Blaze, page 30
I stand in the middle of the longue. “The hospital said you left.”
He walks away from me towards the kitchen. “I had shit to do.”
I shake my head behind his back, following him in. “Your brother’s in hospital.”
He spins around with a beer in hand, aggressive. “You think I don’t know that? Fuck him. Fuck both of them.”
He uses his jersey to unscrew the top and sinks half the beer, looking away from me.
What’s going on? What don’t I know? “You don’t mean that.”
He finishes the beer, slamming it down on the counter before speaking, practically stabbing the words at me. “They don’t give a fuck about me. Why should I care about them?”
I come closer but stop. “Cayden, what happened?”
He laughs, shaking his head, his hands pressed to the marble. “You want to know what happened? Okay, I’ll tell you what fucking happened. They told us Hunter’s got some rare-as-shit disease, some blood disorder that only a bone-marrow transplant is going to fix.”
I don’t know what the disease is, but I can infer what needs to happen. “But you and Colton are family, right? Either of you could donate, or your mother, your father…”
Cayden laughs again, looking up to the roof. He brings his hand down hard on the bench. “Father was ‘too busy’ to fly down. Mother? She’s not donating shit given what she’s pumped into her body over the last decade. Colton? Sure. He’s good to go, but not me. No, no, no.”
He’s manic, which is understandable, but I’m still missing something. I try to approach him, but he steps back. “You’re not making any sense.”
He slaps his hand down again.
I flinch, for the first time, scared in front of him.
“You know what they told me, my so-called brothers?”
“I don’t.”
He steps forward and now I take a step back. “They told me I was fucking adopted. Can you believe that?”
The pain of the words is distorting his features. “What?”
He spells it out by hitting the counter. “I. Am. Fucking. Adopted. I’m not a Beckett. I never was. The joke’s on me, right? And the worst part? My fucking father never had the balls to tell me. I had to hear it from those two, who knew all along, by the way, who have known for years and never thought to tell me”
“Maybe they were waiting for the right time, protecting you?”
He’s shouting now, losing it. “Bullshit. They wait until one of them almost drops dead before saying anything? What if this never happened? What if I never found out?”
“Does it really matter?” But as soon as the words are out, I know they’re only going to enflame the situation.
“Does. It. Matter?” he bellows, eyes wide, his frame huge, towering over me. And I want to leave. I came here to help, but my presence is proving to be the exact opposite. Naomi was right. He needs time to process this, whatever it is, this new development.
“I’m trying to help you, Cayden,” I plead, close to tears seeing him torn up like this.
He nods. “Help, you say? You want to be in a relationship with me. You want us to be open, but how the fuck am I supposed to do that when you won’t tell me anything about why you’re here, where you’ve come from?” He’s deflecting, directing his anger at me because I’m the only person standing in front of him right now.
“Cayden, you don’t understand…” I start.
“I do fucking understand!” he shouts. “I understand that you don’t trust me. I understand you don’t want anyone knowing about us become you’ve got some reputation, some high and mighty image to protect.” He’s pantomiming. “Because god forbid you hooked up with the quarterback, let him fuck you.”
I hold the tears back. “You’re angry. I get that, but there’s no reason to take it out on me.”
“Yeah,” he says, simmering. “I’m angry alright. I’m angry because you’re just as bad as them, keeping things from me, hiding things from me and expecting the complete opposite in return. Well, I’m here to tell you I’ve had enough.”
A tear slips down my face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you should fuck off to wherever you came from, go hang out with your fucking daddy figure.”
“My what?” I ask, lost.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’ve seen you speaking with him. He’s old enough to be your fucking father, Indy.”
And now it makes sense.
“You don’t understand,” I beg, but I’m repeating myself, making it worse.
He raps on the counter beside the beer bottle. “And there it is—the big freeze. In fact, I think this is entirely the other way around, isn’t it? You just wanted my cock, didn’t you? You wanted a story to tell?”
I’m almost hysterical, blinded by tears. “Cayden, you’re not yourself. Talk to me.”
“No!” he screams, his arm lashing out at the beer bottle, projecting it across the room.
We both turn, follow its trajectory, watching in horror as it heads straight for the giant mirror on the lounge room wall.
They shatter—the mirror and the bottle as one, green glass and mercurial fragments of silver spilling to the carpet.
Seven years of bad luck.
It’s a sign.
It’s settled.
Cayden realizes it, sees it on my face, but it’s too late.
I’m running, running even though he’s calling my name.
I get outside and I sprint, my legs the only thing I feel, my body and mind numb.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CAYDEN
You know this isn’t a good idea.
I’m walking around campus looking for Indy. I didn’t sleep at all last night, my head tossing over and over what we fought about, how my stupid fucking mouth got the better of me.
Yep, a Beckett through and through.
But I’m not. The idea seems so abstract now, that all these years I’ve grown up with my so-called brothers when in reality they’re strangers. I’m as far from a blood relative as the maid and cleaner back in New York.
They don’t see it like that.
