Page 1 of Jagger
Prologue
Lincoln
2006
“Don’t you walk away from me,” my father yelled at me as I left the room, refusing to argue with him about this yet again.
Just as I reached my bedroom door, I felt a hand on my shoulder before I was spun around. My father, being the drunken asshole he was, began yelling again. I guess he thought if he screamed at me enough, I would change my mind. But what his drunk ass didn’t want to comprehend was that I was done with this bullshit.
“Damn it, boy, you need to listen to me. You’ve got the chance I was denied by those fuckers in the NCAA, and I’ll be damned if you walk away from the opportunity to go pro,” he rehashed, and I rolled my eyes at the statement.
He never had a chance with the NCAA and he knew it. Back in high school, my father was a running back who rode the bench more than he played, but he believed he was denied his chance at glory. In reality, he sucked at sports and thought the world owed him something. My mother, God rest her soul, confided in me that he’d started drinking the summer between his junior and senior year, resulting in him being cut from the team.
Since I was old enough to pick up a ball, he’d had me in football. Through the years, my coaches had shielded me from his verbal abuse by insisting they could get me to the top, and he stepped back to let them do their job. That ended two years ago, when Mom passed away and he dove headfirst into the bottle.
That was the same time my desire to keep him happy came to an end. I never liked playing football. I hated the hot pads, the bruises and scrapes, and the constant pain from being tackled by someone who hated me just because I wore a different jersey. And after two concussions that were ‘officially’ recorded—and countless that weren’t—I decided I was finished being a tackling dummy. I was done being the golden-armed player who was cheered from the sidelines.
I was done being what someone else wanted me to be.
“For the last time, I’m not talking to any recruiters. After the game tomorrow, I’m officially hanging up my cleats,” I returned to my father, hoping maybe the words would penetrate the drunken haze he lived in.
I tried to turn around and walk away, but he pushed me, causing me to stumble and fall through the doorway to my room. I looked at him like he was crazy. He was significantly smaller than I was, and with the amount of alcohol he drank on a daily basis, I could practically bowl him over without breaking a sweat.
He pointed his finger at me and swayed in the doorway as he tried to exert his dominance over me. “As your father and the head of this household, you will listen to what I tell you to do.”
Pushing off the floor, I stepped closer to him and saw the fear in his eyes as I leaned over, speaking straight to his face. “You aren’t the head of shit, and we both know it. The house was paid for by my mom’s parents, and the only reason the lights are still on is her life insurance policy that Nana and Pappy control. So, stop acting like you have any say over me, my life, my future, or what I choose to do.”
“Why do you insist on throwing away your chance at epic paydays? All you have to do is commit to a college, play three years, and take the early draft option.” He paused and took aswig from a bottle of liquor before adding, “Then we’ll be set for life.”
It was at that moment I realized all I was to him was a cash machine. He didn’t care that I’d had three broken bones from football, or that I stayed up past midnight every night to keep my grades up. He just wanted to exploit me like he did my mother, but it stopped now.
Stepping closer to him, he blinked as he looked up at me. “When I graduate, I’m leaving, and I swear, it’ll be the last time you speak to me. I refuse to support your drunk ass with my hard work. Mom did enough of that, and all it did was get her an early grave, and you, cirrhosis of the liver.” Shaking my head, I stepped back and added, “And I suggest you get sober, ‘cause once I leave this house, Nana and Pappy will stop supporting you and your addiction.”
Turning, I walked into my bedroom and slammed the door before he could say anything else. Five years ago, I would have worried about him coming after me, like he’d done to Mom and me since I was a kid. But the summer between my seventh and eighth grade year, I grew five inches and added thirty pounds of solid muscle. That summer was the last time he laid a finger on me or Mom. He knew I would pound him into the floor if he tried to touch me, and it only took one time for him to back off for good.
That didn’t stop him from running his mouth, but what else could I expect from a drunk wannabe-football star who never had a shot at glory?
Cranking the volume of my radio up, I needed to burn off some of the anger coursing through my veins, so I did what I knew to do to reduce stress and diffuse my temper. Picking up the bar, I slid a twenty-pound plate on each side and began curling the barbell, feeling the strain and burn in my muscles. I didn’t want to overdo it and wear my arm out. Even thoughtomorrow would be my last game, I still wanted to push my team to victory.
Being the quarterback and team captain, I knew the last game was an important one for seniors.
I just hoped my father wouldn’t show up tomorrow and embarrass me like he always did. I wanted the last game to be a good one and to celebrate with my friends, but I worried he would show up drunk and I’d have to carry him home.
After my workout, I lowered the volume on the stereo and wiped the sweat from my face as I fought to catch my breath. I didn’t have any water in my room, so I walked out and into the kitchen. The TV in the living room was playing some show as I opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. Closing the door, I plucked a banana from the basket of fruit Nana made sure to keep around for me, then I wandered into the living room.
I expected to see my father passed out on the couch, so I was surprised to find it empty. Looking up at the ceiling, I sighed before walking to his bedroom to see if he was there, and when I saw the room was empty, I knew he’d taken the car again. He’d managed to avoid a DUI, but I worried he was going to kill someone while he drove the streets of Rapid City.
Picking up the cordless phone from the charging base, I dialed Pappy’s number and listened as the phone rang.
“What’s up, Linc?” Pappy asked, knowing I was the only one who called from this number.
“He’s out driving again, and I’m not sure what to do,” I explained and heard him sigh through the receiver.
“It’s not your job to save him, Linc. He knows he shouldn’t be driving, and I don’t want you out on the road looking for him. You need to get some sleep for school tomorrow and your last game.”
Pappy supported my desire to not play football in college, and he and I discussed me joining the military. I liked the idea of serving my country but didn’t know if that’s what my future was. I knew that whatever I decided, my grandparents would support my decision.
“I can’t just leave him out there, possibly leading to him hurting someone with his selfishness,” I reasoned.
