Текст книги "The End Game"

Автор книги: Kate McCarthy

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Brody

“If that’s how you feel …” Jordan digs inside the pocket of her shorts. She pulls out her phone. Grabbing my hand, she slaps the device in my palm. “Then you can talk to Nicky.”

It vibrates in my hand. I check the screen and see that possibly every person Jordan has ever met in her lifetime (and those she hasn’t) has called to confirm the news. I scroll through the notifications. Nicky’s only called once. It’s more ominous than calling a thousand times. He’s not happy. And he knows we know he’s not happy. Jordan’s brother doesn’t need to call a thousand times to reinforce that fact. Just once will do.

Jordan wanted us to sit on the news until she could tell him in person. I just blew that right out of the water. Speaking to Nicky is the least I can do. “Sure, I’ll talk to him.”

Her brows rise. “Just like that?”

“We’re not in shooting distance, so it should be fine. Really,” I reassure her. “It’s better this way.”

Jordan’s bottom lip quivers. We’ve hurt her brother by hiding the news. Possibly hurt all our friends. I pull her close toward me, heedless of my dirty, sweaty body and everyone else around us. “I’ll just tell him that sometimes two people are meant to be.”

Her nostrils flare in a frustrated huff. “That’s it?”

I run my thumb along her cheek. My eyes follow the path before flicking up to meet hers. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Eventually the locker room clears. Jordan’s gone home to change. A big night of celebration looms. Eddie swipes his bag up off the ground and gives me a fist bump. “See you back at the house?”

I nod. “Right behind you.”

He leaves, his hand slapping the Wranglers logo on inside wall before he disappears. Then, and only then, does my guard come down. Sinking down on the seat, I curl over on myself. The Toradol dose wasn’t enough. Pain is seeping through. And with a sleepless night from the Adderall ahead, tomorrow will be agony.

Voices from down the hall reach the main room. Turning my head, I see the door of Joe’s office ajar. He’s talking with Porter, the team physician. There’s no time to think through my actions. Rising to my feet, I walk down the long, wide, empty hallway until I reach medical. I grab the handle and give an experimental tug. The door is unlocked.

With a quick glance left, and then right, I push my way inside. Medications are kept inside a locked cabinet, but there’s a portable kit sitting half open on the desk. I head straight for it, ignoring the heavy pounding of my heart. Digging inside, I check each bottle until I find what I need.

Leaving quickly, I pull the door shut behind me and start back down the hall. Porter appears moments later, walking toward his office. A puzzled frown creases his face. “Brody. Can I help you?”

“Nope.” I hold up my opaque navy water bottle, making sure it doesn’t rattle from the pills I poured inside it. “Left this in the weights room earlier today,” I say, nodding behind me toward the gym down the far end of the facilities building. “Just grabbing it before I leave.”

“Oh, right.” Porter nods, his face smoothing out. “Good win today, son. Keep it up.”

He keeps moving. Wiping the sweat of tension from my brow, I head back to the locker room. Remorse sits like lead in my gut, but it’s not heavy enough to stop me swallowing a small handful of painkillers before I leave.

Parking inside the garage, I walk through into the living area. “I’m home!” I shout.

“In the kitchen!” Eddie calls back.

Dumping my sports bag on the floor by the stairs, I head for the kitchen. Jordan turns, wine glass in hand. She’s wearing a strapless black dress, leaving tanned shoulders bare. It reaches just below her knee, showing off toned calves and feet encased in spiky black heels. My gaze drifts back up, landing on the wedding ring adorning her left hand. Finally. My chest expands.

“Jordan.” The word comes out breathless and unsteady. Jesus. I’m getting emotional over a bit of jewelry. I clear my throat. “You look … perfect. Just …”

Shaking my head, I press my lips together.

Eddie has a wide grin. He hands me a glass of wine and leaves.

Jordan runs a hand down the inside of her thigh and arches a brow. “You like?”

“I do,” I croak, taking a step toward her.

“I’m very expensive.” She purses her lips and scans my body, the same way I did to her the day I wore that damn cheerleading skirt. “But for you, twenty dollars.”

I take another step, slowly pushing Jordan against the kitchen counter behind her. “Are you hustling me?”

“Yes.” With her left hand holding a wine glass, she presses her right flat on my chest. Feather light, it trails down slowly. My breath hitches when she reaches my hardening cock. “Is it working?”

“I don’t know. Is it?” My lips curve wickedly. “You tell me.”

