About Me
- Katie Ashley
- Atlanta, GA, United States
- I am the New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon Best Selling author of The Proposition, Proposal, Music of the Heart, and Nets and Lies. I am represented by Jane Dystel of Dystel and Goderich for all books except for Proposition and Proposal.
The Proposition
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Chapter 2 & Part of Chapter 3 from Don't Hate the Player
Here's some more Don't Hate the Player for you before Tuesday's release. Hope you enjoy it. You can read Chapter One here: http://katieashleybooks.blogspot.com/2013/04/chapter-one-of-dont-hate-player.html
Chapter Two
I spent the rest of the afternoon walking in the thicket
of woods behind my house. I didn’t want anyone seeing me in my manic state. I
cried, I screamed, I kicked down a dead tree, and I laughed as old random
memories flickered through my mind. I don’t know why I thought I could escape to
the woods and leave my grief behind as easily as stripping off my clothes or something. Suffocating and somber, it hung around
me—a silent specter taunting and goading me. It draped over me like a heavy
coat, weighing me down. The usually easy trek up the small hills felt like
trudging through thick mud. My chest constricted so tightly every breath was
agonizing. While over and over in my mind, the words echoed Jake is dead. Jake is dead. Jake is dead.
When I finally swept through the back door
shortly before six, I found my mom pacing around in the kitchen. She was out of
her usual blue or green scrubs along with her pristine white doctor’s coat.
Instead, she wore one of her dark and somber “funeral dresses”. With her long,
dark hair swept back in a twist, it made her blue eyes, which were sparkling with
tears, stand out. I’d barely made it two more steps before she leapt at me,
wrapping her arms around me. Her wet cheeks dampened my shirt, and I knew then
she had been crying for a long time. “Oh Noah, when I heard, all I could think
about was what if it had been you. Just the thought of losing you…” her voice
choked off with her sobs.
“I know,” I croaked, although I wasn’t sure I did.
Patting her back absentmindedly, I tried in my own fumbling way to comfort her.
“Thank God, you’re all right.” She then began rubbing
comforting circles over my back just like she had done my entire life when I
was hurt physically or emotionally. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she murmured over
and over in my ear.
I pushed myself away from her, giving her skeptical look.
“Oh, come on, Mom. You know you hated Jake.”
“That’s not true!” she protested.
I cocked one eyebrow at her. “Really?”
“Okay, maybe I disliked what he became later in life, but
I never hated him,” she admitted.
I knew that was probably closer to the truth. She hated
that Jake as a manwhoring player because it hit too close to home with her when
it came to my father.
Mom exhaled a sad, defeated sigh. “I like to think of
Jake when he was younger—that mischievous little boy with the crooked grin.” A
hesitant smile played on the corners of her lips. “Remember when you guys were
little how he always acted like Eddie Haskell from those old Leave it to Beaver reruns whenever he
was around me?”
I couldn’t help laughing. Before he hit puberty, Jake was
forever helping her carry in groceries, straightening up the kitchen, or
telling her she looked pretty or smelled nice. Basically, he hung on to her
every word like a lovesick puppy.
But then the way my mother felt about Jake began to
change when we got to high school. It was then that that Jake informed me my
mom was a MILF. I was well acquainted with the term from the movie American Pie. The moment the words left
his lips I almost punched his face in. So what if it’s a well-known fact my
mother is beautiful? She’s a dead ringer for the late Elizabeth Taylor. So much
so, that all her friends nicknamed her Liz, which wasn’t too far off since her
middle name was Elizabeth. Growing up, I never got the analogy since my only
frame of reference was the old chick in the really airbrushed White Diamonds
perfume commercials. My mom’s mom, or Grammy as I call her, swears when I was
three, I saw one of Elizabeth’s earliest movies, National Velvet, on TV and cried, “Mommy!”
It wouldn’t have mattered to me if she looked just like
Angelina Jolie cause no self-respecting male wants to acknowledge the fact
their mom is hot. It’s freakin’ sick and warped.
Mom snapped me out of my thoughts. “Did you hear me,
Noah?”
“Huh?”
“I spoke with Jake’s mom earlier while you were gone to
the woods. She wanted you to come over tonight.”
Shit. That explained Mom’s mourning attire. Damn, the
last thing on earth I wanted to do was go over to Jake’s house and face his
parents.
Mom noticed my hesitation. She ran her hand over my
cheek. “It would mean a lot to Mrs. Nelson, Noah.”
I nodded. “I’ll go change.”
“When you get done, come help me load the car, okay?” She
motioned towards the table that was loaded down with food for the Nelson’s.
“Whatever,” I replied, and then pounded up the stairs.
I knew that deep down my mom hated Jake because he
reminded her too much of my father. Though I guess sperm donor would be a better
way of describing my dear old dad. You see, my mom got pregnant with me when
she was seventeen. It was a major shock to everyone considering my mom was the
angel of the family. As the only girl with five brothers what the hell could
you possibly get away with anyway?
My uncles were legendary at Creekview High School. They
were known as the Mighty M Sullivan’s because of their athletic ability. There
wasn’t a sport there they didn’t dominate, and surprisingly, they each had one
that was their specialty. Mark was a Golden Glove in baseball, Mike was the
quarterback of the football team, Matt was an all-state guard in basketball,
Mitch was a wrestler, and Mason was lighting in track.
By the time my mom entered high school, their reputation
was enough to steer every horny asshole away from her. Once any panty chaser
found out she was Maggie Sullivan,
they ran the other way with their tail between their legs. But it really didn’t
matter to my mom because she was the ultimate goody girl, Straight A’s,
National Honors Society, Academic Team—any brainiac thing, she did it because
she had her eye set on medical school and becoming a doctor.
Like Jake, Joe Preston was a major player A real smooth
operator who weaseled himself into the good graces of all my uncles and my
grandparents and made the entire family believe he walked on water. He was my Uncle Mark’s best friend all through
high school, and then they both ended up at the University of Georgia with a
full ride in baseball.
By senior year, Joe and my Uncle Mike were both being scouted
by major league teams. Because his family wasn’t the lovey dovey type that my
mom’s was, Joe spent occasional holidays at the house—a Thanksgiving, an
Easter, an odd weekend here or there. But this time, he spent the entire month
of August at my grandparents’ cabin in the mountains.
Now my mother’s never told me any of this. All my information
has come from my uncles or older cousins over the years. The way they told the
story read like some NC-17 rated fairy tale: oversexed wolf charms innocent
lamb resulting in an unexpected pregnancy.
I guess it goes without saying that at twenty-one with a
major league career ahead of him filled with money, fast cars, parties and
women my dad wasn’t ready to settle down. He bolted, and basically he’s never
looked back.
