Page 32 of Twisted Collide

But I’ll have a great epiphany in the movie version, something I’m sure won’t happen here today.

The grass is muddy, and my shoes have taken a beating by the time I finally make it to the bastard’s grave.

From my back pocket, I grab the flask, and then I pour the contents directly intoStanley.

We’re on a first-name basis now that my team won.

“Bet you never thought this is how I’d spend my day, huh, Dad? Actually, I bet you never thought this day would come at all.”

I lift the Cup and take a swig. The whiskey burns as it travels down my throat, but I welcome the feeling right now. It reminds me I’m here.

“Cheers, Dad,” I slur as I wave the cup in the air. “This is the moment you’ve waited for. Sooo . . . did it live up to the hype? Oh, wait, you’re dead. How could it?” I laugh bitterly. “Not much of a talker, are you? Funny how things change. You always were back then. Always endless lectures about goals. Funny how you never took your own advice.”

I plop down on the ground, my wobbly legs no longer willing to hold my weight.

Now, sitting, I can feel the mud seeping into my jeans. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

Anger swells inside me. Of course, this is how it would be. “What a fucking joke this all is. But you know what? I have no one to blame but myself. It was my fault, after all. I’m a fuckup. Isn’t that what you said that night on the phone? But look at me now with a championship under my belt.”

My arm collapses by my side, the Cup almost tipping from my grasp. I catch it at the last moment.

I’m not worried about the Cup; it’s been through worse. Stories of the Cup’s escapades are legendary. A little mud won’t hurt it. Nope, I’m worried about the contents. That’s some pretty good whiskey.

“You know the worst part . . .” I run my hand through my soaked hair, grabbing at the strands and pulling to the point of pain. “You killed her. She trusted you, and you killed her.”

My mother was the glue of our family. The day she died, our family died too.

“And Molly. Don’t get me started with Molly. The fact that she’s so amazing has nothing to do with you. The fact that I’m here, Cup in hand, has nothing to do with you. It’s all because of Molly. She’s the reason I’m here. How does that make you feel?” I hiss as I lift the Cup and take another swig. “The funny thing is, here I am, not so much unlike you. How’s that for irony? You killed me that day too. Killed the fun-loving guy I could have been and left this—” Another swig, another burn. “I guess this is the Sinclair legacy. Angry drunks.”

“So here’s to you, Dad.” I laugh, but it’s a hollow, empty sound. “Here’s to the bastard who only wanted one thing—a famous son. Whelp, you got it. Even if you had to kill everyone to achieve your goal.”

I look at his headstone. Jonathan Sinclair.

The words dance in front of me because my vision is blurry. Is it the rain or my tears that blind me?

Maybe my hate.

With one final swig, I finish the whiskey and push myself back to standing.

“I hope you rot in hell, old man. It seems I’m right behind you, so you might as well save me a seat.”

12

DANE

It’s beena few weeks since I last spoke to Coach. The off months have everyone scattered about, and with no official training in the books, I don’t usually see him, so when the text came from him asking me to have dinner at his house, I was taken aback and a little nervous about the reason for this dinner.

Not long ago, we had dinner often, but he’s had a lot going on lately, so the dinners stopped. Now I wonder ifshe’swhat has him so busy.

Robert is like a father to me, and during the offseason, I often spend time with him and his wife, Sherry.

They’ve been there for Molly and me since the beginning of my career.

Robert knows how important my sister and her well-being are and why I’ve never gone very far from Redville.

Dinner shouldn’t feel weird, but it does because of her.

Josie . . . aka Hellfire, could not have been in his life untilrecently. I would’ve known about her. Right? Would Coach have kept her a secret from me?

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