talking. I don’t even think she’s blinked. Not that I can tell what she’s thinking. I never could. Now that I think of it, it’s probably not fair that she’s always had that upper hand on me.
“Unrepairable. They could get me back to the point where my knee could function and walk properly, but my range of motion fell below seventy percent. Imagine that, huh? Waking up from surgery to be told that you’ll never be able to run normally again. That the dream you’ve had since you were nine-years-old is over. That your future is done.”
I pound my fist into the wood of the bunk I’m sitting on. “Never a major injury. Not one. Sure I had pulls and the occasional broken finger, but nothing I couldn’t play through. And then BAM. One misstep and I lost my entire career.”
I bite down the bile and anger threatening to explode from within me.
“Why the drugs?” She won’t let this question go.
I sigh, feeling some sort of cursed relief at actually talking to someone about this. “At first it was the pain meds. My broken knee and ACL tear were pure agony. I popped Vicodin like it was candy. That went on for about six months before the doctors stopped prescribing them. So I turned to regular old weed for a month, but that wasn’t helping at all. An ex-teammate found a way for me to score cocaine. But that left me too hyped up and anxious. I wanted to feel depressed and numb. So, I had a dealer at the time who suggested heroin.”
I don’t tell her that the first time I decided to inject myself, my hands shook the entire time. That I was so far down the rabbit hole of depression that I couldn’t see the light anymore. That that first high felt better than anything had in my entire life.
Char is looking down at her hands, and I know for once she can’t think of the right thing to say.
“Do you know why I really did it? Because of him.”
Her head snaps up, and her chocolaty eyes lock onto mine. “Your father.”
I nod. “He didn’t speak to me for months after the injury. Blamed it on me. Told me, through mom of course, that I was a failure and he’d never thought I was a good enough player to make it anyway.”
I shake my head, lost in my own thoughts. “I worked like a racehorse for that man. I bled and fought. Nothing ever made him happy.”
I look up to see the beautiful woman across from me with pity in her eyes. That snaps me out of story time.
“You know what … never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
I leave before she can say anything else. I leave before I let someone in further than I already have.
* * *
I could ransom her .
The thought comes to my mind and cements itself there as I look out the window of my cabin, over in the direction of hers.
Her parents would pay for her safe return, wouldn’t they?
I see a flicker of movement from her cabin, and I know she must be pacing the same way I am. I could ransom her, ask for money and a clean getaway somehow and then leave her here, unharmed. The Morsey’s aren’t stupid people, if I said no cops, they probably wouldn’t get them involved.
I could ask for thousands of dollars. I know they have it. And Char would be free to go, leave me the car and I could get out of here, escape to Canada or Mexico or something.
But how would I do it? Even with a blocked number, they’d trace any call made right back to Camp Marsh. Mail would take too long and God, who communicated like that anymore? It’s not like we had cellphones anymore, and I couldn’t just go out and buy a pre-paid burner. There were surely people out looking for us now.
But it was a plan, at least. One that could get us both out of this situation.
I stomped over to her cabin.
“Your parents … would they pay a ransom?”
I didn’t mean to storm over here and blurt it all out, but my detoxing brain doesn’t let me have a say in the matter.
Char laughs. Like really laughs. Genuine, rolling belly laughs.
“Oh God, Tucker. Are you serious? There is no
“Unrepairable. They could get me back to the point where my knee could function and walk properly, but my range of motion fell below seventy percent. Imagine that, huh? Waking up from surgery to be told that you’ll never be able to run normally again. That the dream you’ve had since you were nine-years-old is over. That your future is done.”
I pound my fist into the wood of the bunk I’m sitting on. “Never a major injury. Not one. Sure I had pulls and the occasional broken finger, but nothing I couldn’t play through. And then BAM. One misstep and I lost my entire career.”
I bite down the bile and anger threatening to explode from within me.
“Why the drugs?” She won’t let this question go.
I sigh, feeling some sort of cursed relief at actually talking to someone about this. “At first it was the pain meds. My broken knee and ACL tear were pure agony. I popped Vicodin like it was candy. That went on for about six months before the doctors stopped prescribing them. So I turned to regular old weed for a month, but that wasn’t helping at all. An ex-teammate found a way for me to score cocaine. But that left me too hyped up and anxious. I wanted to feel depressed and numb. So, I had a dealer at the time who suggested heroin.”
I don’t tell her that the first time I decided to inject myself, my hands shook the entire time. That I was so far down the rabbit hole of depression that I couldn’t see the light anymore. That that first high felt better than anything had in my entire life.
Char is looking down at her hands, and I know for once she can’t think of the right thing to say.
“Do you know why I really did it? Because of him.”
Her head snaps up, and her chocolaty eyes lock onto mine. “Your father.”
I nod. “He didn’t speak to me for months after the injury. Blamed it on me. Told me, through mom of course, that I was a failure and he’d never thought I was a good enough player to make it anyway.”
I shake my head, lost in my own thoughts. “I worked like a racehorse for that man. I bled and fought. Nothing ever made him happy.”
I look up to see the beautiful woman across from me with pity in her eyes. That snaps me out of story time.
“You know what … never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
I leave before she can say anything else. I leave before I let someone in further than I already have.
* * *
I could ransom her .
The thought comes to my mind and cements itself there as I look out the window of my cabin, over in the direction of hers.
Her parents would pay for her safe return, wouldn’t they?
I see a flicker of movement from her cabin, and I know she must be pacing the same way I am. I could ransom her, ask for money and a clean getaway somehow and then leave her here, unharmed. The Morsey’s aren’t stupid people, if I said no cops, they probably wouldn’t get them involved.
I could ask for thousands of dollars. I know they have it. And Char would be free to go, leave me the car and I could get out of here, escape to Canada or Mexico or something.
But how would I do it? Even with a blocked number, they’d trace any call made right back to Camp Marsh. Mail would take too long and God, who communicated like that anymore? It’s not like we had cellphones anymore, and I couldn’t just go out and buy a pre-paid burner. There were surely people out looking for us now.
But it was a plan, at least. One that could get us both out of this situation.
I stomped over to her cabin.
“Your parents … would they pay a ransom?”
I didn’t mean to storm over here and blurt it all out, but my detoxing brain doesn’t let me have a say in the matter.
Char laughs. Like really laughs. Genuine, rolling belly laughs.
“Oh God, Tucker. Are you serious? There is no
Similar Books
