I hit the gas pedal and speed way too fast down the winding mountain roads that lead to Calton, GA. The one place I thought I’d left in my dust.
In thirty minutes, I’ll be home.
In thirty minutes, I’ll see the people I haven’t seen in almost two fucking years.
I’m not expecting a hero’s welcome by any means. Let’s just say when I left, it wasn’t just under a storm cloud, it was under a cyclone of shit. I don’t expect anyone to hold out their arms for me. I swore I wouldn’t be back.
I currently play football for UCLA, and by “currently play,” I mean I’m suspended and under investigation by the NCAA for using a banned steroid. Bullshit.
In high school, I committed to UCLA without telling anyone. It pissed more than a few people off— like the whole town— and then they accused me of abandoning them. How dare I play for the Bruins and not the Wildcats. They didn’t understand I needed to get as far away as possible from Georgia and my dysfunctional family, but mainly away from my dad.
Now I’m not playing for anyone. If I ever find that fucking doctor, I’ll kill him. Rip his goddamn arms off. Kayden, the team’s other quarterback, said the doc was a good guy and would help with my rotator cuff injury.
Even now there are days when the pain gets so bad, I can’t pull a t-shirt over my head.
One game pretty much fucked up my career and life. During the sixth game of the season there was a play where I felt my shoulder move out of joint, but like an idiot, I kept on playing. I figured it was nothing, just a twinge.
My season should have ended with that game, but I played two more games after that and played hard. Thought I owed it to my team. Owed it to my coach. Now I’m paying the price. Big time.
A quarterback with crippling shoulder pain can’t help his team win if he can’t throw a ball in an over-the-head motion.
That’s where the quack comes in and why I want to kill him. Instead of cortisone like I’d asked for, he shot me full of —a banned anabolic substance that helps increase muscle size, strength and power. It can also help an athlete train harder for longer, increase aggression and competitiveness, and, get this, help recovery from injuries.
Kayden got a shot the same day for his knee, but he got what he asked for— cortisone. When Coach Davis pulled a random drug test a week later, Kayden was clean, I wasn’t.
Coach Davis, who’s like a second dad to me and the only dad I’ve had for a while, is helping all he can and has kept my failed drug test out of the news and rumor mill— for now, but I know it’s only a matter of time— maybe days— before the shit hits the fan.
I’m lucky I wasn’t thrown out of school, but because I’ve never as much as put a toe out of line and because I helped UCLA get to the National Championships for the first time in fifty years, Coach Davis intervened on my behalf.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I speed up until the world is nothing but a green blur.
If I can’t play, I don’t know what I’ll do. My mom used to joke I was born reaching for a football. All my life, I’ve worked toward one goal and one goal only—playing for the pros. A quarterback for the Atlanta Falcons, but sometimes I wonder if that’s more my dad’s dream than mine. I don’t know if he’s ever gotten over the Falcons not drafting him from UGA.
No one in my family and none of my friends, besides Kayden, know what’s going on, and I don’t want them to find out, because, one way or another, I’ll clear my name and if I have to, I’ll do it by myself. Just like I’ve done everything else since I left for UCLA.
I’ve even hired a private investigator, but so far, he’s come up with zilch.
I should’ve gone to a regular doctor. Someone who’d treated me before, but they all pushed for surgery. No fucking way. I’ve heard of surgeries that have done more harm than good. Ruined player’s lives and careers.
My arm is the only thing I have. Without that, I’m a washed-up clichéd jock.
When I left Calton, I left without a backward glance. I was the star of the Knights, our high school team, and everyone expected me to commit to Calton and play for the Wildcats. The college team my dad coaches—the great Jack Thompson. Not a fucking chance. I was done.
Done with being the coach’s son.
Done trying to make him happy.
Done trying to attain his unattainable standards.
In my junior year of high school, I committed to UCLA, and since then, I’ve been a Bruin.
My dad and I were never close, and when I chose the school I wanted to play for, it was like I’d taken a knife and severed our relationship.