Setting both our wine glasses down, Jordan grasps me outside my shorts and strokes with increasing pressure. A groan rises up from my throat. “I’m not sure.” She tilts her head to look at me, a teasing light in her eyes. I love Jordan like this—sexy, cheeky, uninhibited. It heats my blood to a fever. “You might have to take off your pants—”

My lips cover hers, swallowing the words. Our tongues meet, rubbing together with delicious warmth. Her hands slide around my neck. They move upwards, grasping strands of hair.

Without breaking the kiss, I seize the backs of Jordan’s thighs. Lifting her, I set her down on the counter. A sexy whimper escapes her throat when my hands shove the tight material of her dress up above her knees.

She pulls away with a sharp gasp. “Brody.”

My palm travels her inner thigh until it reaches her pussy.

Jordan swallows and lets out another whimper. “We need to talk.”

Now? I run a finger over her panties. She’s hot and wet. “Later.”

“Brody. We …” Slipping the panties aside, I slide a thick finger over her clit. It’s slick and swollen and fucking beautiful. I let out a shuddering breath.

Jordan moans loud. Her head tilts back and I lean in, my mouth landing on her throat at the same time I push a finger deep. “Oh god.”

My finger plunges in and out. I slowly add another, thrusting them both deep and hard. “Don’t stop,” she begs.

Sounds from the living room remind me we’re not alone. “Sorry, baby. I’m going to have to stop, but just for a second.”

Withdrawing my hand from between her legs, I lift her off the counter and carry her into the laundry room. Setting her on the frontloading washing machine, I step back, shut the door, and shove down my shorts. Jordan wriggles, panting as she pushes her dress up higher and spreads her thighs.

Wrenching her panties aside, I rub the head of my cock through her slick heat. When I find where I need to be, I push in, filling her in one swift stroke.

Jordan cries out.

I put a hand over her mouth as I pull out and thrust back in. “Shhh!” My eyes hold hers. I see the plea in them, dark and needy. She wants more.

Removing my hand, I take her hips, holding her steady while my own drive hard and deep. The washing machine begins to bang against the wall from the force of each thrust, but I can’t stop. Grunts leave my throat.

“Brody!”

Jordan’s close. Her body’s trembling and her lungs are gasping for air. “Let go.”

She does, and her inner walls clench so tight, I come with a surprised shout. My hips still, and with my face buried in her neck, my cock pulses its release inside her body. Drawing back, I rest my forehead against hers and cup her face in my palms, our harsh breaths mingling. “I love you. So much.”

Jordan tilts her head and brushes her lips against mine. “I love you too.”

After we both take a few moments to catch our breath, she slides off the machine on shaky legs while I pull up my shorts. Stumbling on her heels, I catch her before she tips over. “Whoa!”

Jordan giggles as she twitches her dress into place, her smooth hair in a tangle and cheeks flushed. “Eddie’s going to know what we were doing.”

“No he won’t,” I lie and open the door into the kitchen.

Eddie’s head is buried in the fridge. Pulling out a beer, he slams the door shut and twists off the top, flicking it in the sink as we both step out. “You know I can never do laundry in there again now.”

Jordan clears her throat, brushing hair from her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Eddie laughs. “Sure you don’t.”

With head held high, she leaves the kitchen and heads upstairs.

After taking a pull of his beer, Eddie looks at me, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “You’ve had sex in every room in this house, haven’t you?”

My answer is a grin. Swiping the beer from his hand, I follow Jordan.

“Dude!” he yells after me. “That’s not sanitary!”

I find Jordan. She’s in our bathroom. Her panties are kicked off and rest on the floor. Her legs are spread slightly, and she has a washcloth stuck between her thighs. Perhaps I’m oddly perverted, but the sight has my cock twitching hungrily.

Jordan glances up at my entrance, cheeks heating. “You made a mess.”

I shrug and grin. “All in day’s work.”

“Brody!”

The washcloth flies across the room, slapping me in the neck. I laugh. Peeling it away, I rinse it off under warm water and come at her. “Let me help.”

Jordan holds up a hand, warding me off. “Don’t touch me. You can’t be trusted.”

“I won’t do anything other than wipe you clean.”

Her nostrils flare warily. “I don’t believe you.”

I make a quick sign of the cross over my heart, my lips fighting an impish grin. “I promise I won’t stick my penis in your vagina.”

“Oh my god,” Jordan moans, exasperated.

