I was at the track or running more than I was home.
When people saw me outside of work, I was running.
When I wasn’t running, I was sleeping.
That was my life.
Rinse and repeat.
So someone would tell me that my sister was also getting trained for the Olympics.
If not because they liked me, because they knew it would piss me off.
There were two sides of Souls Chapel, Texas.
One that sided with me and hated my dad for what he did to me on a daily basis.
Then the other side that stood with my father, boycotted my store, and genuinely tried to stay the hell away from me because I’d ‘done my dad wrong’ when it came to the oil thing.
Which was funny because I hadn’t had any choice in that.
I’d been a damn young kid.
How was I supposed to say ‘no, that’s not fair’ when my parents, the people that were supposed to love me no matter what, treated me like dog shit?
“Thanks for telling me, Danny,” I said softly. “I’ll see you for the rehearsal dinner next weekend?”
Danny nodded. “Get back out there, kid.”
Danny was a firm believer that I could still make the Olympics.
I could, too.
At least, that was what everyone told me, even my old coaches from high school.
The average age for a marathon runner right now in the United States was twenty-eight.
That meant that I would easily be able to fit right in.
But… my mind said one thing and common sense said another.
One day, I might be able to find the courage.
But today wasn’t that day.
When Six and I finally made our way to my car, she waited until Danny was closed behind the door of his house to say, “Why doesn’t he hate your dad for what he’s done to you? I mean, he pretty much knows that his father is a douche to you. Knows that he treats you like a redheaded stepchild. Which is even weirder because you’re the middle kid. Nor is it because you’re a girl. I mean, he loves Rockett and Nora.”
I’d been asking myself that same question for years, and I still didn’t have an answer.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I can’t say that I blame him. If my father was being mean to Danny and not me, I would still want my father to be in my life.”
“No” —Six gave me a disgusted look— “you wouldn’t.”
She was likely right.
I probably wouldn’t.
“Then, I don’t know,” I told her. “I really don’t know.”
CHAPTER 5
Think twice before you speak. You may be able to come up with something more insulting.
-Text from Crockett to Zach
CROCKETT
The phone rang twice before it was picked up, and I knew in the moment that it took whoever it was on the other end of the line fifteen seconds to say ‘hello’ that it was my stepmother.
“Hello?” She sounded pissed off that she’d actually had to answer her own phone.
Which was laughable because it was her cell phone, not her landline. If she wanted someone to answer it for her, she’d have to actually give it to them to answer.
Which she wasn’t willing to do.
“Hey, Melody. Is Dad there?” I asked, hoping for a good day when she wouldn’t give me a hard time for wanting to speak to my father.
Apparently, this wasn’t the day.
I watched as smoke billowed from my car, and I knew for a fact that there would be no patching up the beast this time.
“He’s at your sister’s track meet,” my stepmother replied.
I blinked slowly in surprise. “He’s what?”
“He’s at her track meet,” she repeated. “Why?”
Like I needed a reason to call my father.
Speaking of… why the hell didn’t he have his phone on?
I had a huge lump in my throat, and I was not very happy.
Why was I not happy?
Because I’d run track in high school.
Do you want to know how many track meets my father came to of mine?
Zero.
Because he couldn’t be bothered leaving work long enough to make it to one.
Granted, they were a little far away, but they hadn’t been for the first year of high school.
And still, he hadn’t come.
I’d been a near Olympic medalist in high school.
In fact, I’d gone as far as to try out for the Olympic team.
I’d made it, too.
Except, when I realized even that hadn’t impressed my father, I’d quit.
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have quit.
I should’ve stayed exactly where I was, kicked ass at running in the Olympics, and then had something to tell my kids about.
But instead, I’d let my dad’s attitude affect me and had quit because I’d been hurt.
Very hurt.
“So that brings me around…” My stepmother had been talking throughout my entire contemplation of how shitty of a father my father was to me. “Are you bringing a date to the wedding?”
No, I wasn’t bringing a date to the damn wedding, and she damn well knew it. I’d told her on countless occasions that I didn’t have one to bring, yet each time she asked, she acted like my answer of ‘no’ was a surprising answer.