“Rome, man! Have you blacked out on me or what?”
Snapping back to reality, I flinched at the tightness of my raw torso and, looking to Luke, asked, “What?”
“We’re done. You okay?”
Rubbing a hand down my face, I said, “Yeah, f**k, I zoned out.”
“I know! You want to have a look before I cover it?”
Taking a deep breath, I nodded and, slowly getting off the table, walked to the floor-length mirror, my legs weak as hell from all my body had been put through.
This time, when I saw my new ink, there were no sharp inhales of breath, no painful regurgitated memories or tears. The wings commemorating our lost angel were meant to be on my chest; our child was meant to be remembered. I’d gone through the pain; I’d begun atoning for my failing as a daddy.
“They good, man?” Luke asked from behind me.
Turning and shaking his hand, I replied, “They’re f**king perfect… just… beyond.”
* * *
Later that night, I stood at the doorway of the place I never wanted to see again in my life. Too many memories—old and new—assaulted me as I opened the front door, and the first thing I noticed was how bare and cold the place felt without the usual antiques and artwork proudly and ostentatiously on display.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. My daddy’s lawyer was at the entrance to the office, gesturing for me to step inside.
When I walked into the study, my father sat behind his desk, unkempt and looking older than his years. He looked up when I entered and let out a small, bitter laugh—even hitting rock bottom didn’t change the bastard.
“Let you out on bail, then?” I drawled, taking a seat.
Shrugging, he answered, “Paid for it with the last of the Prince Oil share of the money, but don’t worry, son, I’ll be going to prison soon enough… and all because you were too f**king stubborn to do what you were told.”
Leaning forward, I hissed, “You deserve to fester in a cold cell. You killed my baby, you sadistic f**k. You’re lucky I don’t kill your evil ass. You laundered the money. It’s all on you!”
“Wow, Romeo, I can just feel the father-son love,” he answered dryly. I almost had to sit on my hands to stop from knocking the bastard out. I wasn’t going to hit him though. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of his conviction.
“What’s happened to Prince Oil? The Blairs?”
“The company is in administration. The Blairs are probably gonna declare bankruptcy.” He turned his cold, dead eyes to me. “Bet that makes you happy, eh?”
“And Momma? Where’s she? Off ruining more lives?” I asked, ignoring his shitty tone.
He waved his hand dismissively. “She’s left town. She won’t be back.”
“She should be rotting in jail too!”
The suit entered the study at that moment, putting an end to our conversation, and sat down before me, pushing a contract into my hands. “From this day on, you are to cut all ties from your parents. That includes any inheritance of their fortune—or what’s left of it when it’s liquidized by the government—their properties, and their possessions.”
“Done,” I answered quickly, causing the no-nonsense lawyer to glare at me over his glasses.
“You have no problems with this?”
Smiling, I said, “Let me put this to you straight. I hate them. They’re f**kin’ horrible examples of people. I have my own money—money they can’t touch—and I’m getting drafted by the NFL. I want nothing of theirs. Anything they’ve touched would only be cursed anyway.”
“So you’ll sign?” The lawyer confirmed again and I nodded. My daddy turned away from me in his chair, staring out the window.
The f**ker was broken. And it was the best thing I’d ever seen.
Refocusing on the lawyer, I replied, “Gladly.”
He passed me a fancy-ass pen, and three signatures later, I was officially and legally free.
Standing, I walked over to my daddy one last time and declared, “We’re done. Never speak to me again. Never contact me again. If you come anywhere near me, Molly, or my friends, I’ll kill you and that’s a damn promise.” Crouching right down before his aging face, seeing his lip curl in anger, I smiled. “And have fun rotting away in a cell, being someone’s bitch for the rest of your miserable life. And while I’m sure y’all will think of me every minute for the rest of your days, I’ll make sure to never think of either of you Ever. Ever. Again.”
As I stepped out of the front door, I took one look at the old empty house that had held me an emotional prisoner for so long, and realized, my folks no longer had any power over me, not like before, and never would ever again.
* * *
Walking back into that locker room was hell.
As soon as I entered the doors, my rowdy teammates froze and stared at me as I made my way to my locker, dropping my bag and squeezing my eyes closed at the strength it was taking to face them all again.
I heard Coach walk into the room and clear his throat. “Rome?” he said, and turning, I looked to him, knowing my face was blank. “Damn glad to have you back, son.” He walked over and shook my hand, pulling me into his embrace, and when he stepped back, each of my teammates did the same. My eyes blurred with the emotion of the moment.
Chris Porter was one of the last to approach me, and when he did, he shook his head. “Bullet, man, I’m so sorry.” I could only squeeze his shoulder in response. The shit between him and me no longer mattered. Perspective—a wonderful thing.
