Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
I beam at him, feeling so proud. “Thank you, sir,” I say, though I’m not sure why I’m thanking him. Ellis is the one who wrote these plays, but he called me son, and I haven’t been called that by a man I respect since my father.
“You were born to play football. I can’t wait to see everything you accomplish.” He gives my shoulder another squeeze, then pats Ellis on the back, Ellis’s smile at his father rivaling mine.
I sit back in my chair, feeling like I’m floating, and when my gaze catches Lucas’s, he’s watching us—one beat, two, three, before he looks away.
“Hunter?” Coach Blake says, the voice clearer than the one in my memory, making me realize I’d lost myself for a moment.
“Sorry. I spilled my smoothie and got distracted,” I lie. “I’m good.” Another lie.
“Are you focusing on football?” he asks, like I’m a child, like I don’t play for a pro team.
“Always.” Lie number three. I wonder how many I can tell him in one conversation.
“Really? Because there were photos of you out partying.”
There’s a voice in my head telling me I shouldn’t allow him to talk to me like this. That I’m a grown-ass person, and though he’s done a lot for me, he’s not my father. But he feels like he is, and I don’t ever want to let him down, don’t ever want him to know all the ways I’ve truly let him down, how I fucked everything up. Even now I’m fucking up—the women, the partying, all things Ellis would hate. More reasons for him to hate me now, and he’d be right about all of them.
“My head is in the game. The last few years have been…difficult, but I know the gift I’ve been given, and I won’t let it go to waste.”
“I only mention it because I care. You’re a son to me, Hunter, and you always will be. The only one I have to follow in my footsteps.”
His words feel like a shot to the heart, like the bullet is bouncing around in there, ripping it all apart. “I know. Thank you.” When I couldn’t afford football camps as a kid, he stepped in. When I needed anything, he was always there. I have a shitty way of showing my appreciation.
So when he continues to lecture, I listen. It’s the least I can do, and when he’s done, even though I’m fucking exhausted, I go for a run, pushing myself as hard as I can.
For him.
For Ellis.
CHAPTER TWO
Lucas
“That was really good,” Eddie—at least I think that’s his name—says as he flops down on the bed beside me.
We started talking on a hookup app earlier in the day, and I told him I was down to host. He came over, and we fucked each other’s brains out. I pull off the condom, tossing it into the trash can, my muscles feeling dead after the ride I gave him.
“You just moved here?” he asks as I grab a cigarette from my nightstand, light it, and pull smoke into my lungs.
“About two months ago. From New York.” I left Kansas City for New York the second I graduated from high school. There was nothing there for me, never had been. The only thing I miss is my mom, though I probably don’t tell her that often enough. There would be no point in missing my father because he doesn’t give a shit about me. The second I didn’t want football, I was dead to him, and he’s only been hating me more since we lost my brother.
“I bet WeHo is a whole lot different. I’ve never been to New York City.”
“You should go. Everyone should go at least once.” I pull another drag of smoke in. “Want some?” I sit up higher against the headboard, offering it to Eddie.
“No, thanks. So what brought you here?”
I’ve spent a lot of time in LA, have friends and contacts here. My best friend, Isla, lives in West Hollywood—we met in college, and then she moved here. But I don’t offer Eddie all that information, instead leaving it vague. “I was looking for a change.” Which is true. I’m always looking for a change. Outside of photography and art, I haven’t found anything that grabs me, but I’m forever looking—sex, drugs, trouble—whatever I can find to make me feel good, even if nothing ever really does. This, hopefully, will be different, though I don’t know why I think I’ll find it here, in the place where I lost my brother. Ellis and I had a complicated relationship—how could we not—but I loved him. I should try and be more like him.
“What do you do?” Eddie asks.
“I’m a photographer. I just opened my own art gallery.”
“No shit? Aren’t you a little young to be so settled? And to have…” He motions around the apartment. “All this?”