Bullshit. And my so-called parents? Even worse, and they knew—everyone except for me, a big, family joke. My real parents could be crack addicts for all I know, carnies, criminals… My head pounds with the possibilities, with genuine pain unlike any I’ve felt before. It’s worse than the hardest tackle, the biggest pile-driver. It’s deep down inside my gut where no one can get to it, a physical, all-consuming pain.
Coach passes by me, doubling back. “Cayden.”
I stop. “Coach.”
“Where were you this morning?”
Hunter’s lying in the hospital and Coach still runs training, but that’s Coach for you.
“I couldn’t make it.”
I expect a tirade, but maybe he sees I’m not in a good place right now, maybe he knows. He takes off his cap, swatting at invisible insects. “Son, I know you’re hurting, thinking about your brother, but he’s alive, isn’t he?”
“For now.”
“And you? Are you alive?”
“Looks like it.”
“Which means that if you’re here, on campus, you need to be at training, even if the world is ending, even if an A-bomb’s falling from the sky. Hunter’s out for who knows how long, my safety’s missing a brain, which is why I need my quarterback in fine, fucking form.” He taps my chest with the brim of his cap. “Is he in there, Beckett?” the name nothing but offensive now.
I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say.
Coach shakes his head. “I sure as hell hope so, because your natural successor is Dwayne, and we both know he’s got hands like sticks of butter.”
I find my voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll be there tomorrow, Coach. You have my word.”
He smiles at that.. “Amen.”
I watch him walk off. He’s right. Indy is one thing, Hunter and the family thing another, but I’m here for football. That leather baby is probably the only thing in my world that’s not going to argue back right now.
I check my cell. No missed calls. No texts.
So be it.
I’ll clear my head the only way I know how—with brute, fucking force.
*
I have the field completely to myself. I make the most of it, running every drill in the book and even some so nasty they don’t have names, pushing myself to the absolute limit until the sweat is running a river down my back, my vision blurry. I grunt and drive, sprint and spring, my legs on fire, but it’s exactly what I need.
I’m out there for five hours, working until the field lights switch off.
I undress in the locker room, peeling the clothes from my body.
I do feel better, clearer. The cotton wool in my head is gone, replaced with focus, and it’s screaming one word at me.
Indy.
I pick up my cell from the top shelf of my locker, go to dial, but hold off. No, I need to speak to her in person. It’s the only way. I’ll get on my knees if I have to, grovel my way back into her good graces. She’s the only decent thing in my life right now and I’m not about to drop that ball. I need her like the air I breathe out there on the grass. Troy might be my temple, but Indy’s my home, my anchor. It’s clear.
I close the locker door and head to the showers. All the ingredients are there—the water, the heat—but it’s missing one thing. It’s missing Indy, her body against mine, the suds passing between us, our mouths locked and her thigh hitched up against my side.
I close my eyes and open them hoping, impossibly, to make her materialize.
Nothing happens.
The locker room lights go out. The shower continues to run, louder now in the darkness.
“Hello?” I shout.
The field lights are on a timer, but there’s a switch for this room. Even the groundskeeper would hear me in here first.
“What the fuck?” I call out. “If this is some shitty prank, Colton, I’m going to whoop your ass.”
Something slams into my gut. I crumple in half, gasping.
I’m kicked from the side, hard enough to send me sliding sideways on the tiles.
“Wai—”
Something heavier smashes into my back, driving me to the ground.
“Colton’s not here,” comes a voice.
Dwayne.
He’s near, crouching down in the darkness in front of me just out of reach. He won’t be here alone. No way.
Dwayne’s voice is laced with smug satisfaction. “Your brothers aren’t here to bail you out this time, Cay. You’re all alone.”
I try to get up, but I’m driven down again, the pain flaring across my shoulders. The sound of the blow ringing out.
A baseball bat. Has to be.
I stay down, try to work out what the fuck I’m going to do.
“I know you think you’re hot shit,” says Dwayne. “You Becketts act like you’ve got the keys to the kingdom here, but you’re wrong. Hunter’s lying in a hospital somewhere. Colton’s gone and fucked up, bought himself a ticket out of Abbotsleigh, and you? You’re vulnerable. So, let’s see how much damage ‘The Damage’ can do without his good arm.” He clicks his fingers and I’m manhandled from the sides, kicking and slipping on the tiles, struggling to get purchase as my assailants take hold of my right arm, snapping it straight.
I know someone’s passing Dwayne the bat. I can hear the hollow thump as it lands in his hand. “I’d tell you this isn’t going to hurt, bro, but I’d be fucking lying.”
I try to buy time. “This isn’t going to do shit, Dwayne. You’ll be quarterback, sure, but you’ll still be a shitty one. The NFL won’t even blink twice in your direction.”
“Shut the fuck up, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
He’s so close I can smell his breath, the turfy stink of weed on it. “After I’m done here I’m going to find your girl and I’m going to fuck her like a real man. I’m going to fuck her in the mouth, in the ass, wherever I damn well please.”
I lose it. “Fuck you!” I’m lurching for him, but they pull me back. I’m strong, but two of the biggest linesmen in the league make easy work of me. All I can hope for is that Dwayne knows how to swing a bat, makes a clean break of my arm.
