Prologue
~Hammer~
The clouds float above as the sun shines brightly on an already awesome day. Today, I made the cut. At fourteen years old, I’m the only freshman to make the varsity football team. Tossing the ball in the backyard with my dad as the light shines down on us both only adds to the euphoria of the day. It is a good day, and I’m glad my dad is here to share it with me since he is gone so often.
“Ethan, son, there may come a time when I won’t be here.”
He begins the same speech we have had multiple times over the years. It takes everything I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I try to take him seriously, but come on. He’s my dad; he isn’t going anywhere.
When I was little, I told him that he was stronger than a superhero when he wears his camouflage uniform. In a way, I still think he’s indestructible. He would not have come this far in his military career if he didn’t know what he was doing.
He continues on, unaware of the fact that I started to tune him out. The same sentence I have heard time and time again plays on from him.
“If something happens to me, you’ll have to be the man of the house. Always be there for your mom and take care of your brother.”
These are so not the things I want to think about. Wanting my dad’s approval, though, I immediately give him my word.
“You can count on me, sir.” My reply is full of pride and laced in the naivety of a teen boy without a single care in the world.
For a second, though, I pause before throwing the football back to him. The look on his face is worried in the way parents get when they think you aren’t doing chores or homework.
“Just remember, son, actions speak louder than words.”
Man, my dad is a freaking worry wart. I know his concern comes from a place of love. He’s just trying to make sure my mom, brother, and I will be all right if something ever happens to him.
Spreading an easy grin across my face, I launch the ball back at my father. “No worries, old man. I’ve learned from the best.”
Half his mouth tilts up in a grin, and I know he got my message. He’s the one who has taught me everything there is to being a man, and as far as I’m concerned, my dad is the best man I will ever know.
Of course, nothing will actually happen to my dad until he is old and gray, so this conversation isn’t really necessary. Regardless, if it makes him feel better for me to agree to step in, fine, I will go along with it.
Of course, I know the only thing I really need to worry about happening is if my dad will be able to help me find a comfortable jock strap. No guy wants to feel like his nuts are being strangled when he is in the middle of a game.
~Three Years Later~
Senioritis is a real condition; just ask me. I certainly suffer from it. After barely passing last semester, I’m counting down the four months left until graduation. I spend half of my school day staring out the windows, thinking about what I am going to do when I am finally free of this school. To be honest, I spend the other half of the day watching the cheerleaders in their short, little skirts.
The intercom crackles in biology class, disrupting the discussion of herbivores, carnivores, and omnivores. Thank God for the distraction. Like any of us really care what animals eat. The only things I want to think about eating right now are lunch and Kelly, the head cheerleader.
“Mrs. Foster, please send Ethan McCoy to the office.”
Surprised at hearing my name, I gather my things as my mind goes over why I would be called to the office. The guys and I have not pulled a prank since we got caught plastic wrapping the toilets in the teachers’ lounge. Having detention for a month would make anyone wary of pulling anymore high jinks at school.
When I make my way through the office door, Ms. Sam, the school secretary, greets me with a somber tone and a sad face. That chick is always happy. As a result, I wonder what is wrong with her today.
She nods her head for me to walk into the principal’s office, and a slow sense of dread starts to build in my stomach. I have never felt like this before, so I don’t know what to make of it. This feeling is worse than the time I walked through that cemetery at night. Even worse than the time I watched my little brother crash into the curb with his bike, flip over the front of his handlebars, and give himself a concussion and a broken arm. Something tells me whatever is happening on the other side of the closed door is really bad.