From the minute I could throw a ball, he’s ridden my ass, but after mom died, he got worse. The reason? I was by her bedside when she passed, and it’s something he’ll never forgive me for.
Not my fault. Being there for the team was more important to him than being by his dying wife’s hospital bed.
After she died, he took his guilt out on me. Not physically but verbally. Told me I was useless. Told me I’d amount to nothing.
Well, look at me, now, Dad, I’m everything you said I would be. You were right all along. I can already see the self-satisfied, smug smile on his face if he found out.
“I knew it,” he’d say. “I knew you’d screw up.”
Could my dad help me out right now? Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s not something I’m willing to find out.
Another reason I’m coming home is out of curiosity. My dad’s marrying Sherry Hudson—Taylor’s mom.
Since Taylor is my sister Chelsea’s shadow and best friend, she’s been in my life since we were in elementary school.
And then one night two years ago...
My dick twitches thinking about Taylor’s sweet, tight pussy. One more person in Calton who hates me…probably.
Not that I blame her.
The last time I was home was two years ago for my sister’s graduation. Chelsea begged me to be there by playing the “but our mom is dead” card. We used to be close, not anymore, but I could never say no to my little sister.
We were all partying hard at Chelsea and Taylor’s joint graduation party. Mrs. Hudson hosted it at her beach house. We snuck liquor in when the old man wasn’t looking.
Taylor was all over me that night. I saw my chance and took it. What red-blooded man wouldn’t? Let’s just say she was more than willing and very vocal in her appreciation. That night was filled with tangled limbs, messy hair, desire, sweat, and sex. Lots of sex.
The day she graduated high school, I took her virginity and then left her sleeping by a fire at the beach. Jackass move, I know. I should have at least woken her before I walked away.
Throughout high school, she’d had a crush on me. Most girls did, but football and girlfriends weren’t a good mix, although football and fucking were.
I won’t lie, over the past two years, Taylor’s crossed my mind more than once. I might’ve even stalked her some on Facebook, but she has everything locked down, so for all I know she could have a boyfriend, but likely Taylor is still living in my sister’s shadow the way she’s done since they were eight. Now we’ll be step-siblings. How fucked up is that?
Before our respective parents say ‘I do’ I intend to hear Taylor scream my name one more time. Have her come on my cock the way she did that night on the beach.
Since I left for college, I’ve dated a little but fucked a lot. Relationships are the last thing I want. A woman demanding all my time, all my attention, and depending on me? Thanks but no thanks. Not going to happen. I’ve never met anyone I couldn’t walk away from.
I’ve never fallen in love, and I don’t intend to.
I don’t depend on anyone, and no one depends on me. That’s the way I like it, and that’s the way it’ll stay.
I pass the welcome sign for Calton, population 34,926. The fifth best place to live in the United States.
It’s like I’ve driven through a time warp. The place is exactly the same. Elm trees line the immaculate sun-bleached streets, Wildcat banners flap in the warm breeze, and the bars on Main Street are hopping. I don’t know how all the bars in this small town—all eighty—stay open, but they do. Too many nights to remember, my friends and I used fake IDs and got wasted on “buy one get one free” beers.
I should stop by Gleeson’s to see if any of the old crew still works there. I used to be a bus boy there back in the day, and some of my friends who stayed in town were employed as bartenders or waiters.
What would the patrons say if I walked into any of these bars? Aaron Thompson, the black sheep of the Thompson family. The one who humiliated his daddy by turning up his nose at a free education and committing to a rival school instead.
Doesn’t matter that before I fucked up my arm last season, I played eight games and started seven. None of my stats matter. The only thing that matters is that I didn’t commit to the Wildcats.
Folks in college towns have long memories and are known to hold grudges for a hundred years or more.
I’m sure the whispers have already started, and everyone knows their beloved coach’s son is driving through town. That’s another thing I don’t miss about Calton, small-town gossip. Where everyone knows everyone else’s business.
I turn left at the edge of town and take the coast road toward Taylor’s beach house.
