“Mom, I need some money. NOW.”
The coffee hadn’t even sunk in. These early hours were becoming increasingly difficult to manage. For the first time in three years, I had landed myself a full-time job as a dental assistant. I’d spent countless hours of studying, driving the girls back-and-forth to school and gymnastics while he focused on his own career and barely stepped a foot in this door.
“Mom, are you even listening to me?”
Sophia had walked into the kitchen, her pre-teen huff the dead giveaway. For a ten-year-old, this girl had more attitude than some of the girls I had known in high school.
“I’m listening. Sophia. I just started this job. Payday is this Friday. I’ll give you ten dollars but that’s all I can afford.”
“Ten dollars! Argh, I hate you!”
In the blink of an eye, she storms out and with much disappointment, I choose not to follow. This attitude had been ongoing of late and I just didn’t know what to do with her. She needed a full-time dad—plain and simple. A man who stepped up and raised a daughter because I was always playing bad cop.
“Mommy.” The smaller, timid voice, enters the kitchen.
“Good morning, honey.”
I lean in, kissing the top of Emily’s forehead then pull her onto my lap. At least this one still loved me. At the age of five, she still thought of me as her entire world. I would lap it up for as long as I could.
“Jeremy Hobbs said that my daddy is a crackhead. What’s a crackhead?”
I force a smile, ignoring my anger towards this Jeremy kid whose mouth had just earned him top place on my list of Kids I Want to Kick list.
“It’s not a nice word, okay? We just don’t use it.”
“He also said you were a whore.”
Did I say kick? I meant kill. I jump slightly in anger, and Emily slides off my lap from the imbalance. “I will talk to your teacher today. Please do not repeat the nasty comments Jeremy makes.”
Emily doesn’t say another word. She moves onto her own chair and eats her cereal quietly. This parenting gig was hard. Two kids and I hadn’t even clicked over to thirty. I loved them, but at times, I wish I wasn’t so obsessed with this whole mommy gig. Raising them on my own, trying to study and hold down a job was just too hard, a non-stop battle fighting exhaustion.
Now I had one more item on my list of things to do today: put Jeremy in his place and get him to stop calling me a whore. The slur was so far from the truth as to be laughable since I couldn’t even recall the last time I’d had sex.
“Mom!” The voice is back, barrelling through the living room until she’s standing in the kitchen wearing a midriff top and a tiny scrap of material disguising itself as a skirt. “I need my pink sweater. You said you washed it?”
“Check the laundry.”
“I did.” Her hip flicked out with her all-too-common attitude. “It’s wet in the washing machine. I needed it today. God, Mom, why can’t you just be normal like all the other moms?”
Defeated, and the day hadn’t even begun, I try to block out the noise of Sophia telling me why I’m the worst mother in the world and Emily repeating the word whore. My body temperature rises, and inside, my tears are ready to explode from the overwhelming emotion of feeling alone.
“Ow! Mommy, Sophia just pulled my hair!”
“Emily tried to spit cereal onto me!”
One. Two. Three.
Breathe.
On the table, my cell flashes. Hoping to distract myself, I pick it up and open a text from an unknown number.
This is Jonah’s mother, Catherine. It is with sadness that we inform you that Jonah passed away last night. The funeral will be held this Friday at the Sand Oaks Memorial.
My breath catches in the back of my throat as my cell slips out of my hand and onto the floor. The noise that had dominated my personal space only moments ago fades away. Jonah had passed away.
“Just shut up, okay? Just shut up,” I cry, battling the stream of tears that had fallen so carelessly down my cheek.
Sophia bends down to pick up my cell and hands it to me.
I want to smile, I want to say I’m sorry for being a terrible mother but instead, I dial the unknown number praying to God this was some sick joke.
GRIFFIN
“We have a ten-fifty-three, corner of 7th and 31st. All units nearby, dispatch.”
I slam my foot on the gas, sirens blazing as I make my way through the usual grind of traffic.
“Look at this fucker trying to overtake us,” Keller shouts through the glass.
Keller had his moments, and being his partner for the past six months had taught me a lot about him. He was impatient, sometimes thinking with his mouth before his head. He often complained that he needed to retire since his passion for law enforcement had dwindled since a stray bullet scraped him at the knee.
It takes us five minutes to reach the destination, and in five minutes—everything could change. I’d learned that the hard way.
I loved my job. Protecting our city and the people in it is what I was born to do. But like anything that brought me joy, there was always a flip side.
We arrive at the scene and park our car on the sidewalk to block the onlookers. A cyclist had been involved in a crash and a fatality was imminent.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I think the kid is gone.”
We’re the first ones to arrive; the sirens of an ambulance howling near us. Keller shoves the crowd away, yelling for everyone to step back and allow the emergency crew to work. A doctor who happened to be walking past is lying beside the body, which is wedged underneath a yellow cab.
“I’m a first-year resident. We need the fire brigade here now. The victim is male, perhaps mid to late twenties. He’s in and out of consciousness with severe burns to his upper body from the car.”
