize you’re breathing in until death is already imminent.
“We need to go. Now,” I say to her.
“Jesse...” Henry says. “Hear me out. Please.”
My anger is a hot, churning pain in my chest, and I point at him, shouting, “Don’t follow us. I’ll call the cops. I’m sure there’s probably a warrant or two out for your arrest somewhere. Just leave. Just…fucking…go back to Glory.” I take Lydia’s hand but she doesn’t budge.
“You know him,” she manages to say with both certainty and confusion in her voice. “And he definitely said your name.”
“Yup. I do. And he did. Unfortunately. If you come with me, I’ll explain everything,” I say, almost pleading. I just want to keep everything I cherish away from him. My girl. My friends. My life. “Can we go, please?”
She shakes her head. “Wait, you look like him. In the eyes. Who—”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. Henry is walking toward us, looking distraught, and a compassionate expression settles on Lydia’s face. We aren’t going back to Zoya’s.
“Let’s just hear what he has to say, okay? Maybe someone from home died,” she offers, and I shake my head, though, in resignation. A fiery tickle erupts in my throat, threatening of a panic attack, which I haven’t had in years. I feel like a cornered animal. With every step Henry takes, my skin crawls, my displeasure grows, and I fight my overwhelming need to leave, without Lydia.