I laugh again. “Here.” I hand over the warm bit of towel and sit myself down on the closed seat of the toilet. Leaning back, I fold my arms to watch.

She folds her arms in response, creating a little standoff. “You’re going to watch?”

“Are you kidding? I’m a twenty-two year old male with a cock for a brain and you’re my wife. Hell yes, I’m watching.”

“Brody!”

“Fine.” I close my eyes. “Earlier you said you wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”

Silence follows. I crack an eyelid open. Jordan is staring at me, mute and apprehensive. It sets me on edge. All the levity in the room flees, leaving nothing but a thumping pulse in its place. “Jordan, what is it?”

Setting the washcloth on the edge of the basin, she twitches her dress into place. Facing me, a hesitant smile forms on her lips. “I’ve been selected to the Australian national team roster to play in the FIFA World Cup.”

Pride has the breath catching in my throat. “Holy shit.” Unfolding my arms, I rise to my feet. “This is incredible.”

Jordan frowns. “I know.”

“Be excited, babe.” I grasp her by the elbows. “This is the best thing that could’ve happened. It’s what you’ve worked for.”

She pulls free of my grip. Picking up her discarded panties from the floor, she tosses them in the hamper, all the while saying, “I’m not sure it’s what I want anymore.”

I stand rigid, confused, watching her fuss around the bathroom, straightening towels, moving hand soap until it sits just so, basically doing anything but look at me. The heavy weight of realization lands on my chest. My hands clench at my sides and my eyes burn. It takes everything I have not to smash my fist in the wall. Why can’t I ever catch a damn break?

“When do you leave for Australia?”

Jordan pauses her tidying of the sink and her eyes lift to mine. “Five days.”

“And how long will you be gone?” Tension fills the bathroom, swift and silent. “Jordan?”

Her chest lifts and falls with a deep breath. “Five months.”

Pain clutches at my heart. It’s so long. And so far. But I told Jordan I’d never hold her back. I’m not going to start now. She needs to go into this with the knowledge I’m backing her a hundred and ten percent, not with the fear that distance will destroy everything we’ve built together. I lock all the hurt away inside and take her cold hand in mine. Threading our fingers together, I pull her toward me.

Her head tips back, anxiety darkening her eyes. “You can do this, Jordan. I have so much faith in you.”

I’m given the briefest expression of hope before her gaze sweeps down, focusing on our linked hands between us. “There’s one more thing.”

“Jordan …” That’s all I’ve got. I’m not sure if I can take another emotional hit tonight.

Her lower lip wobbles. “I don’t want you at my finals.”

“What? No! That’s—”

She shakes her head. “You’ve got some spare time. You need to use it to go see Annabelle.”

“Baby—”

I can’t get a word in. “She’s going to hear, Brody. She’ll hear about our marriage. You need to find a way to see your sister. This rift needs healing. Now is the time to do it. If you leave it any longer, it might just be too late.”

Brody

There’s no nostalgia as I pull in the drive of my parents’ house two days later. Instead my skin crawls and my stomach resembles a large ball of lead. I rest my forearm on the curve of the steering wheel, my fingers tapping an anxious rhythm as I stare up at the pretentious hunk of rendered brick.

Jaxon turns his head in the passenger seat. “We going to sit here all day?”

“Maybe.” I swipe a hand over my face, feeling slightly punch-drunk. I drove to Jaxon’s house late last night and crashed with the help of some Ambien. The sleep didn’t recharge my batteries. It was more of a fitful doze thanks to my fractured rib. I look at my cousin. “You don’t have to be here.”

“And miss a confrontation with your father?” He leans forward, shaking his head as he tucks his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. “Not a chance.”

“I’m not here for a confrontation.” That’s the honest truth, but I’ve no doubt it’s inevitable anyway.

Jax echoes the sentiment with a snort. “This is your father we’re talking about.” He runs fingers through his hair, grabbing at random tufts before letting his arm drop to his side. “He’s a fucking douche canoe.”

After drawing the keys from the ignition, my eyes catch the subject of our conversation emerging from the front door. My father’s face is mottled, the anger vibrating from his big frame almost tangible. The lead ball in my stomach grows. “You’re not wrong.”

“Shit.” My cousin’s face darkens. “You owe me double for this.”

Grasping the door handle, I pause to look at him, my expression incredulous, especially considering he invited himself along for the ride. “Double?”