The last time I was here, Dad tried to give me advice on my throwing mechanics. Said I was getting sloppy. We almost came to blows over my college career. That scared me. I could have hurt him.
He’s never forgiven me for squaring up to him, and as much as I hate how he treated me, I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven myself. Time has festered the space between my dad and me, it hasn’t healed it.
Kayden, who hails from Buford, Georgia, offered to let me crash when I dropped him off an hour ago. We’d driven down from California together, he said I could stay until my head cleared, but I said no thanks. I want to see the old man get married, want to see him move on with his life. And, yeah, it’ll be nice to catch up with some of the guys I went to high school with.
I glance down at my washed-out Bruins t-shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. I’m not dressed for a froufrou beach dinner, and if I had any fucks to give, I would make myself more presentable.
Screw it.
This is who I am. This is what I am and if people don’t like it, then fuck them. No one’s expecting me because I didn’t RSVP, that way if I change my mind and drive away, no one will miss me. It’ll be yet another family celebration I’ve missed. If they’re not expecting me, I can’t disappoint them.
Not even Chelsea knows I’m coming. She’s been calling and leaving messages, but with everything that’s happened over the past few weeks, I haven’t had the chance to get back to her.
Instead of going straight to the rehearsal dinner, I drive to the beach, and after parking, I walk through the golden sand toward the surf.
The green water dances and sparkles in the sunlight. I fill my lungs with the warm, salty air and listen to the ebb and flow of the ocean. This is the one thing I miss about Calton.
It’s only mid-June, and we’re already in the eighties. Pretty soon, tourists will crowd the beach, college kids will go back home, and high schoolers will spend their days drinking beers, playing volleyball, and fucking behind the dunes.
A few weeks before my mom passed, we walked along the edge of the surf. She wanted to hear the ocean one more time. Feel the waves on her feet, dig her toes into the sand. I close my eyes and remember holding her papery hand, her skin ravaged by endless rounds of chemo, radiation, and drugs.
Not a day goes by when I don’t miss her. She was the peacekeeper, the one who kept us balanced. When she died, we all fell. I went off the rails, Chelsea withdrew, and Dad grew distant. He lost himself to work. Gave everything to his team and nothing to us. He controlled Chelsea and me to where I thought I’d suffocate if I didn’t get away.
I don’t expect him or anyone in this fucking town to understand that. I’m nothing more than the ungrateful kid who betrayed the town. I can just see their faces when I walk into the rehearsal dinner. The shock. The horror. The disgust. Too bad.
On my way back to the parking lot, in the distance, I spot the secluded area I brought Taylor to the night of graduation. Blood fills my cock at the memory, and I can almost hear her raspy moans on the breeze.
What’s she going to do when she sees me? I wouldn’t be surprised if she slaps me across the face or kicks me in the balls. Can’t say I wouldn’t deserve it, but I also can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.
This isn’t a weekend I want to ruin, so if my presence causes too many issues, I’ll leave. I’m not one-hundred percent sure why I came. Maybe I needed to be close to my mom. Maybe I needed to be somewhere I didn’t feel like a dirty cheat. Like I’d let down my team and my coach.
The simmering anger in my veins begins to boil. Why did Doctor Lane inject me full of steroids?
I have to find out if it was a mistake or if it was on purpose because the two seconds he took to jab my shoulder could very well ruin the rest of my life. But I haven’t been able to track him down. No one has--not Kayden, not the PI. It’s like he vanished off the face of the earth.
One thing I’m not is a cheat. I’m not the kind of person who takes shortcuts. I’m not the kind of person who takes the easy way out. I work hard, and I’m not afraid of a challenge. I don’t need a performance-enhancing drug.
My coach knows me well enough to know I would never knowingly do something as stupid as taking Norandrolone. But his hands are tied, and we have to follow the procedures set down by the NCAA.
I’ll fight this, I’ll win, and I’ll find the man who did this and make him pay.
With thoughts of revenge and thoughts of fucking Taylor in my head, I make my way back to my car.
Time to make some waves of my own.