Sometimes I personally think it’s easier for some kids to
have a dead beat dad. Yeah, the pain is there, but you can push it to the
backburner cause you don’t see the asshole much. For me, my douchebag dad was
shoved in my face constantly. The worst was April through October—the months of
the major league baseball season. I had to see and hear my father’s stats
constantly. Even now at thirty-eight, he’s still one of the most sought after
pitchers in the National League. He’s currently playing for the San Diego
Padres, but he’s been with some of the biggies all over the country.
So for a while my mom was the black sheep of the family.
A kind of conspicuous black sheep who had been the Salutatorian of her
graduating class and was slated to start medical school. But she didn’t remain
that way for long for two reasons. One was that my Uncle Matt went on a mission
trip to Brazil, met a girl, and got married all within eight weeks. To my very
Southern, old-school family, marrying a foreigner was some pretty heavy shit.
But just like my mom, they got over it. That’s where my cousin, Alex, comes in,
or I guess I should say Alejandro Matthew Sullivan. Seriously, there’s nothing
like a Brazilian Irishman! Of course, Alex has always been more of a brother to
me than just a cousin. We didn’t go to the same elementary or middle schools,
but luckily by the time high school rolled around, we were back together. Jake
took an instant liking to Alex, and during the summers, we were a lot like the
Three Musketeers hanging out together.
The other reason was my mom worked her ass off to make
her dream of becoming a doctor a reality. Fortunately for her, one of the best
medical schools in the country, Emory University, was practically in her
backyard. Because of her love of babies, she became an OB/GYN, and she was now
part of one of the biggest practices in town.
My eyes rolled towards the ceiling as I thought about how
Jake always found my mom’s profession fascinating. Whenever I would shrug my
shoulders and be like, “So?”
He’d
roll his eyes. “Dude,” he’d say. “Don’t you get the beauty of it? She looks at
tits and ass all day long!”
Yeah,
that was Jake.
At the thought of him, the burning ache I was growing
accustomed to seared its way through my chest like bad heartburn after an all-night
beer and pizza binge. He wouldn’t be making any more pervy comments about my
mom being a MILF or that she specialized in looking at vaginas.
Because
he was dead.
I
shook my head wildly back and forth so fast I thought I might get whiplash. No,
I couldn’t start with the bullshit emotions again. I had to keep it together,
especially now that Mom was dragging me over to Jake’s house. Just the thought of being over there without
Jake sent a shiver down my spine. There hadn’t been a single time in my life
that I’d been over there without him.
With a heavy sigh, I dragged myself over to the closet.
Swinging open the door, I stepped inside and scanned the racks. I knew Mom
wanted me looking nice and respectable, so I grabbed a pair of khaki pants and
a nice blue button down shirt. After I slicked my usually out-of-control dark hair
back, I hurried back downstairs and met my mom in the kitchen.
Rolling a silver tube of lipstick across her lips, she nodded
in approval at the sight of me. “You always look so handsome in blue,” she
mused. “It brings out those beautiful blue eyes.”
“Whatever, Mom,” I grumbled as I eyed the feast on the
table. “So, when did you do all this?”
She smiled shyly. “I didn’t. Grammy did.”
I picked up the Pot Roast and nodded. I hadn’t seriously
considered Mom had done the cooking. Besides the fact she had some crazy
batshit hours, she’d also never quite learned to cook like her mom, the
fabulous Southern diva who put Paula Deen to shame.
By the time we
finished loading, the back of my mom’s SUV was packed with food. Mom closed the
hatch and threw me a glance. “Ready?”
I wanted to say,
“Ready? Are you freakin’ crazy? There’s nothing on earth I want to do less than
going to Jake’s house!”
But instead, I gave Mom a weak smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Chapter Three
I drew in a deep breath as I rang the doorbell. Jake’s
older brother, Jonathan, answered it. With a nod of his head, he then gave me a
slight smile. “Hey Noah. Ms. Sullivan,” he said politely. He then swung the door open for us.
We exchanged a sort of awkward hug—the kind guys give who
are afraid of showing too much emotion. He was just two years older than Jake
so most of the memories I had with Jake were connected to Jonathan too. I guess
I connected with him more than Jason, their oldest brother. Like a true middle
child, Jonathan did the sports thing, but he also played the drums in a band.
He and I used to have some awesome jam sessions until Mr. Nelson would run us
out of the basement for being too loud.
He was a sophomore at Georgia Tech where Jake and I had
been accepted. I guess he’d made it home as soon as he’d heard the news. Jason,
on the other hand, was a senior at Duke, and I knew it would take him awhile to
catch a plane.
Mom and I didn’t wait for Jonathan to lead us. We headed
through the foyer, past the living room, towards the kitchen. I knew the layout
by heart. Jake had lived in the same house the entire time we’d been friends,
so I probably could have made it blindfolded. Until we’d moved out of my
grandparent’s house two years ago, Jake and I had lived two streets over from
each other—just a short walk or bike ride away. The hours, minutes, and seconds
I’d spent in this house were too innumerable to count. Every room, every
floorboard and practically every wall held a memory connected to Jake.
Mom and I were just putting the food down on the table when
a voice behind me made me jump. “Noah,” Mrs. Nelson said in a somewhat
strangled voice. I whirled around to see her standing at the edge of the living
room. She suddenly looked a lot older
than I remember. Her blonde bob looked grayer, and there were blackened circles
under her usually warm hazel eyes.
She didn’t have to beckon me to go to her. Instead, I
crossed the rest of the kitchen in two long strides. As she pulled me into her
arms, I whispered the only thing I could think of into her ear. “I’m so
sorry.”
She hugged me tight against her—as if she was afraid I
might disappear or get away from her. And then she lost it. Her body shuddered
so hard that it shook the both of us. I bit down on my lip, willing myself not
to cry. I couldn’t do that to her. I had be strong for her because men are
supposed to be strong, right? They’re not supposed to collapse in hysterics
like flamers.
Towering over her petite form, Mrs. Nelson’s breath
hovered over my chest. “You were such a good friend to him, Noah. You can’t
possibly know how much he admired you and appreciated your friendship. He
really…loved you.”
I tensed in her arms as the metallic taste of blood
rushed into my mouth. I’d bit down so hard on my lip that I’d drawn blood. Please God, make her shut up! Then I realized more than I wanted her to stop
talking, I wanted her to let me go. I wanted to get the hell out of there and
never look back. But I couldn’t. My feet were rooted to the floor.
Finally after what seemed like a painfully agonizing
eternity, she let her arms drop from my waist. Her body went limp like a
deflated balloon. I steadied her and helped her over to a chair by the table.
Mom sat down beside her and took Mrs. Nelson’s hands in hers.