“Yes, double. There’s the small matter of you and Jordan getting married and not telling anyone,” he mutters, reaching for his own door handle. “Not to mention I’ve had chick magazines hounding me for details of the happy nuptials.”

A strangled laugh dies in my throat. “Sorry about that.”

“You can be sorry about it later by fixing me up with Cherry.”

“Cherry the cheerleader?”

He nods his confirmation. “One and the same.”

“Done.”

It’s just that easy. It makes me glad to be male. The price of having a vagina meant Jordan’s phone call to Leah took two hours minimum. And even now nothing is resolved. There’s some kind of appeasement process Jordan seems duty-bound to follow before ruffled feathers can be smoothed. Talks of her planning a wedding celebration were made. There was mention of dresses, tent hire, caterers, and musicians. The only time I willingly stepped into the conversation was to make it clear that if we went ahead with this, it was for Jordan, not Leah, and whatever Jordan wanted, she was to have. It only set off more excited chatter, at which point I tuned out entirely.

I push all thoughts of the conversation aside and open the car door, stepping out. Fresh morning air drifts over me, ruffling my hair. But it’s not the cool breeze that chills my skin, it’s the level of detachment my father emanates. He’s stopped in front of my car, arms folded and eyes devoid of emotion.

“What are you doing here, Brody?”

Lifting my chin, I shut the door, pocket my car keys, and start toward him, showing nothing but determination. From the corner of my eye, I see Jax follow. He stands a step back on my right like a sentinel flanking his commander. I’m grateful for his support, a silent reminder that I do have family at my back. “You know why I’m here. I just want to see Annabelle.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

A lawn mower powers to life, the noisy rumble reverberating from across the road. I turn my head. Old man Lewis is out trimming his lawn. It’s not something I’ve ever known him to do this early on a weekday. As if feeling my stare, he looks up and meets my eyes. They shift to my father, narrowing slightly, before returning focus to the task in front of him. I turn back. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Oh, but it is. You’re living a whole new life in Houston. Football. Parties. An impulsive marriage to that … girl.” He speaks the word with distaste. “Annabelle believes you abandoned her.”

“I didn’t abandon her!” My teeth clench together in an effort to leash my rising temper. Don’t let him bait you like he always does. “You won’t let me see her.”

A hint of satisfaction creeps into my father’s eyes. “She doesn’t know that.”

“You’re an asshole! Why are you doing this? It’s not just because I punched another student who had it coming. And it’s not even about the drugs.” I step forward and his hands fist reflexively. “You just used it as an excuse to push me out. I’ve never been good enough. Never smart enough. Never just enough,” I shout with force. “I pushed myself every day, hoping one day I would be. And I’m almost there, right on the cusp of being fucking great at something and…” My words wither away, something inside me giving up as I stare into his stony eyes. It’s like a light winking out for the very last time, leaving my heart to finally accept what my mind has known all along. “You don’t care.”

My father’s lips pinch. “You’re right.” Jaxon sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t care. No one cares. You keep coming here causing scenes.” His voice rises. “Demanding attention.” Dad takes a step forward, ire building. “Making everything about you when it’s not,” he hisses. Planting both hands on my chest, he fists my shirt and shoves, pushing me back a step. “Well it’s not about you, and I don’t want you here.”

“This is about Annabelle, and you keeping me from her.” I yank free, my shirt twisted. “She needs her brother.”

Anger sparks in my father’s eyes. “You’re not her brother anymore!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jaxon asks.

“Screw this,” I mutter and start for the house, calling out, “Annabelle!”

Dad blocks me, a veritable wall of rage. Spittle hits my face when he snarls at me to shut my goddamn mouth.

“Move,” I growl, “or I will fucking end you.”

He keeps his feet planted on the drive, heedless of my threat. Shoving past him, I start for the door. He grabs my arm and I half turn, my fist pulling back reflexively. With a sharp jab, I punch him square in the nose. Bones crunch and pain blooms across my knuckles.

My father cries out. Letting me go, he covers his nose with both hands, blood spilling out beneath them. I didn’t want this—the inevitable confrontation and violence. Why does he push, and push, and fucking push? “Why?”

Jax grabs my bicep, trying to pull me away. I shrug him off, all the hurt I pushed deep now bubbling to the surface.

“Why don’t you care?” I shout as Dad wipes at his bloodied face.

“Because you’re not my son!” he roars.

