ONE
My knuckles stretch tight, ghostly pale against the dash lights as I grip the steering wheel and maneuver through traffic. Swerving just before sideswiping a minivan, I somehow manage to stay on the road and ignore the angry blares of horns. They don’t faze me in the slightest; the near misses on the highway clocking 110 plus on the speedometer don’t even register. There’s one thing on my mind, deep down in my soul, and I don’t give a fuck who gets in my way—be it a van full of brats, or Johnny down the street—I will plow them over if I have to.
A red haze clouds my vison as all-consuming rage fuels me on. Slowing down to exit, I breeze through a red light, ignoring the squeal of brakes and my own car’s bounce of protest at the tight turn. My phone rings, again, for what has to be the tenth time in as many minutes, but again, I ignore it and press the gas pedal to the floor. Street lights flash by, golden, blurry streaks in the sky, lighting the way, guiding me to my destination. Once more, I have to fight the unwelcome thoughts of Kizzie and her reaction to it all. Until this moment, I would never have considered her thoughts on the matter.
Fuck. No matter what happens, I can kiss goodbye any type of relationship with her. Funny how that thought makes my insides crack down the middle. Kizzie, with her sun-kissed hair and beauty mark the precise color of her sweet creamed coffee on the right side of her neck. And when she laughs? It makes my chest fizz like a freshly poured Coke.
We’ve spent the past year getting to know one another while keeping it secret from everyone else. Neither one of us would ever admit we were “dating.” But we are, we were. She will never pick sides, especially when I’m on one end and her brother is on the other. Not to mention, I am being labeled a two-bit thug now.
How stupid am I that I didn’t know this would happen?
For three years, three fucking years, I killed myself and gave my all for the university. My NBA stock finally reached top five, and then tonight happens. Or maybe it was planned all along? For all I know, Owen arranged this from the start. Either way, he opened his mouth to somebody, and now, I’m ruined. Nightmares came true, my death certificate was signed, and a tag attached to my big toe. I am dead. Any hopes I had just this morning have been crushed into dust, scattered in the wind by the one person I thought had my back, no matter what. My teammate, my best friend, my brother. Owen Thomas chose the cowards way out and fed me to the sharks so he can escape prosecution.
My life as an elite college athlete is over. My pursuit of making real money has come to an abrupt end, crashing down around me. Any deals I could have signed yesterday are now for naught. All of the sports world who have worshipped me and followed my every move, are now screaming for my head on a pike. And they can damn well have it, but only after I take Owen’s first. I am going to get my vengeance. Fuck him and his pretty little sister, I am doing Karma’s job tonight.
Slowing just enough to keep the car on all four wheels, I turn down the familiar street to the home I’ve been to dozens of times over the past couple of years—the two-story ranch house with its warm and loving family tucked safely inside. The parents who are still married, the beautiful daughter I had actually enjoyed being with, and even the perfect fucking Labrador Retriever. Perfect Christmas card material and Owen has it all. Me? I have money and basketball. Or I had them. To me, those two things are all that have really ever mattered. Now, they’re gone.
Just gone.
The tires skid to a stop just outside the home. I jerk the door handle free and climb out before the parking gear has a chance to fully engage. The small aluminum bat I keep in the back seat feels light as air in my hand as I cross the perfect manicured lawn and pound on the door, knowing Owen’s dad, aka Robert Thomas, aka the king of the domain, is currently oversees piloting a Boeing 767 to Amsterdam. I know this because he just told me last week as we shot the shit over beers on the back porch. Fuck me, what a joke. The damn dog barks, and I pound harder, stopping only long enough to press the doorbell several times before banging once more.
“I know you’re in there, you piece of shit! Open the fucking door, or I will bust it open!”
Just don’t be Kizzie. I can’t see her right now. I don’t trust what I would do to her.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The bat vibrates up my arm with every hit. A light comes on in the window where I know the sofa sits. Breathing hard, I wait two seconds before ringing the doorbell once more. Shuffling noises hit my ears, followed by locks disengaging, and finally, the door opens. Sandra peaks through a two-inch gap she’s allowed, eyes wide with terror. Their mom, usually so sweet and kind, is terrified…of me, the guy who helped with dishes, the one who helped her cheat in Monopoly and sat with her watching those horrid chick flicks. But now, she’s looking at me with a mixture of disgust and regret. Good, she should be regretful because right now, I want to strangle the life out of her first born.
“C-C-Colt, what is it?” she stutters, placing a hand protectively on her chest.
“Where is he?” I snarl.
“He’s not here. You need to leave this house. I’ve already called the police.”
Growling in frustration, I lean to push the door open and knock her down if I have to.
“Colt!” I freeze, hand on the door ready to thrust it wide when I hear Owen shout from the garage. Not giving Sandra another glance, I turn slowly and instantly see red as I look at my best friend, my greatest enemy. His hair stands on end, as if he’d been pulling at it all day. The shorts he wears hang from his hips, two sizes too big. He isn’t wearing a shirt or shoes. Cold, dark eyes never leave mine as we take measure of each other. “Shut the door and don’t open it again, Mom, not until the police are here.”
Owen motions at the door, and the soft click of the lock sliding in place sounds a second later. My feet pound across the walkway as I close the distance between us. I near, but Owen doesn’t back away.
“I didn’t have a choice, Colt. I know you’re angry, but—”
I barrel towards him and swing the bat full force across his knee cap, gritting my teeth bracingly as the bone shatters. Owen gives a howl of agony and falls to the ground, curling protectively over his injured limb. My mind is clear enough to know I want him to feel real pain, not death just yet. I want to ruin him completely. Swinging as hard as my arms will allow, I attack the thigh area, hoping like hell I break the hip next.