Jonathan hung back in the doorway. When our eyes met, I
knew he could see right through me. Past the bullshit tough guy exterior to the
candy ass who didn’t know how to handle his emotions. But then again, he was the
same way. He didn’t bother going to comfort his mother. He hovered as if one
false step could be his drop off into emotional chaos.
I wanted to laugh—manically—at the pure stupidity of it
all. I mean, my best friend and Jonathan’s brother had just died, but neither
one of us were willing to give ourselves over to the grief. Neither one of us
were willing to shed one ounce of our assumed masculinity to show emotion. What
did that say about our feelings for Jake? Could we not afford him a tear? Maybe
a little sob? I thought back to earlier that day when I’d actually let my guard
down. But I realized it was a sham. I’d only shed tears for Jake when I was
sure no one was around to see me crying. Then I’d been scared to death that
Avery would see me, so I’d even gone to the extreme of running away.
Yeah,
I was a bastard.
Mrs. Nelson’s voice brought me out of my self-deprecating
tirade. “Noah, Mr. Nelson, Jonathan, and I have been discussing the funeral
plans. We want you to sing Free Bird.
It was Jake’s favorite, and we think—well I know—that’s what he’d want.”
I didn’t know what to say. Sure, I’d sung Free Bird millions of times. I’d even
sung it around Jake dozens of times—usually when he was highly inebriated.
Course, he never failed to find a cigarette lighter and hold it up throughout
the song while slurring through the lyrics with me. It became a competition
between him and my old hound dog, Boo Radley, to see who could howl the
loudest—Jake usually won.
But Jake wouldn’t be howling this time. I’d be singing it
in front of a packed crowd of mourners at his funeral. Damn, it was such
intense thought that for a few seconds I couldn’t find my voice. Finally, I
replied, “Um, yeah, sure Mrs. Nelson.”
She smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.” She turned to my mom.
“I’ve got to get some of Jake’s things together to take down to the funeral
home. They said they’d set them up for me before the wake tomorrow. It’s just…”
Mom and I exchanged a glance when Mrs. Nelson trailed
off. Mom squeezed her hand reassuringly. Mrs. Nelson wiped the tears from her
eyes. “It’s just I can’t bear to make myself go into his room,” she replied in
a pained whisper.
“You
don’t need to do that, Evelyn. I’m sure Martin or one of the boys will do it,”
Mom said.
Mrs. Nelson jerked her head up like a light bulb had gone
off in her mind. “Noah, would you mind getting some of Jake’s things together?
Jonathan is supposed to go to the airport in a little while to pick up Jason.”
I glanced over at Jonathan. He momentarily wore an
expression of pure relief. When he met my gaze, he quickly wiped it away.
What was I supposed to say? “No thank you, Mrs. Nelson. I’d prefer to be a self-centered prick today
cause, you know, I’m not really feeling the whole ‘going up and rummaging
through my dead best friends stuff’ vibe”.
I didn’t say that. Instead, I tried clearing my throat of
the continuous massive lump of emotion that seemed clogged there . “Yeah, I can
do that. What exactly do you want?”
“Just some things to set out around the urn. Things that
Jake was interested in,” she replied.
I fought the urge to reply, “Why don’t we just decorate the table with condoms, lube, and thongs
since that was what Jake was mainly interested in?”
“Like some of his
trophies and stuff?” I asked.
“Yes, that would be wonderful. Anything you think Jake
would want. You knew him so much better than I did.”
I almost choked over the last line. I wasn’t sure if I
really ever knew Jake. Have you ever had friends like that? Friends you spent
every waking minute with, but when it came down to it if the police asked you
deeply personal questions, you might not be able to answer them? Jake and I were guys—we didn’t let a lot
people in. When I wracked my brain, there were maybe five or ten times
throughout our friendship that I could remember really seeing his guard down.
But who knows, maybe that was enough. Maybe that’s all that anybody had with
their friends. And maybe Dr. Phil had screwed a whole generation into thinking
we had to “think and feel” too much and “say what we meant”. Ugh.
It was then that Mr. Nelson breezed through the garage door
and into the kitchen. He shot an aggravated look at Jonathan. “I thought you
would have already left by now. Don’t tell me you’ve managed to forget about
picking up Jason?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “No, Dad, I haven’t.”
Mr.
Nelson clenched his jaw back and forth before speaking again. “Hartsfield-Jackson
is gonna be a madhouse this time of day. I would hope in a situation like this,
you wouldn’t make your brother wait!”
Jonathan
held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’m on my way!” He grabbed his keys off
the table and swept past his dad with a scowl on his face. After the garage
door slammed, Mr. Nelson merely nodded his head at Mom and me. Finally his face
softened a little when he glanced at his wife.
“Martin,
Noah’s going to help you get together some of Jake’s things to take the funeral
home,” Mrs. Nelson said.
“Whatever. I just want to get it over with,” he grumbled.
Without another word to me, he stalked out of the kitchen. I practically had to
jog to catch up with him at the staircase.
I gotta say I’ve never been a big fan of Jake’s dad. The
main reason being he’s a major asshole. Seriously, he’s a chauvinistic
jerk-off. He’s one of those macho douchebags who believes his boys came out the
womb playing sports, and he expected perfection on the field and court. As I
followed him up the stairs, pictures lined the walls of Jake and his brothers
playing baseball, football, and basketball from when they were practically in
diapers.
Back in the day, Mr. Nelson had been an uber-jock, too.
He’d gone all the way in basketball until his senior year when he’d busted his
knee, and his hopes of the NBA and his scholarship went down the toilet.
I’ve never thought Mr. Nelson had much use for me since I
wasn’t an athlete. He probably considered me a failure to the male species, and
I’m sure he harbored questions about my sexuality. To him, I was some
artsy-fartsy guitar playing fairy. Like I said, the man was an asshole.
While Mr. Nelson blew through the door of Jake’s room and
started snatching and grabbing, I hesitated. Something just didn’t seem right
about going in there without Jake. Mr. Nelson glanced back at me. “Coming?” he
asked sarcastically.
I nodded and stepped through the threshold. I might as
well be a pansy and admit that the memories hit me like a ton of bricks. It was
like a harsh kick to the gut—or groin for that matter. I’d never been in this
room without Jake. It was like his presence was everywhere.
My stroll down memory lane was interrupted by Mr. Nelson’s
gasp. “What the hell?” he demanded.
Oh, shit! I
thought. My mind was flooded with possibilities. He’d stumbled onto Jake’s porn
collection. Worse, he’d found Jake’s stash of pot. Jake and I had once joked
that if something happened to one of us, the other was supposed to go get rid
of anything incriminating in our rooms. Great, I’d let him down.
I turned around. “What’s wrong?”