What happened next is a blur. It always is when the adrenaline kicks in. The ambulance arrived though limited to removing the body. The fire brigade worked urgently to remove the cab. Another two units arrived, assisting with crowd and traffic control.
The cab driver, a foreign man who had been driving for the last year only, suffered no injuries.
“Sir, you will need to escort us to the police station,” Keller asks.
“The kid rode into me! I couldn’t see him. Look, I’ll show you where he came from.” The man is shaking, pointing to the side of the cab and trying to explain what happened.
“Sir, you need to calm down. You can make your statement at the station.”
“I’ve got him.” Keller pulls out his cuffs as a warning to the man to cooperate. “Get in the car.”
It’s another two hours before we get a clear understanding of what happened. The cyclist—Jonathan Wheeler, according to his ID—ran the red light and collided with the cab. He was rushed to hospital but chances are he wouldn’t make it.
My shift was over, but following protocol, the next few hours are spent with forensics until the area is reopened.
“What a fucking day,” Keller says, wiping his forehead.
“All part of the job,” I say, exhausted.
“Yeah, at least you don’t have to go home now and deal with a nagging wife and three kids.”
I pat him on the back. He’s made a good point. I had made this job my life, much to the disappointment of my family members, who were forever on my case for not being present. But like I said, I was born to protect. This is who I am and who I chose to be.
Back at the station, inside the small locker room, I change into my sweats hoping to catch an hour at the gym before riding the subway home and crashing for night.
“Hey, Sloan. That kid on the bike today, word got in that he just passed away,” Sergeant Hanson tells me, patting my shoulder in an act of comradery, before leaving me alone.
I sit heavily on the small bench, giving myself a moment to pray for that man who was too young to go. Somewhere, out there, he had a family and friends who would be grieving tonight. The thought alone made me ill. This, of course, wasn’t the first time I had dealt with this.
Life just had a fucked-up way of getting to people, but you carry on, like you always do.
It’s why I chose to be alone. I purposely distanced myself so that one day, should anything happen to me, there would be fewer people who would grieve.
The side of my gym bag lights up with a signal from my cell perched in the pocket. I pull it out, swiping past the several notifications to the little red icon prompting me to open the message.
Paralyzed by the words on the screen, I stare unmoving in disbelief.
Jonah was dead.
CHASE
I hop back and forth, a combination of warming up and exerting the nervous energy that had built up during the last week. Coach Michaels is yelling in the locker room. Our A-game needed to be on. It was the playoffs and this was our last shot. We had a great season but needed this push. The nation was watching and we were three players down due to injuries.
“This is it, you get me? You go out there, you hustle and you better fucking win!”
He chews his gum nervously, rubbing his hands together as he continues, “This might be your most difficult encounter yet and defense needs to be strong. There’s a lot riding on this game. Now, go!”
We chant loudly, and with our time up, we scramble our way onto the field for one of the toughest games in our football careers.
The next few hours had been the biggest adrenaline rush in the history of football. All right, maybe not the history of football but, fuck, it felt like a stream of penalties.
The offense made bold moves tonight by passing the ball. But we brought it. In the end, it was our game and the final score was 23-13.
Enough to get us to the Super Bowl.
We were on a fucking high. The crowd—our supporters—chanted in unison and the stadium roared in excitement. Reporters scurried onto the field, demanding air time.
“Chase, a few questions.”
It was Nile Barrett—a well-known ESPN reporter.
“That was quite a game and the defense was strong. How do you feel about tonight?”
I shake my head, catching a breath. “It was tough. We were three players down. But we stuck to the game plan and brought it home.”
“And this week, you extended your contract for another five years. You’re the talk of the town. Anything you want to say about that?”
“Ah, look, you know, it’s been my dream to play for Dallas so it just made sense to continue living the dream.”
With an exhausted smile, I pat Niles on the shoulder, wrapping up the interview. My body is aching so I slowly jog to the locker room for Coach Michaels’ grilling of our performance.
“Chase.”
My name is called, and when I look up, Aubrey is standing a few feet away at the edge of the railing. Her expression is flat, no excitement or cheer for the win.
“Hey,” I respond back at the same time kissing her cheek.
“You killed it. Remember our deal: you win the Super Bowl and the wedding is on.”
I couldn’t forget. Aubrey was…great. Well, she fucking gave good head. We had been dating for two years and truth is, she comes from a very influential family. Her dad, Carter Green, was a former Dallas coach. Say no more, right?!
Marriage was always in the fucking cards with Aubrey. And despite my reluctance to focus on anything besides the game, I ended up proposing to her last month but on the terms that a wedding will not happen until this season is over.
It shut her up; at least, that’s what I thought.
“Listen, I gotta go in and get changed.”
“Chase,” she says, this time with a softer tone, “I love you. I’m sorry if I keep harping on about the wedding. I just want to be your wife.”
Yeah, and she wanted babies straight away. Family…fuck I wasn’t even interested in cleaning my own ass let alone a baby’s.
