Page 6 of Ugly Duckling
He started it up and drove off.
And I smiled.
Prologue II
How does Jesus make his coffee? Hebrews it.
—Text from Gunner to Parker
GUNNER
They say that you only have one worst day of your life.
They’re right.
And I had that day when I was twenty-one.
That morning, I’d made Jett, my son, his favorite meal—pancakes with a side of strawberries.
I loaded him into my truck and dropped him off at my Uncle Parker’s house.
I’d given him a bear hug, one of the ones that elicited a squeal of laughter from him, and I’d driven off to get to practice.
I was half a year out from going pro, and the only thing keeping me going at this point was sheer force of will and my son’s excitement for what was to come for me.
It was a pretty awesome feeling, knowing your son was proud of you.
Hell, he was practically a staple at the ball field.
Sadly, he started kindergarten last year, and there was no more bringing him to practice at college days for me.
It sucked.
I loved having my kid around.
I may have had him young, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t take good care of him and love him with my whole heart.
He was the best thing that’d ever happened to me and was one of the greatest things that I would ever produce in this lifetime.
“Jesus fuck,” Coach Bartlett cursed then called, “Gunner!”
It wasn’t the way he said my name.
It was the look on his face as he said it.
I knew without getting out of the batter’s box that this was about to be the worst thing that ever happened to me.
I just didn’t think that what was about to happen was going to be as bad as it was.
I was thinking car wreck with my uncle, but he was fine. Or possibly even something like the school calling to tell me that Jett was sick.
That wasn’t what I got.
“What’s up, Coach?” I asked.
Coach Bartlett looked ravaged as he said, “Gunner, something happened at the school. They’re saying school shooter.”
My stomach sank.