The world slowed to a crawl as Mr. Nelson extended his
hand. I drew in a deep breath as he opened his fingers.
I stared at a small, black box. I exhaled slowly since it
wasn’t pot, porn, or anything else shock-worthy. But the look on Mr. Nelson’s
face caused my breath to hitch. “What is it?”
“You don’t know what this is?”
Duh, would I have
asked you if I did, asswipe? I wanted to say, but I managed just to shake
my head.
Mr. Nelson sighed and stalked across the room to me. He
thrust the velvet box into my hands. I cracked the box, and the sound echoed
through the room. A glittering diamond stared back at me. But it wasn’t just
any diamond. It was two carats of commitment in a platinum setting.
Wow, even I could tell the man-whore had taste. I didn’t
know much about diamonds, but I did know it glittered like it cost a fortune.
That made me wonder where in the hell Jake had gotten the coins for such a
ring. He was probably dealing drugs for all I knew. Mr. Nelson jolted me out of
my thoughts.
“Did Jake have a steady girlfriend?” he asked.
I gave him a dumbfounded look. The words “Jake” and “relationship”
just didn’t mix unless it was combined with multiple sexual relationships.
I staggered backwards. The mere fact I was standing in
the middle of Jake’s bedroom with an engagement ring in my hand made me dizzy.
“Noah?” Mr. Nelson questioned.
“I’m fine,” I murmured. He continued staring at me, so I
cleared my throat. “No, Jake didn’t have a steady girlfriend. I mean, he and
Avery were off and on again, and he and Presley…” I glanced up at Mr. Nelson,
and he nodded.
“What about this? Do you know what it means?”
He handed me a piece of paper. It was the song lyrics to You Were Always On My Mind. As I read over the lyrics, I remembered a
couple of months ago when I’d gotten into Jake’s truck after one of the basketball
games.
When Jake cranked the car, music came blasting out of the
speakers.
“Dude, what the hell is this shit?” I’d asked.
“It’s Willie Nelson man,” he replied, turning the heater
on.
“That’s freakin’ fabulous, but why are we listening to it?”
“Cause I like it.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little hokey?”
Jake grinned. “I like hokey. Besides, it’s my song.”
I snorted. “I thought your song was more 50 Cent’s Pimp or JT’s Sexy Back!”
“Yeah, I am kinda a pimp, aren’t I?” Jake mused. Then he
laughed. “No man, you’re wrong. This is a song to warm a girl up.”
I raised my eyebrows skeptically. “Warm one up? I thought
all you had to do was look in their direction, and they’d fling their clothes
off and fall over.”
Jake laughed. “Usually…but not this girl. She needs a
little work, and trust me, it’s sexy as hell.”
I had scoffed at the thought and dropped the subject.
Funny, how the most ridiculous conversations could have some deep seeded
meaning. Now that I looked back, it was a private moment between two
friends—one I wasn’t willing to share.
So, I looked at Mr. Nelson and shook my head.
He opened his mouth to say something, but the doorbell
rang. Mr. Nelson rolled his eyes. “That would be Pastor Dan,” he grumbled.
Dan Parker was the pastor of the church Mrs. Nelson
attended, and the one Jake had been court-appointed to attend after one of his sophomore
year stunts. Well, the judge hadn’t actually mandated he attend church—just the
rehabilitation program that Pastor Dan ran for wayward teens who did dumbass
things like get drunk and drive a lawnmower naked down to the school and mow
grass into the shape of a penis on the football field.
I handed the velvet box back to Mr. Nelson. He glanced at
it and then back up at me. “Don’t say a word about the ring to my wife, Noah.
Not until we get through all this funeral bullshit.”
Asshole.
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
As I went out the doorway, I glanced back at Jake’s room
one last time, and then I followed Mr. Nelson downstairs.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Teaser Tuesday from Don't Hate the Player
So here's another teaser from Don't Hate the Player. The previous night Noah, along with Jake's father, made a startling discovery in Jake's room--they found a diamond engagement ring along with the song lyrics "You Were Always on My Mind". This scene picks up the morning after.
*This is a rough draft, subject to change, and please remember that Don't Hate the Player is YA...there won't be the level of naughtiness like in my other books!
With Mom’s blessing to
skip school, Alex, and I went over to Jake’s house to hang out with his
brothers and his two cousins from out in the sticks—twins he liked to refer to
as “Bubba”. Their names were actually Sean and Ryan, but Jake loved to call
them just “Bubba”.
Jonathan brought a cooler out of the apartment above the
garage. We popped a few beers and lounged around by the pool. By noon, we were positively
shitfaced. It took us all being drunk off our asses before we dared to bring up
Jake.
Bubba, aka Ryan and Sean, were with Jake when he died.
After his seventh beer, Jonathan grabbed Ryan’s shoulder and slurred, “Dude,
can you tell me how the hell it’s possible that my baby brother blew his ass up on a
tractor?”
My breath caught in my chest. I eased the can away from
my lips, awaiting Bubba’s response.
Ryan gulped down his swig of beer and shook his head. “We
were all hanging out in the pasture—bored as hell. Sean and Travis (one of
their other hillbilly relations) had brought along some rifles. So we started
shooting beer cans off the fence,” Ryan stopped and glanced around us. “I mean,
we tried shooting at them, but we were too fucking wasted.”
Sean nodded. “Jake was pretty quiet. He kept mumbling
something about falling off the wagon and ‘she’s gonna be disappointed in me’.
About ten, he climbed up on Pawpaw’s tractor to get a better vantage point for
the cans, or so he claimed. Travis said, “Hey dumbass, you better get off Papaw’s
tractor, or he’ll wear out your hide!” But Jake just shrugged and started
firing over and over again. One nicked the barbwire, ricocheted off, and…”
Ryan noticed Sean’s hesitation. “It happened so quick. I
mean, boom, and he was gone,” he muttered forlornly.
We sat in stunned silence, staring at the sunlight
glimmering on the pool water.
Jonathan chugged the rest of his beer. Finally, in a
strangled voice, he murmured, “Fuck me.”
The sound of loud voices snapped us out of our daze. It
was Mr. and Mrs. Nelson arguing.
“Did you think you could hide it from me?” Mrs. Nelson
shrieked.
“Of course not. I just wanted you to get through the
funeral first before I told you.”
“And what is that supposed to mean, Martin? Am I such a
nut job you don’t think I could handle it?”
“No, Ev, that’s not what I thought.”
As the voices got closer, we threw horrified glances at
each other. In a drunken stupor, we stumbled around, hiding the evidence of our
binge. Course, anyone with brains would have taken one look or one whiff at us and known we were totally
plastered. But when you’re shitfaced, you’re not known for having very many
coherent thoughts.
