Page 74 of Daddy's Game

I steeled myself. I still felt all the misery on the inside, but I buried it under a sense of purpose.

“We’re going to save the center…but we need more than a protest. We need something that will really get people’s attention in a big way.”

“How about a free performance? We can turn it into a fundraiser too. My uncle has an in with the Parks and Rec department. I bet we can use the stage in Central Park.”

I did a double take.

“Really? That would be fantastic. We could get the best students together, and do a performance.”

“How about selections from Swan Lake?”

I groaned.

“That’s the most basic…”

I shook my head.

“No, you’re right. The general public is familiar with it. Let’s do it.”

“I knew you wouldn't stay down for long.”

I nodded, trying to smile though my heart was breaking.

I still don’t know if we can win, but…no way am I just going to lay down and die. If Brock wants a fight, he’s damn sure going to get one.

No one is taking this center away from the students and the community. No one.

On the inside, I knew that as much as I wanted to save the center, my real motivation was a distraction.

Because if I stopped fighting for one second, I would break down over Brock again, and never put myself back together.

30

BROCK

Iignored the door bell as it sounded for the twentieth time. I didn’t even bother opening my eyes.

Opening my eyes would have meant dealing with the blinding pain of my hangover. More, though, opening my eyes would have meant I’d have to live in a world without Grace. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that anymore.

The doorbell ceased its annoying ring. I settled my head back on my pillow intending to return to the oblivion of sleep. If I was lucky, I wouldn't have any dreams.

The sound of my door opening soon drew me out of my stupor. I threw the blankets off myself and stomped out of my bedroom, dressed only in a pair of boxers and for some reason my socks. I hadn’t taken them off before passing out in bed the night before.

I stormed into the kitchen, and stared at my wide open front door. The building super stood there with a worried look on his face.

“Mr. Richards–”

“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t just–”

Samantha stepped into view, her eyes hard and cold as ice.

“Don’t yell at him, son. I’m the one who made him open the door for a welfare check.”

“Well, now you’ve seen I’m fine, so get out.”

Her eyes widened. I had not talked to my stepmother like that since I was ten years old. I felt bad about it, which is probably why I didn’t protest when she turned to the super and told him she could handle it from here.

The grateful super left, and the door closed behind him. Samantha crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me.

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