Page 5 of No Place Like Home

My mother died.

My mother was killed.

My mother was murdered.

My mother was no longer living.

My mother…

It didn’t matter how many times I said it. The answer was the same. My mother was gone, and she was never coming back. Rosamie held onto my hand while she sat in Cynthia’s lap as she cried. Blake was next to me. I didn’t remember when he grabbed my hand, but his tight hold was the only anchor I had. My only way of knowing that I was still in this room and this body. I wanted to claw out of my skin and scream. Nobody here really cared. Not about me, not about my sister, and certainly not about my mother.

My father was a drunk.

My father was an alcoholic.

My father was abusive.

My father was a killer.

My father had killed my mother.

My father was now in prison.

My father was dead to me.

My throat clogged up just thinking about him. My mom’s face was was so bad the last time we saw her that I was grateful for the closed casket. We didn’t need everyone to see what he had done. It was better this way.

I closed my eyes and pictured her the morning before everything changed. I was seven and happy, looking forward to my first sleepover. My mother made me pancakes, bathed me, and sang for me. My mother was full of life that day…and now she was dead.

I didn’t dare look around me. The parlor was full of people who came to show their support, all of them pretending to care. For once, I was wearing something appropriate. For once, my clothes showed mourning. For once, I had an excuse to feel sad.

I’d been mourning my life since I was five. Maybe that was why I hadn’t shed a tear. Perhaps deep down, I always saw it coming. Wordlessly, I let go of Blake’s hand and made my way to the bathroom, ignoring all the stares I was receiving.

They didn’t really care.

When I came out, Quincy was waiting for me with his hands inside the pockets of his pants. Maybe if my mother hadn’t been dead, I would have felt betrayed by what he’d said, but I just didn’t care. I looked up at him, and I couldn’t remember when he got so tall. Dark curly lashes framed his green eyes, and he looked sad.

He didn’t care.

What the hell was he sad for? My mother was dead, and my father was a killer, and even though I felt like an orphan all my life, it was now real.

“Glooms…” He took a step forward, trying to hug me.

Taking a step back, I put my hand to his chest, stopping him. He actually had the audacity to look hurt.

“We’re not friends. We just work together, right? You can ignore me just fine,” I spat at him.

CHAPTERONE

Present

29 years old

“We’re almostby the sign, Hardwell. Get ready to come out!” I heard the director yell. “Get the cameras rolling.”

I took a deep breath, held it in for a second, and then exhaled. Time sure went by fucking fast. It waited for no one, and your dreams weren’t made. They were chased. That was something I knew firsthand. You didn’t get anywhere in life by sitting on your ass.

This town had been with me through it all, so I knew that as soon as they pitched me the idea for a documentary, this would be the place they would want to shoot at. Nothing won the hearts of Americans nationwide like a young kid from Small Town, USA with a big dream. No nepotizim for me. No private schools. Just me and my pigskin wanting to make it big.

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