Page 56 of Imperfect Player

It’s handwritten. No address, just my name on the front.

How in the fuck did this get in here? The question rolls around in my mind as I slide my finger beneath the seal and open it.

Inside is a single sheet of paper. The note is handwritten. Big, sloppy block letters fill the page. Sentences are uneven on the unlined paper.

Very masculine. Nothing curvy or fancy about them like a woman’s handwriting might be. Like I’m sure Everly’s is. Though she floods my mind for a moment, all thoughts of her cease the moment I read the letter.

Ethan,

I know this is going to be hard to believe, but I’m your father. I have been trying to get ahold of you for years. Please, contact me.

[email protected]

111-555-9999

Dad

The moment I read the word “Dad,” I drop the paper like it’s on fire. My eyes never leave it as it flows down landing on the counter.

My heart begins to beat fiercely in my chest, my breathing turning into quick, almost panting breaths.

No. No fucking way.

The man who left me when I was eight years old, abandoned me, told me I wasn’t worth it, is reaching out to me? Wants to talk to me?

No, this has to be a fucking joke. Or some bullshit scam to try and get money from me.

But how?

No one knows my past. No one knows that I was abandoned as a kid, left on a doorstep because neither of my parents loved me, neither thought I was worth a damn. Even Coach and Maddox don’t know. They think my parents are dead because that’s what I told them. It’s what I’ve told anyone who ever asked. It was easier than admitting they didn’t want me.

No one wanted me.

I spent years wishing they would come back for me, love me, be the parents I needed. The parents they were supposed to be. Every single one of those wishes went ungranted, until at some point I stopped wishing. For them. For a home. For family. For love.

I am my only family. I am all I have. I am all I have ever had.

Memories from the night my dad left penetrate my mind in rapid flashes. The words he said to my mother clear as day. The things she said back clouded by the sobs that escaped her. It was their argument, but I was the one that lost.

I lost my mom and my dad. I lost my ability to trust—to love.

Neither of them wanted me.

I wasn’t worth it.

Anger and pain that I thought I had buried long ago returns. Pissed, I grab the sheet of paper and crumple it before making my way to the garbage can to throw it away.

I may not be worth it, but neither the fuck is he.

Trying to contact me for years? Bullshit. I’m not that hard to get to. I talk to the fans. I go to events. If he wanted to, he could have gotten to me one way or another.

Without even thinking, I walk away from the garbage can and begin to pace the room.

For two years, I haven’t had a drink. Haven’t wanted one. Now? It’s all I want. All I can think about.

Running my hands through my hair, I try to talk myself out of it. I don’t need that drink. He’s not worth it. Not my sobriety. Not my career.

“Fuck!” I scream out, the memories cycling through in rapid succession.

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