Utter silence reigns for a single, heartrending moment. The air gusting between us stills. My voice lowers to a whisper. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Holy fuck,” Jaxon breathes, his feet frozen in place. “You can’t be serious.”

But he is. I know he is because it makes sense. Of course it wouldn’t matter what I did or how hard I tried. Why would it if I wasn’t his son? There’s no feat on Earth I could perform that would change something like that. “You’re not my real father.”

I say it more as a statement than a question, the words sounding foreign to my ears, as if someone else spoke them.

“No,” he reiterates. “I’m not.”

A feeling of emptiness steals over me—swift and consuming. I should feel something shouldn’t I? Even just relief that I don’t share the same blood that runs through his veins. But I’ve been sucked inside a void where it’s dark and cold, and ironically it’s a place more painful than anything I’ve ever experienced. My feet carry me forward a step. Jax puts a cautionary hand on my forearm, worried at what I’ll do. But even I don’t know what I’ll do. Everything I thought I knew is all wrong.

“Mom. Is she …” The question lodges in my throat.

Dad wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing a trickle of blood. “You’re hers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“By all means, let me explain in terms you can understand.” His upper lip curls with condescension. “Six months after we married, your mother went on a night out to celebrate a friend’s work promotion. She didn’t come home until mid-morning the next day claiming her drink was spiked. Nine months later there you were,” he spits out bitterly.

I stand stoic as he speaks, unresponsive, even as his words tear into my skin. I’m the product of assault. No wonder I’m unwanted. I’m a reminder of something ugly and sickening. The spawn of a monster. Does that make me one too?

My voice is a whisper. “Why didn’t you just get rid of me?”

His anger flares like a lit match. “It was too late! You were already there and they wouldn’t abort you. And once the media found out your mother was pregnant we were stuck. We couldn’t even give you away.” My father comes at me, hopeless rage twisting his face.

“Liam!” My mother steps out of the house, her face ashen beneath the flawless layer of makeup. I look between them, now able to see my parents with true clarity. They both wear a picture-perfect veneer to hide a fracture so deep it won’t ever heal. “Please. Stop!”

Dad keeps talking, too caught up to even hear her. “You wouldn’t die like I wanted you to. Instead you thrived. A fucking virus I knew would never go away!”

My shirt is grabbed and he heaves, snarling, and shoves me backwards, slamming me hard against the passenger side door of the car. I hear my mother cry out as air leaves my lungs in a rush.

“We never wanted you,” he gasps, his eyes so rabid I know he’s lost touch with reality.

Jaxon seizes Dad’s arms, his face white with shock. Mom cries my name, her voice desperate, begging me to do something. I’m not sure what she wants me to do. The most she’s ever expected of me is to just leave, so that’s what I’m going to do. I push an elbow between my father and myself, using it as a bracket so I can dig the keys from my pocket.

I’m halfway there when Dad wrestles free of Jaxon and launches himself at me. His fist smashes in my face. My head snaps back, hitting the rounded metal of the car where the roof meets the door. There’s no time to recover before an uppercut gets me in the ribs. There’s a powerhouse of muscle behind the punch and something crunches beneath it. A bone. Pain erupts. The intensity is like a starburst, brilliant and fiery.

But he’s not done. He comes at me again, and again. I can hear Jaxon shouting. I feel like I should do something. Defend myself. But all I can hear is the words we never wanted you. They batter my head like a broken record. You wouldn’t die.

Suddenly my father is gone. I stumble forward, dizzy and trying to catch my breath. Jaxon has him in an armlock. They grapple, and my cousin gets a hard elbow to the ribs. He grunts and lets go. Before I can blink I’m on the ground and a fist is coming at my face.

“Goddammit, you’ll kill him!” Jaxon yells. He’s trying to pull my father off me.

“No,” I rasp. Let him do his worst. Lance the poison and maybe then it’ll be enough. His large hands wrap around my neck and squeeze. It’s a vice, making my eyes water. My air is cut off instantly. I react instinctively, clawing his fingers, my body panicked.

The sound of a gun being cocked hits my ears. “Get off of him. Now.”

Hands release from my neck swiftly. Air floods my lungs, fast and sweet. I suck it in with hoarse gasps.

My eyes lift, landing on old man Lewis. Both his arms are outstretched, the gun in his hands steady as he presses it to my father’s temple. “You okay, boy?” he asks without taking his eyes from his target.

I can’t answer the question because I don’t know.

“Get that gun out of my face,” my father growls. He’s frozen beneath it, sweat trickling down the side of his face.