Mrs. Nelson threw open the patio with such a force I
thought she’d rip it off the hinges. “Noah!”
she called.
The other guys swiveled their heads toward me.
Shit.
Damn. Hell. I straightened up in my lawn chair. “Yes, Mrs. Nelson?” I
called in the
most
sober voice I could conjure.
It took me only a second to notice the velvet ring box in
her hand. Double Shit, Damn, Hell….
“Do you know about this?” she demanded.
Mr. Nelson joined her at the railing. I exchanged a
glance with him before I replied. “Um, yes, Mrs. Nelson. We found it last night
in Jake’s room.” Wanting to stay on her good side, I quickly added, “Mr. Nelson
thought it would be best to wait to tell you.”
While the Asshole shot me a death glare, Mrs. Nelson
bobbed her head. “Good. Then you’ll be willing to help me.”
“Um, help you?”
“Yes,” she said, as she started over to us. I would’ve
committed high crimes for a mint at that moment. I covered my mouth with my
hand, trying to appear like I was deep in thought to mask my alcohol breath
from hell.
“Obviously, there’s a girl out there who my Jake truly
loved—enough to want to be married to her. I want to know who she is, and I
want you to find her.”
Forgetting all about my heinous beer breath, I let my
mouth drop open in disbelief. “Y-You want me to do what?”
“I want you to find the girl who this ring belongs to.
Even though Jake didn’t get the chance to give it to her, I want her to have
it.”
I stopped myself from blurting, “Are you insane, Mrs. Nelson? I know you loved your little boy, but he
was a major panty chasing manwhore! I’d have better luck finding all the girls
he deflowered or potentially gave an STD to than the one girl he might actually
have had feelings for!”
But at the desperate look on her face, I drew in a
resigned breath. “Sure, Mrs. Nelson. I’ll try my best.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Noah. I appreciate that.” She
threw a wary glance at the others before she flounced back in the house and
slammed the door. Mr. Nelson rolled his eyes and followed her.
As soon as his parents were safely inside, Jason punched
me on the arm. Hard.
“Ow, what the hell was that for?” I cried.
“Man, why didn’t you tell us about the ring?” he
demanded.
Uh, oh, I hadn’t thought about that one. Yeah the Asshole
made me promise not to tell Mrs. Nelson, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about
Jason and Jonathan. At the expectant look on his face, I decided to fudge the
truth a little. “You heard me. Your dad said not to tell anyone.”
Jonathan snorted. “Figures.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Could we focus here for a minute,
Johnny Boy? You do realize our brother must’ve thrown down a hunk of change to
buy that ring!”
I knew Jason was right. A ring like that must’ve cost a
small fortune. Sure, the Nelson’s were fairly wealthy—the Asshole was an
executive with Coke, but at the same time, they weren’t giving their sons
thousand dollar monthly allowances or anything. With Jake’s sports schedule, he
didn’t get in a lot of work hours either.
Suddenly, Jonathan smacked himself on the forehead.
“Baseball cards!”
We all exchanged looks. “What the hell are you talking
about, bro?” Jason asked.
“Remember like a month ago when Jake decided to sell some
of his baseball cards on EBay?”
Jason nodded.
“I bet that’s where he got the money. I mean, he had some
that were worth a lot of money that Grandpa Nelson had given him.”
“I’ll be damned,” Jason muttered.
Jonathan sighed. “Course, we’re forgetting something.”
“What’s that?” Jason asked.
“Um, how about the fact our baby brother was thinking
about marriage? That’s pretty damn near shocking if you ask me!” Jonathan
replied.
Alex, who had been quiet for most of the morning, cleared
his throat. “Yeah, I was pretty shocked when I saw that ring. I mean, Jake
didn’t impress me as the marrying kind—well, at least not until he was thirty
or forty.”
Jason grunted. “I figured he’d be more like some Hugh
Hefner and have about three women living with him.”
Jonathan laughed. “Me too, man.”
I shook my head. “Forget about marriage. I can’t believe
he was actually in love for once!”
The others murmured in agreement. “Knowing Jake, it
wasn’t about love,” Sean said.
“What do you mean?” I asked. Nibbling my lip, I debated
telling the guys about the flashback I’d had the night before about Jake being
in love.
“Probably some chick heard about his reputation and told
him she wouldn’t sleep with him without a ring on her finger—you know to prove
she wasn’t just some conquest. Since there wasn’t a piece of ass Jake couldn’t
have, he probably liked the idea, so he bought the ring.”
“Man, that’s a pretty screwed up theory and screwed up
view of Jake!” Ryan argued.
Jonathan shook his head. “Yeah, it is, but it also sounds
like something Jake would do. Hell, he’d probably let the chick keep the ring
in the end, too.”
Scratching the back of my neck, I said, “Nah, I don’t
think so.”
Jason raised his eyebrows. “Oh really? You think Jake
actually had a conscience and wouldn’t do something like that?”
I nodded.
Jason snorted. “Words of wisdom coming from the kid Jake
duct taped to his chair in kindergarten!”
While the others howled in laughter, I merely shook my
head. “I think he was changing. You know—like maturing or something.”
“Are you serious?” Jonathan asked.
I thought of the brilliantly vivid flashback I’d had last
night. “I know he was sincere about the ring because he told me he’d fallen in
love with a girl.”
“Really?” Jason asked.
“Yeah. But he wouldn’t tell me who she was because he
hadn’t had the chance to tell her first. He thought she deserved to know before
I did. So like I said, he really was changing into this caring and
compassionate dude.”
“Wow, that’s deep,” Jonathan replied. He stared out over
the water. “Deep like the deep end of the pool…”
I exchanged a glance with Alex. “Um, Jonathan, what the
hell are you talking about?”
He turned back at me and then blinked his eyes a few times to clear his head. “No, you’re right. Jake really was
good guy sometimes.” Jason coughed next to him. “No, man, he was. You and I
both know that. He was better than the both of us put together.”
Jason sighed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He shook his
head. “Sure as hell doesn’t say much for us, does it?”
“So, just how do you propose to find this girl?” Jonathan
asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He snorted. “It’s not gonna be easy!”
“I realize that.”
“Jake may have been changing like you say, but man was he
ever a player. Hell, he got more ass than Jason and I combined!”
Jason nodded. “I don’t know what it was about him. I
mean, yeah he was good-looking and all, but man, did he have the way with
women.”
Alex started laughing with the others. When I shot him an
exasperated look, he abruptly stopped. Once he’d regained his composure, he
leaned forward in his pool chair. “So what are you going to do? Start taking
depositions from girls like some whacked out Law
and Order or CSI show?”