Snapping back to reality, I flinched at the tightness of my raw torso and, looking to Luke, asked, “What?”
“We’re done. You okay?”
Rubbing a hand down my face, I said, “Yeah, f**k, I zoned out.”
“I know! You want to have a look before I cover it?”
Taking a deep breath, I nodded and, slowly getting off the table, walked to the floor-length mirror, my legs weak as hell from all my body had been put through.
This time, when I saw my new ink, there were no sharp inhales of breath, no painful regurgitated memories or tears. The wings commemorating our lost angel were meant to be on my chest; our child was meant to be remembered. I’d gone through the pain; I’d begun atoning for my failing as a daddy.
“They good, man?” Luke asked from behind me.
Turning and shaking his hand, I replied, “They’re f**king perfect… just… beyond.”
* * *
Later that night, I stood at the doorway of the place I never wanted to see again in my life. Too many memories—old and new—assaulted me as I opened the front door, and the first thing I noticed was how bare and cold the place felt without the usual antiques and artwork proudly and ostentatiously on display.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. My daddy’s lawyer was at the entrance to the office, gesturing for me to step inside.
When I walked into the study, my father sat behind his desk, unkempt and looking older than his years. He looked up when I entered and let out a small, bitter laugh—even hitting rock bottom didn’t change the bastard.
“Let you out on bail, then?” I drawled, taking a seat.
Shrugging, he answered, “Paid for it with the last of the Prince Oil share of the money, but don’t worry, son, I’ll be going to prison soon enough… and all because you were too f**king stubborn to do what you were told.”
Leaning forward, I hissed, “You deserve to fester in a cold cell. You killed my baby, you sadistic f**k. You’re lucky I don’t kill your evil ass. You laundered the money. It’s all on you!”
“Wow, Romeo, I can just feel the father-son love,” he answered dryly. I almost had to sit on my hands to stop from knocking the bastard out. I wasn’t going to hit him though. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of his conviction.
“What’s happened to Prince Oil? The Blairs?”
“The company is in administration. The Blairs are probably gonna declare bankruptcy.” He turned his cold, dead eyes to me. “Bet that makes you happy, eh?”
“And Momma? Where’s she? Off ruining more lives?” I asked, ignoring his shitty tone.
He waved his hand dismissively. “She’s left town. She won’t be back.”
“She should be rotting in jail too!”
The suit entered the study at that moment, putting an end to our conversation, and sat down before me, pushing a contract into my hands. “From this day on, you are to cut all ties from your parents. That includes any inheritance of their fortune—or what’s left of it when it’s liquidized by the government—their properties, and their possessions.”
“Done,” I answered quickly, causing the no-nonsense lawyer to glare at me over his glasses.
“You have no problems with this?”
Smiling, I said, “Let me put this to you straight. I hate them. They’re f**kin’ horrible examples of people. I have my own money—money they can’t touch—and I’m getting drafted by the NFL. I want nothing of theirs. Anything they’ve touched would only be cursed anyway.”
“So you’ll sign?” The lawyer confirmed again and I nodded. My daddy turned away from me in his chair, staring out the window.
The f**ker was broken. And it was the best thing I’d ever seen.
Refocusing on the lawyer, I replied, “Gladly.”
He passed me a fancy-ass pen, and three signatures later, I was officially and legally free.
Standing, I walked over to my daddy one last time and declared, “We’re done. Never speak to me again. Never contact me again. If you come anywhere near me, Molly, or my friends, I’ll kill you and that’s a damn promise.” Crouching right down before his aging face, seeing his lip curl in anger, I smiled. “And have fun rotting away in a cell, being someone’s bitch for the rest of your miserable life. And while I’m sure y’all will think of me every minute for the rest of your days, I’ll make sure to never think of either of you Ever. Ever. Again.”
As I stepped out of the front door, I took one look at the old empty house that had held me an emotional prisoner for so long, and realized, my folks no longer had any power over me, not like before, and never would ever again.
* * *
Walking back into that locker room was hell.
As soon as I entered the doors, my rowdy teammates froze and stared at me as I made my way to my locker, dropping my bag and squeezing my eyes closed at the strength it was taking to face them all again.
I heard Coach walk into the room and clear his throat. “Rome?” he said, and turning, I looked to him, knowing my face was blank. “Damn glad to have you back, son.” He walked over and shook my hand, pulling me into his embrace, and when he stepped back, each of my teammates did the same. My eyes blurred with the emotion of the moment.
Chris Porter was one of the last to approach me, and when he did, he shook his head. “Bullet, man, I’m so sorry.” I could only squeeze his shoulder in response. The shit between him and me no longer mattered. Perspective—a wonderful thing.