But he’s not going to touch Indy. If he does, he’s fucking dead.
I sense him standing. “Batter up!” he calls.
The lights come back on, the scene close to cabaret. There’s me, buck naked on the tiles, Dwayne with bat raised and the two aforementioned linesmen pinning me down, holding my arm out. Add in some curtains and you’d have yourself a scene Charlie Chaplin himself would be proud of.
But the biggest surprise of all is Coach. He stands six feet away, a pistol raised that looks like it was stolen from a Dirty Harry set. He directs the gun at Dwayne. “Put down the bat, son.”
Dwayne doesn’t budge. “Why don’t you put away that antique, Coach, before you injure yourself. Let us get this done. You know it’s right.”
Everyone jumps as Coach fires a shot into the roof. Plaster and dust rain down from a hole the size of my head.
“Antique, my ass,” Coach says. “Now put down the fucking bat.”
Dwayne lowers it to the floor, watching Coach. “Easy, old man.”
Coach moves the gun to the linesmen. “You, Dumb and Dumber, step the fuck back.”
“You’re making a mistake, Coach,” says Dwayne, but Coach holds firm, taking out his cell and dialing.
“Drew? Get your ass over here. I’ve got a situation.”
“We didn’t do shit,” protests Dwayne.
Coach slips the cell back into his pocket. “Save it and get against the wall—now.”
The three of them back up slowly to the wall.
“Don’t think I won’t shoot you,” continues Coach. “I was popping off Japs before your daddy’s balls dropped. I don’t give a fuck about what you can do on the field or who you are. You move, you die.”
Coach looks down at me. “Can you move, son?”
I nod.
“Good. Get behind me, and for fuck’s sake put on some clothes.”
I stand slowly and move behind Coach, searching the bench for my pants.
Campus security arrives a minute later. I thought they might have an issue with Coach pointing a fucking gun at these guys, but they simply laugh and get to work.
Drew thinks the whole thing’s especially amusing as he cable-ties Dwayne’s hands together. He gestures at the gun. “You still got that piece of shit, Maddox.”
Maddox?
Holy shit. Coach has a name.
Coach lowers the pistol. “It’ll still blow your dick off. Just say the word.”
*
I wait around for the police, providing a statement to the best of my abilities. Dwayne and his crew are quiet as they’re loaded into patrol cars. They might still get off, but I imagine their football days are over.
Coach takes a seat beside me on the bench. “You alright, son? They banged you up a bit, but I know you Becketts. You’re made of harder stuff.”
I have to laugh at that. If only you knew. “I’m okay.”
“How’s your brother? Any news?”
It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I checked in. “I think he’ll be alright. He needs a bone-marrow transplant, some other bullshit, but Colton’s volunteered. After all, he’s got nothing better to do.”
The Coach smiles, closer to a grandfather than the drill sergeant I know. “Silly kid, though I would have liked to switch places with him when he knuckle-dusted that punk.”
“You and me both.”
Coach slaps me on the back. “Go home, get some rest. You can track down your girly in the morning.”
“How’d you know ab—”
He clicks his fingers. “Magic.”
*
I take Coach’s advice and rest up. I was already beat from my self-imposed training. The additional workout Dwayne and his boys provided, while unwelcome, only served to harden me further.
But when I wake up, I only want one thing. I want it with every molecule of my being.
I want her, Indy.
I dress and run towards campus, desperate to see her, to somehow make amends for this fuckery.
I’m about a half-mile from her dorm when I spot her.
She’s talking to the same older guy I saw her with days ago, the guy with the suit jacket and glasses. Just like before, he’s talking and she’s listening, though the distance between them suggests neither of them particularly wants to be here.
Still, jealousy wells up again. Who the fuck are you?
I wait for them to finish, for Indy to head off towards class, before I approach him.
The fucker walks fast. I have to run to tap him on the back.
He spins, hand running beneath his jacket, relaxing when he sees me. “Can I help you?”
I look over my shoulder. “You know Indy?”
His face hardens. “Yeah. I do.”
“What’s your business with her?” I know I’m coming across overly protective, but something’s not right here and it’s D-day for getting to the bottom of shit.
The guy looks me over and laughs. “It’s none of yours, kid. That’s for sure.”
He turns, but I reach for his shoulder, pulling him back around, his condescending little jibe not going to get pass this Trojan. “You either tell me what your business is or I call campus security.”
He laughs again, suddenly turning serious, shoving me away. “Back the fuck off.”
He turns to walk, but I shove him in the back. “What did you say?”
He holds me at arm’s length. “I’m warning you now.”
I shove his hand away. “Fuck you.” I take out my cell.
He plucks it from my hand, reaching under his suit and taking out his wallet, flipping it open.
There’s a badge there, an acronym in big, bold, blue lettering.
“Like I said, it’s none of your business. Now, let me leave or find yourself obstructing a federal investigation.”
Federal investigation?
He hands me my cell.
I take it.
He looks around again, replacing his wallet and straightening his jacket before walking off. I watch him, my eyes following him all the way to his black sedan.