I refused to answer him. Instead, I fumbled under my
chair for the beer I was drinking before Mrs. Nelson’s appearance. It was half
full. I quickly chugged it down. I cut my eyes over to the guys who were
waiting expectantly for my answer.
I sighed. “Look, I haven’t a freaking’ clue how I’m going
to do it, but I do know it’d be nice if you guys had my back a little more.”
Jonathan nodded. “Hey man, you’re right. We all need to
be in on this for Jake.” He grabbed his beer can out of its hiding place. “For
Jake,” he said and raised his can.
We all brought our cans together—even mine that was
empty. “For Jake,” we murmured in unison.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Chapter One of Don't Hate the Player
That experience brought up memories from the past when two good guy friends were killed in car accidents six months apart when I was a junior in HS. Travis, who died in September, would have been the next Adam Sandler or Andy Samburg, I have no doubt. David, who died in March, was a sweetheart who excelled at baseball and basketball.
Exploring how males grieve, what it must've been like for Cooper's guy friends, along with Travis and David's, is what fueled me to write Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game. It's also combines my own experiences with grief. It is special to me not only because it honors the memory's of three special guys, but because of what it meant to my writing career as well. Don't Hate the Player was the first book I got agented with and I almost sold to traditional New York publisher.
I'm excited to finally get it out to the world, and there are so many people anxious to read it. It is Young Adult, rather than New Adult, so I feel I should make that disclaimer.
When I first wrote the book, I saw a different actor as Noah, but now I'm leaning towards Nicholas D’Agosto. Noah has shaggy dark hair and a slight build. He's rejected sports because his biological father abandoned his mother when he got to her pregnant to become a Major League Baseball Player. He is gifted at guitar and singing.
And for Jake--the eyes, the smile, the body that makes girls drop their panties in an instant, Chace Crawford.
And here's Chapter One....
ROUGH DRAFT & SUBJECT TO CHANGE
Chapter
One
As I slowly drifted back into consciousness, my knee
jerked upward, banging against the desk. “SHIT!”
flashed like neon in my mind, and I had to bite my lip to keep it from escaping
out my mouth. Instead, I peered around the room, trying to gage whether the
noise alerted anybody to my nap.
Nope. The coast was clear. Everyone else in the classroom
looked stoned or spaced out. Mr. Jones, a man who was a cross between Clay
Aiken and Pee Wee Herman, was perched on his stool in the front of the room,
droning on and on about the evils of Big Brother in 1984.
I rolled my eyes towards the ceiling. Jesus, the man must
have a screw loose. I mean, it was the first day back after Spring Break and
what was he doing? Lecturing.
What
a dumbass.
I could have assured Mr. Jones that no one gave a flying
shit about George Orwell. Half the class was still hung over from the previous
week’s antics. Even the usual goody two shoes wore expressions of pure boredom
as their pens hung in midair over their notebooks.
I ran a hand
through my dark hair, hoping to smooth down some of the places that looked like
“desk hair’ where I’d been napping. My mouth felt the way I imagined a moldy
gym sock would taste, so I rifled through my pockets to find a piece of gum. I
chewed on it as I glanced down at my cell phone. No new messages.
Where the hell is
Jake? I couldn’t help wondering. Jake Slater was the biggest douchebag I’ve
ever known. He was the prankster who always gave Freshman swirlies in the
toilets or shanked them, leaving them bare-assed and humiliated in front of the
entire school. He was the somewhat illiterate jock who always wanted to copy off your
homework or cheat off your test. He was the idiot who could never hold his
alcohol and always ended up puking in the back seat of your car before slurring
an “I looove you, man!” Yeah, he was all those things and more.
Most
of all he was my best friend.
Our friendship was cemented in kindergarten. That’s when
Jake decided to duct tape me to my chair before recess. There’s a saying in the
South that “Duct tape’ll fix anything.” Yeah, I’m a living testament to that.
It will certainly render a five year old captive to a plastic chair until
hostage negotiators—or your teacher—comes to the rescue. Once the tape was
removed, along with the first layer of my epidermis, I had a new friend.
Years later, the story of how we met was one of Jake's favorite stories to tell.
Usually it was right after some hot as hell girl asked about that distorted
patch of skin on my right arm where hair refused to grow because the follicles
had been damaged by duct-tape.
"What happened?" she'd ask, eyes wide with compassion as she traced the area playfully with a finger. They always hoped for a good story – I'd been burned in a fire trying to save the neighbor's newborn baby, or it was from the time I skidded out on my motorcycle trying to outrun the State Troopers. But like the true douchebag he was, Jake always shot that fantasy down within seconds.
"Dude," he'd say, sloshing his beer out of the cheap plastic cup that seemed permanently attached to his hand from Friday night til Sunday morning.
"Jake…" I’d begin, my eyes pleading with him to drop it and not go there for the hundredth time.
"Get this. I duct taped him to his chair when we were five."
"Jake, shut the fuck up!"
Ignoring me, Jake would snicker. "He like, practically pissed himself he was so scared when Mrs. Cook ripped that shit off."
I rolled my eyes thinking about him. He was supposed to get home from his grandparent’s farm late last night, but instead, he’d sent me a text around ten saying he was blowing off the first day back and would be home around three if I wanted to hang out after school. It was ironic that Jake, the unofficial King of Partying, spent his Spring Break off chillin’ in the mountains among rolling pastures filled with steaming cow patties rather than hitting the sandy white beaches and orgies of Panama City or Daytona. Of course, he always managed to raise some hell while he was away or take advantage of some hillbilly girl high off moonshine.
"What happened?" she'd ask, eyes wide with compassion as she traced the area playfully with a finger. They always hoped for a good story – I'd been burned in a fire trying to save the neighbor's newborn baby, or it was from the time I skidded out on my motorcycle trying to outrun the State Troopers. But like the true douchebag he was, Jake always shot that fantasy down within seconds.
"Dude," he'd say, sloshing his beer out of the cheap plastic cup that seemed permanently attached to his hand from Friday night til Sunday morning.
"Jake…" I’d begin, my eyes pleading with him to drop it and not go there for the hundredth time.
"Get this. I duct taped him to his chair when we were five."
"Jake, shut the fuck up!"
Ignoring me, Jake would snicker. "He like, practically pissed himself he was so scared when Mrs. Cook ripped that shit off."
I rolled my eyes thinking about him. He was supposed to get home from his grandparent’s farm late last night, but instead, he’d sent me a text around ten saying he was blowing off the first day back and would be home around three if I wanted to hang out after school. It was ironic that Jake, the unofficial King of Partying, spent his Spring Break off chillin’ in the mountains among rolling pastures filled with steaming cow patties rather than hitting the sandy white beaches and orgies of Panama City or Daytona. Of course, he always managed to raise some hell while he was away or take advantage of some hillbilly girl high off moonshine.