“Colt! Stop!” Kizzie screams and grabs at my arm. “You’re going to kill him, Stop! Please!”
Barely registering her touch, I kick at the heap of shit moaning in agony. Kizzie doubles her efforts and begins punching my arms, my head and back. Nails claw at my face, and a searing pain lances through my eye as she gouges. This does make me stop, and I turn my attention on her. With little effort, I push her back, making her stumble and fall, landing hard on her ass.
“Do you realize what he has done?” My breath wheezes out of my chest as I scream at Kizzie, then Owen on the ground in turn. The sight of his coughing, his gasps of air, brings me pause and something inside my chest breaks in half. The shock and pain of it takes my breath away. “You have taken everything from me. You were my brother!”
I deliver a brutal kick, then I stagger back as Kizzie crawls over Owen, shielding his body with her own.
“Just stop!” she raises one hand. It freezes me in place while the other remains on her brother. “Just leave, Colt. Get out of here,” she begs, tears pouring, mascara running black streaks down her beautiful face.
All I can do is stare at her, memorizing every detail, ever flaw that’s not really a flaw at all. My shoulders slump as the adrenaline dissipates from my body, leaving me raw and empty. My head suddenly feels too heavy for my neck and the taste of blood fills my mouth. Mine or Owen’s? I can’t tell, but it sickens me. Images flash through my mind in quick, brutal succession.
Kizzie on her back, neck exposed for me to kiss, my body as close to hers as possible. I can’t ever seem to get close enough to her.
Kizzie laughing at my stupid jokes.
Kizzie cheering me on.
Kizzie and her warm, soft kisses that calm me instantly, and her hair, the way it falls loose around her ears no matter how tight she makes the ponytail.
All the memories that are good are with her. As I stare at eyes swimming with anger and disgust, I realize with a new pang of misery, I’m not as pissed off at Owen as much as I am ashamed that I’ve been exposed to her.
“Kizzie…” I stumble from the sudden loss of strength in my legs.
“Colt, leave! Never come here. I never want to lay eyes on you again. I wish I’d never met you. If I could, I would kill you myself and rid the world of your sickness.” Kizzie bares her teeth as she stares up at me, holding on to Owen with all her strength as he writhes in agony. “Leave! Go away, Colt!”
My feet falter as I take a step back.
“Kizzie, I—” But words aren’t forming; my mouth moves, yet, I have nothing. Just as I begin to turn, I give one last attempt at speech in effort to make her understand. “Owen has cost me everything.”
Hair spills from her shoulders as she shakes her head in disbelief.
“No Colt, your love of money did that. You did that all on your own.” The hard steel of her eyes cuts through me, far more than her words ever can. In the depths, I see disgust, accusations, judgement, and condemnation. “I hope it was all worth it.”
Sirens in the distance pull me from Kizzie’s cold, accusing stare but only for an instant. After a moment more of just looking at her, the golden strands of her hair, the dark amber of her eyes, the pout of her lower lip as it quivers with anger and hate for me, I turn away from her, them, forever. Absently, I fumble the car door open and fall behind the wheel, slumping with the weight of the day.
All I have ever been, all that I am is just…gone. I feel empty, void of a soul as I back out of the drive and peel out of the neighborhood. Blue lights and sirens sound in the distance but quickly catch up with me only miles down the highway. I can just see the headline now: One of NCAA’s brightest basketball stars has been living a double life. Gambling, prostitutes, and being paid to play has brought down a college legacy.
My coaches will be fired, the championship will be vacated, and my teammates will be guilty by association. But the real shit? It’s the money. Money I have saved and nearly killed myself to get has been wiped out, seized along with my identity. All hope of more, and more, and even more still has been blotted out of my future. There’s nothing left; it’s all vanished in the blink of an eye. I might as well put a bullet in my brain, or better yet, take a flying leap off the fucking bridge. There’s no point in continuing this shit storm of a life. I can simply speed up and over, and it will truly be finished.
The tire rubs loudly on the sleeper line as I let the car drift, a warning I’ve crossed the bridge’s double yellow line. My vison dims as headlights flash by. Horns blare, but I ignore them and just let my car sway back and forth while the police pursue me in the rearview. A semi-truck misses me by inches but the next vehicle does not. Before I can clear the barrier and slip off the side of the bridge, our cars meet in the center, folding, crumpling, crushing metal and glass. The sound echoes through my ears, my eyes shut involuntarily, and my body becomes weightless.
Almost in slow motion, my limbs shift through air, penetrating the windshield until my head lands on the pavement and a resounding thud resonates in my ears. All sound vanishes except for a loud roar like a train grinding on tracks, but the smell is an unmistakable stench of burning motor oil and gas fumes. My lungs struggle to fill, and there’s something warm in my nose and throat. My hands feel numb, and I have to struggle to raise my arms to see if they’re still attached to my body.
But they’re there, red running thick along the crease lines of my palms, darker than I expected blood to ever look, but otherwise intact. Then, as my head begins to clear, I remember I will never hold a basketball again. My hands don’t matter anymore; they have earned their last dollar, and that too, is no more.
Letting my body relax onto the asphalt, I stare longingly up at the night sky, wishing for death just so I won’t have to face what’s happened. Dying is preferable to waking up tomorrow and finding that all I have worked for my entire life is gone. My accounts seized, my future burned to ashes. With open arms, I beckon death to take me on.