“I get it, okay? Just let me have this moment. We’ll talk at home.”
I don’t even say goodbye. Aubrey had been getting on my nerves. Luckily I could use the game as a reason to not get tied down with her bullshit.
Coach Matthews was on fire. He yelled at us for our mistakes and praised us for our glory. By the time I had showered and gotten changed, I was ready for a night of rest.
The second I walked through the door, Aubrey’s mood had changed. She’d slipped into her black lacy number, which I knew meant she wanted me to fuck that tight pussy of hers. I settled in the den, making myself comfortable while she straddled me, shoving her fake tits in my face.
My dick was hard, and in just a few seconds, I manage to throw my cell and wallet onto the sofa beside me and unzip my pants so I could fuck her.
It was just what I needed: tight, wet, and a woman who knew how to get me off…quickly.
We move in sync faster, my eyes closing from the buildup overcoming me. As I open them, my cell chimes beside me. I try not to look but her head is buried into my neck allowing me to peek at the screen.
She moans loudly the second my brain catches up…
Is this a fucking joke?
I push her off me, ignoring her angry rant.
I stare one more time, focusing on each single word in the message.
Jones was gone.
ADDISON
“Cassie, where are the files for the Scandinavian tour?”
The rain is falling hard. The weatherman forecasted a hurricane down south, which is bringing in the unwanted rain. Cassie appears in my office, files in one hand and a coffee in the other.
“Okay, I love you more than life itself.”
The coffee is heaven, the soothing warmth and perfect blend of sweetener making it exactly what I needed. I hated admitting I was a coffee junkie, but endless nights of work made it impossible to sleep. Lately, the insomnia was a real bitch. Something kept me up at night, whether it was work, life, or just this niggly feeling that I couldn’t shake.
“Anything else you need? I think I’ll make a run for it before it really buckets down.”
“Your soul? Just kidding. You go. I won’t be home for hours.”
“Are you sure? I hate leaving you. Honestly, Addison, you really need to take a break.”
“What are you talking about? Work is my break. That’s my whole slogan, remember?”
After college, I started traveling. It started within the States, then I made my first big trip to Europe and fell in love. I knew in my heart that I wanted to see everything and do everything. But money was my driving factor. I worked countless jobs in foreign countries just to continue traveling until I decided to become a travel agent. At first, I took on family members and booked their holidays based on my experiences. They spread the word and slowly, my portfolio grew and I started charging commission. Over time, I built this small network all the while seeing the world. Now, I owned the number-one online travel website in the United States. It was a great accomplishment but meant that I worked 24/7 and had zero social life. My entire social life consisted of hanging out with the sixty-eight employees who worked for me.
“I mean, you need to find yourself a man and get laid.”
“Oh,” I mouth, knowing she wasn’t wrong. “You know that it’s hard to find a man with me being away so often.”
I had dated a few men, nothing serious nor worthy of continuing since my college days. Jake was probably my longest relationship at six months. He was great, handsome, and we genuinely had fun. But he wanted a wife. A woman wearing an apron who bore his children while he sat on the couch and drank beer with the TV on. I didn’t have any desire to be that. I craved the freedom to travel, to see the world whenever I pleased. I loved children—they were cute and all—but it wasn’t in the cards for me just yet. I wasn’t quite thirty and still had time for that life. My life now consisted of the only thing I loved and that was my company.
“You’re a workaholic. I know…I know…you love your job…yada yada yada. But what about you? And when I say you, I mean your vag. Like how are you not sexually frustrated?”
Cassie was a straight-shooter. She held me together more times than I could count. She always enjoyed sleeping around and was not afraid to voice that. I commended her for going for what she wanted but it wasn’t me. If I needed a sexual kick, I would find one. And so what if the drought ticks over the nine-month mark soon? That’s normal, right?
“My vag is just fine, okay? Now, go, before we’re trapped in here and I dry hump you.”
Cassie laughs. “I did that once in college. It was great. Not sure why I’m not a lesbian if I enjoyed it so much.”
“Oh my God…please go now!”
She laughs again, waving goodbye and humming some song as she leaves the office towards home.
The sound of the rain outside becomes louder, and I begin to stare outside watching it fall. It relaxed me, and sometimes in my chaotic life, I needed a reminder of the simple things. I must have been staring outside for quite some time until I decide to grab my cell which pinged numerous times since I had been away with my thoughts.
It’s a group message sent to me, Chase, and Griffin from Kimberley. Once in a blue moon, we would say a few words but life had taken us in different directions. Chase was a quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys, Griffin had become a cop, Kimberley had two kids, and Jonah was the one that really stepped it up. He created some device used on aircrafts and is a self-made billionaire.
I can’t even write this message without shaking. Jonah passed away. They found him last night. The funeral is this Friday, back home. I’ll send details of the venue as soon as I know.
The message makes no sense until my eyes scan over it again, and again, and again.
Then my heart momentarily stops and my stomach becomes weighed down by a heavy feeling.
Jonah was gone. Passed away. Dead.