The last time I’d heard from him was around eight this
morning when he’d sent me a cryptic text during first period that read I fucked up. She’s gonna be pissed! I took it to mean he’d done something stupid
to piss his mom off. But after my last few Dude,
WTF? texts had gone unanswered, I was seriously beginning to think he was
in major trouble—like blue lights and handcuffs trouble.
Suddenly, a voice came over the intercom.
“Mr. Jones?”
“Yes,” Mr. Jones answered impatiently, clearly pissed
that the powers that be had dared to interrupt his literary ramblings.
“We need Noah Sullivan to Administrative Services,
please.”
At the sound of my name, I shot upright in my chair,
straightening my slouching posture. Administrative Services? Once again, SHIT!
flashed in my mind as I frantically tried to figure out what I’d done wrong.
“I’ll send him up,” Mr. Jones replied, giving me a
disapproving look.
Without a word, I gathered up my books and left the room.
Part of me was thrilled to be spared one more minute of British Lit, but at the
same time, I was a little concerned that I’d been summoned to administration.
Out in the hallway, I ran into my cousin, Alex. He raised
his dark eyebrows at me. “You got called up too?”
I nodded. “What do you think is up?”
Alex shrugged while his dark eyes twinkled. “Beats the
shit outta me. I’m just stoked to be getting outta AP Government right now!”
I laughed. “Tell me about it. Jones is on one of his
freakin’ tirades again.”
“Damn, I gotta sit through that shit next period,” Alex
moaned, and then he shuddered. “Having Brit Lit with Jones the last period of
the day blows.”
Before we could get to the administrators’ suite, Mr. Elliot,
one of the assistant principals, rerouted us to the auditorium. When Alex and I
strolled through the double doors, there were twenty or so kids scattered
throughout the first three rows. I noticed immediately that they were some of
Creekview’s A-crowd of popularity—football and basketball players,
cheerleaders. It was most of the “crew”, so to speak, that Jake and I hung out
with on a daily basis.
Dr. Blake, the principal, and three counselors stood
solemnly at the edge of the stage.
“Damn. Must be something pretty serious,” Alex
murmured.
“I’m so whipping Jake’s ass if this has anything to do
with us skipping out on Friday,” I hissed.
Since most of the “the crew” had different plans for our
week off, Jake had thrown what he called a Pre-Break Binge on the Friday we got
out of school. When it was just us, he’d called it his “Going Out of Partying
Party” since he claimed to be turning over a new leaf. I didn’t believe him for
one minute, but I let him think I did. Jake always had a way of coming up with
these bat-shit crazy ideas that seemed cool to him in the moment, but in the
end, he’d always abandon them. He struggled with the follow through.
So,
we’d basically all skipped school right after lunch and went over to his house.
By three, the party was completely out of hand with drunken beer pong,
half-naked people, and one fist fight. Luckily, everyone spilt before Jake’s
parents got home at six.
Alex and I slid into a seat on the front row. The
Homecoming Queen and reigning Ice Princess, Avery Moore, glanced up at me and
smiled. “Hey,” she whispered.
“Hi.”
“Where’s Jake?”
I shrugged. “On his way home from the mountains I guess.”
Dr. Blake interrupted our conversation by clearing her
throat. She then took a tentative step forward. “I’ve just been informed of
some very distressing news,” she began.
I cringed. I didn’t know how in the hell she’d gotten
wind of the Pre Spring Break Binge, but by the look on her face, she had the goods
on all of us. Great, I was going to be in deep shit at school but even worse at
home when my mom found out.
Dr. Blake stared down at the auditorium tile for a few
minutes, trying to gain her composure. Finally, she glanced back up at us. “In
this age of technology, it’s hard to keep news of this kind a secret for long. Since
we were only notified thirty minutes ago, the counselors and I have tried to
find the easiest and least detrimental way to tell you all. Sadly, there’s not
a strategic plan in place that we can follow when something like this happens.”
Dr. Blake drew in a ragged breath. “More than anything, I wish that there was
an easier way for you to find out—that there had been time to call your parents
and families to have them here to temper the tragic news by comforting you all.”
Hmm, okay, maybe this wasn’t about the Spring Break
Binge. Furrowing my brows, I turned to Alex who shrugged his broad shoulders.
“What happened Dr. Blake?” Avery demanded from my other
side.
Chewing her bottom lip, Dr. Blake’s gaze flickered to one
of the counselors who bobbed their head. “I regret to inform you that Jake
Slater was killed this afternoon.”
A collective gasp of pure horror rang throughout the
auditorium. I jolted back in my seat like I’d been shot with a taser gun. An
icy feeling pricked and stung its way over my body like I’d never experienced
before in my life, causing me to shudder. Jake was…dead. No, no, no! Someone
had to be fucking with us. Guys like Jake didn’t die.
Like in some freaky outta body experience, I heard my
voice croak, “What the fuck?”
Dr. Blake glanced over at me. Instead of riding my ass
for cussing, she just gave me a sad look. Slowly, I found my voice again. “Are
you positive it was Jake? I mean, he’s not even in town, so it might not have
been him. I mean, when did it happen? Where
did it happen?” The questions seemed to continuously fumble out, and I began to
wonder if I should clap my hand over my mouth to stop them.
“I’m so very sorry, Noah, but I was notified by Jake’s
father.” She drew in a deep breath before she continued. “It seems that Jake
and some of his friends were hanging out, shooting at cans when a bullet
ricocheted—”
“Jake was shot?” I demanded. In my mind, I pictured a
group of hillbilly vigilantes or the Dixie Mafia taking him out.
Dr. Blake’s expression became pained. “No—it seems he was
sitting on his grandfather’s tractor when the bullet ricocheted off a tree,
hitting the fuel tank.”
At the realization of Jake’s fiery end, I fought the bile
rising in my throat. I pinched my eyes shut and willed myself not to blow
chunks on the auditorium floor. Jake had been blown up. Jesus, that was too
horrible to even imagine. A car accident was one thing, but to be blown up…fuck,
that was gruesome. The girls around me gasped, and some began crying. Avery
reached out and grabbed my hand in hers. She started doing this horrible
hiccupping, hyperventilating cry. Her frantic eyes met mine. Momentarily my own
grief and potential freak-out were forgotten as I focused on the fact Avery was
seriously about to lose her shit.
Without
a word between us, I got up and led her out of the auditorium. Alex followed
close on my heels. We stood out into the hallway. Mr. Elliot saw the state
Avery was in. He motioned us inside the counseling suite across the hall.
Presley Patterson was already inside with several of her
friends. Presley was Avery’s rival in everything from popularity to, most
importantly, Jake. But it wasn’t her personality that necessarily made her
popular or notorious at Creekview. It was the fact she slept around.