Lewis draws it back slightly, and Dad slowly shifts away and stands.

“Jesus. Brody,” Jax breathes in a shaky voice, sinking to his knees beside me. His hands hover above me, unsure which part is safe to touch.

I don’t spare him a glance. My stomach’s knotted with pain. I roll to my side and throw up on the front lawn. Even that simple action leaves me dizzy.

“Lay another hand on that boy,” Lewis growls, forcing my father to back away, “and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I sure as hell am.”

Well, what do you know? Old man Lewis has a heart after all. “Call an ambulance,” he orders Jaxon.

“No.” Adrenaline pushes me to my feet. Jaxon reaches for me. I hold out an arm in warning, staggering as I back away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Passing by Lewis on unsteady legs, I give him that casual salute that I always do.

Jaxon drives us back to his apartment because I refuse a hospital, but I don’t remember much beyond that point. I know he must have left me alone at some stage because I called Damien. I know I called Damien because I’m sitting on the tiled floor of the shower, an empty bottle of Percocet gripped in my hand. The water gushing from above is ice cold. It’s catching me in the back of my bowed head. I blink away the water in my eyes, not noticing how they sting. My clothes are soaked, but I can’t bring myself to care.

Taking a handful of Percocet gives a high like heroin so I’d chewed a large handful down to make them work faster. Today I need to feel good. Just once. But I don’t. Why isn’t it working? My heart is racing so hard I’m sure it’s going to punch its way out of my chest, yet I’m just as empty as I was before. Maybe I need to lie down. My fingernails dig into the grout of the tiles, the only leverage I have to pull myself upright. I stagger my way to the guest room, skidding against the walls, using them to prop me up when I feel myself falling.

Slumping down on the bed, I reach for my bag and some pills. I down a couple to help me sleep. Maybe they’ll stop my heart from galloping because it’s beginning to hurt. Falling back on the pillow, I close my eyes but oblivion doesn’t come. My arm trembles as I stretch it out toward my phone. I fumble and it drops to the floor.

“Fuck.” Rolling on my side, I grab for it. It takes several attempts before I get it in my hand. Slumping back on my pillow, I dial Jordan. It starts to ring and I exhale deeply. Her soothing voice will fix everything.

“Hi. You’ve reached Jordan Madden.” I’m frustrated at getting her voicemail, but there’s a small measure of warmth hearing her message has changed to include her married name. It’s something small, really, but it feels huge. Jordan is all I have now, but for how long? She keeps slipping through my fingers. I’m doing everything I can to hold on, but the fight is too much. It’s too much. A sob rises up from deep in my chest. For the first time I can’t hold it in. It rips out of me, the sound loud and broken. I fist a hand in my hair as another follows. God, there’s so much pain inside it’s killing me. “I’m sorry I can’t answer the phone right now. Leave your name and number and I’ll call you back.”

A long beep follows. “Baby?” Christ I’m so fucked-up. I use my forearm to wipe the tears but it feels too heavy to move, so I just leave it there, resting across my eyes. “Sorry, I just …” The words don’t come out sounding right, like my tongue is too big for my mouth. I end the call and throw the phone away, remembering she has soccer finals. She doesn’t need my shit right now. Maybe not ever.

As I lie there my body begins to tremble violently and sleep still proves elusive. Did I take the Ambien? Why can’t I remember? Dragging myself from the bed, I dig for the bottle in my bag. Finding it, I rise, using the wall to prop me up as I empty a pile of pills in my hand. I swallow them down. My mouth is dry and they stick in my throat. I work them down and peace comes soon after. It’s a loving blanket that wraps itself around me, cocooning me in its warmth. My head tips back and my eyes close. A voice from deep inside screams at me as I slide down the bedroom wall. It has fists that bang against my chest, fingers that claw desperately, and sobs that are so deep and wounded they would break my heart if it wasn’t already broken.

I ignore it as the empty bottle falls from my hand, dropping harmlessly to the carpet beside my slumped body. In a brief moment of piercing clarity, I feel my last breath coming. The pain of leaving Jordan is like a sharp knife slicing through my skin, but I can’t stay. It’s so beautiful where I am. So calm and peaceful. I don’t have to fight here. I don’t have to prove myself. Here I’m not the son my father never wanted, the brother that’s never there, or the rising football star I don’t deserve to be. Here, I’m not anything, and nothing has ever felt more right.