Through her tears, Avery shot Presley one of her icy
stares. In retaliation, Presley jerked her chin up and wiped the tears from her
blue eyes.
I steered Avery over to one of the chairs. The minute she
sat down she buried her head on the table and began sobbing uncontrollably. Her
tiny frame shook so hard I was afraid she might break under the strain. It
wasn’t long before an eerie and unnerving chorus of wailing echoed off the
walls of the room. As the lone guys in the room, Alex and I glanced at each
other. Neither one of us really knew what to do.
We stared helplessly at Mr. Santos, the head counselor,
but he was useless. He’d spent years immersed in the business side of high
school counseling. Where Little Johnny was going to college and what Little
Susie needed on her SAT to get into Brown. I think the man was dried up of any
shred of psychobabble spin. He did manage to pat Avery on the back and say,
“There, there, honey.”
Geez, what an asshat!
At that moment, the most random memory I could fathom wormed
its way into my mind, cloaking me with its intensity. When I was ten, I’d gone
on a camping trip with Jake and his family. We’d picnicked by some waterfalls,
and after lunch, we started messing around in the water. Somehow I managed to
step in a mammoth hole in the rocks. Within seconds, I got tangled up in some
willowy weeds, and I couldn’t break free of their viselike grip.
When I realized I was trapped and would likely drown, panic
crept from my chest up through my throat. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I
could see sunlight breaking through the surface of the water as I flailed and
jerked around.
Suddenly, an arm grabbed hold of my t-shirt and pulled me
forward. Coughing and sputtering, I tried clearing my eyes to see my savior
while expecting nothing short of miraculous like Jesus himself standing there
with arms outstretched.
But
it was just Jake.
He
was ashen and trembling worse than me. As I sputtered and vomited up water, he
did something so unexpected I almost fell back in the water.
He
hugged me. Not just a quick, “Hey, man, you okay?” kinda hug. It was a full on
bear hug that took my breath. “Jake,” I’d wheezed. “Can’t breathe!”
When
he’d released me, there were tears in his eyes. “I-I thought you were dead.” He
shook his head wildly back and forth. “Don’t you EVER do that to me again!”
I
was so taken back by his emotion that I could only nod my head. At the sound of
voices behind us, he quickly wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. “If
you tell anyone I was crying, I’ll beat the shit outta you!” he’d warned.
Since
I knew Jake would do it, I’d kept silent all these years. I’d never told
anyone.But
now closed in that tiny room with the girls all sobbing around me, I felt the
same panic of impending death. I was under the surface of the water again, and
I couldn’t breathe. Even when I tried sucking in air, my chest constricted, and
I felt like I was slowly suffocating. My eyes honed in on the door—my one escape
from the churning sea of grief and loss enveloping me.
Without another thought, I bolted from my seat. I ignored
my name being called over and over as I sprinted out the office and then burst
through the double doors leading out of the school. I didn’t stop until I ran
around the side of the building. I gulped in the air the same way as if I were
breaking the surface of water. I bent double,
trying to calm myself of the emotions coursing through me. My hands on my knees
trembled against my jeans, and I realized then my entire boy was jerking all
over. Jesus, Noah would you get a grip?
I could almost hear Jake’s voice echoing through my head. “Dude, quit acting
like a total pussy!”
As I stood there trying desperately to steady myself, a realization
washed over me. This time I didn’t bother fighting the bile rising in my
throat. Instead, I heaved the entire contents of the cafeteria’s shitty lunch
onto the emerald grass. Over and over again, I threw up as if I were trying to
purge myself of the dark feelings overtaking me.
Jake is dead.
My
best friend is dead.
I
was never going to drink beers with him around a bonfire down by the lake or
scope out chicks at the mall. We weren’t going to share a dorm room together at
Georgia Tech like we’d planned or rush the fraternity that his brother and some
of my uncles had been in.
Not
only was he dead, but he’d been blown up on his grandfather’s tractor. I mean,
what the hell? Car accidents, accidental shootings, illness—I could get that,
but to be blown up on your grandfather’s tractor? My mind just couldn’t
comprehend that. I shook my head as I thought of what Jake would’ve said about
the situation. “Hey man, you know I always meant to go out in a blaze of glory!
And damn if I really didn’t!”
No, no, no. This couldn’t be real. It all had to be just
a bad dream. Pinching my arm, I willed myself to wake up and to start the day
all over again. But it didn’t work. In another act of desperation, I grabbed my
cell phone out of my pocket and began furiously texting.
Jake?
Come on, Jake! Answer me you sorry
fucker!
Tell me you being dead is just a
joke you’re pulling to keep from getting in trouble for skipping out
today.
Please Jake…
When no reply came, I sank to my knees on the grass. Oh
God, it was really true. Jake was dead. He was gone and never, ever coming back
again. Before I realized it, I was crying. Not just silent tears streaking down
my cheek, but sobbing hysterically. Gut wrenching sobs that caused my body to
spasm. The harder I tried to stop, the harder the sobs came. It was a crazy,
manic feeling not to be able to control my emotions. I hadn’t cried in years—at
least not when I was sober. When I was drunk, I usually cried about old
girlfriends. The last time I’d cried like this was when I was fifteen and my
grandfather, who had been a father to me, died.
Suck it up,
dickweed! A voice repeated over and over in my head. In a snot-filled
finish, I wiped my nose on the back of my hand and shook my head. Quickly, I
threw a panicked glance over my shoulder, hoping I was safe where no one could
see me.
I was wrong.
Cold fear washed over me as Avery came striding out the
double doors. Dammit, I couldn’t let her see me like this—a blubbering pansy with
tear streaked cheeks down on his knees in the grass. Men were supposed to
control their emotions—be strong and comfort chicks when they were upset.
In a fluid movement, I pulled myself to my feet and
sprinted around the side of the building. I could hear Avery calling my name,
but once again, I ignored her. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I knew it was Alex
or one of the other guys asking where the fuck I was. But I didn’t care. I had
to get away. I was no good to myself or anyone else at that moment.
Unless I was with Jake, I usually played by all the
rules. But now that he was gone, I just didn’t give a shit, so I bypassed the
front office and headed straight for the parking lot. When I slid across the scorching
seats of my Jeep, I tried stilling my erratic breaths.
Jake is dead. Jake
is dead. Jake is dead. Jake is dead….
As that thought played over and over in my mind, I
brought a shaky hand to the steering ignition and cranked up. Squealing out of
my parking spot, all I could think of was getting away. Where I was going, I
didn’t know or where I could go to let go of the suffocating pain, I didn’t
know.
I just knew I had to try.
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