Love, Ally by Hannah Gray

thirty

Cole

It’s hard to get amped up for today’s game when all I can think about is what Ally told me yesterday. I’m here physically, but that’s it. Mentally, I don’t know where the fuck I am.

Not only was Ally hurt badly, but she was also forced to go away, to be on her own.

And then there’s the other side of it. The side where Matt and Jenn are possibly crooked people. I always told myself they were using me, but a bigger part of me felt like they actually thought of me as family.

I remember the day my dad died. I mean it when I say that I didn’t really care. For some reason, the chance of losing Matt and Jenn feels worse.

The day my father died is as clear as day in my brain. The worst part of it wasn’t when he died; it was the events leading up to it that occurred earlier that day.

“Son, if you’re going to play on this team, you need appropriate gear.”

The other kids snickered and laughed as their eyes took in the sneakers I was wearing, which were worn with holes, and sweatpants that were too small and tattered at the bottom.

As I stared at the other boys in their new cleats and gear, I knew I didn’t belong. I would though. One day. I’d make damn sure that one day, all of these assholes knew my name. Heck, maybe their kids would have posters of me on their walls.

“I’ll get some,” I told Coach White. Knowing I had no money to buy anything. And even if I did, how would I get to a store to do it? Still, I lied to get the conversation over with.

I was past embarrassment. I’d lived this life too long to care. But listening to someone who had no idea what it was like at my house, with my dad, was annoying.

All I wanted to do was play football. Who cared if I didn’t have cleats or name-brand clothing? It didn’t take away from my talent. Not to sound cocky, but I was more talented than all these jerks combined.

“Go back to the trailer park, where you belong, trash,” a kid sneered once the coach was gone.

“Yeah,” another kid named Luke said, poking me in the chest. “Go back to the crack shack you were raised in.”

I ignored them. I was used to it by now. And I did live in a crack shack, so I guessed he was right.

“He’s so dumb that even his own mom didn’t want him.” The meanest kid of them all, Andrew, chuckled. Watching me, waiting for me to react.

I snapped, “What did you say to me?” I shoved him backward. “I’ll kill you, motherfucker. I’ll fucking kill you,” I yelled and punched him in his nose. Causing the coaches to run over.

I could take a lot. Being called the poor kid, being told my dad was a junkie, being called dirty—it didn’t matter. But for some reason, when they talked about my mom leaving, I lost it. Though I had no idea why.

Coach White grabbed my arm and hauled me to his truck. “I’m taking your ass home. Now,” he growled.

I didn’t say anything, just followed him to a white truck.

“Where do you live?” his angry voice asked.

My cheeks reddened. He was going to see where I lived. Worse than that, Daddy would find out I got into trouble, and he wouldn’t be happy that someone had to bring me home. He never liked anyone interrupting him when he was home.

“Coach White, can I walk? Please,” I begged him.

Pulling his hat down further on his head, he eyed me over. I was hopeful he’d let me go.

“No.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble to you. I’ll walk.”

“Boy, sit your ass in this truck. I need to know where you live. I’d like to talk to your folks about getting you some cleats and practice gear.”

He had no idea what he was talking about. He had his nice truck. He had a cool hat and expensive sunglasses. Heck, he had probably even eaten dinner last night. Maybe even dessert after. Lucky bastard.

Sitting back in the seat as we drove, I gave him the address. “Please don’t ask my daddy that. Please. I’ll … I’ll get some new shoes. I’ll figure it out. Just please don’t ask him to buy me anything.”

His head whipped toward me, his brow furrowing. “Does he hurt you, Cole?” When I didn’t answer, he asked again, “Cole, does he hurt you? You can talk to me about it. You can trust me.”

I sighed. “Are you going to tell my daddy that I punched Andrew?”

“Why? Are you hoping I won’t?”

I nodded my head, watching the trees as we passed them. His truck was nice. I liked trucks. One day, I knew I’d have one. One day when I made it to the NFL.

“All right,” he muttered. “All right.”

At least I knew he wouldn’t tell my dad—that was one good thing. But I knew my dad still wouldn’t be happy when a stranger pulled into his yard. He was going to beat me. I knew it. I thought of the scar on the bottom of my back, and I felt an ache in it even though it didn’t actually hurt. Not anymore anyway.

Nobody at school wore clothes that were dirty or too small, like the ones I did. Nobody else had a hard time paying attention at school because they were so hungry. The teachers thought I just didn’t care, but I did. I really did care what they were saying. I wanted to go to college one day. I just couldn’t stop thinking about food, and it made it so hard to pay attention to what they were teaching me.

“You can drop me off in front of the road to the trailer park. I can walk up.”

He didn’t answer. He just rested his hand on the steering wheel and kept driving until he pulled right into my road. That gnawing pain in my belly grew, and I couldn’t tell if it was because I was hungry or because I was scared of my dad. I was guessing it was both.

I knew my dad was going to be so mad. Last time he got really mad, I almost died. I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to play football.

“Please, Coach White. Please don’t drive up to my house,” I begged him. “I really don’t want you to.”

“Cole”—he blew out a breath—“something isn’t right with your home life. I know it’s not. I’ve watched you this season, and I know that you need help.”

I suddenly wished I had told him a different trailer number back when he asked for my address. I could have told him the one no one lived in, the abandoned one at the end of the park that I sometimes hid in. At least then I could have just said Daddy wasn’t home.

“Coach, I know you’re trying to help, but … but you’ll make him mad. Really mad.”

Slowing the truck as we got to trailer number eighteen, he sighed. “And then he would hurt you?”

“No,” I lied.

“Son, I’ve seen the bruises on your body. I’ve watched you as you look for food the other kids leave behind. I want to help you. This isn’t how your childhood is supposed to be. You might not know that yet, but it isn’t.”

My head hung down. I could have jumped out and run, but I knew he’d likely still talk to my dad, and it would be the same result. Me getting my ass beat. Or worse, he could decide to make me a human dartboard again.

I climbed out of the truck and heard Coach White’s footsteps following close behind me. I couldn’t take him inside my trailer. That would be so embarrassing. With the old food, clothes, needles, and cigarettes everywhere, what would he think?

I knocked on the door. “Dad?”

I was greeted by silence.

Normally, I would go right inside. But if Daddy was in the middle of putting that stuff in his arm, I didn’t want Coach White to see him.

Leaning over the side of the rail, I peeked in through the window.

I saw him. He was lying on the couch, asleep.

“He’s asleep,” I told Coach White. “We’d better leave him be. He’ll be mad if we wake him.”

Coach knocked again loudly before leaning over and looking in the window himself.

He looked in at my dad for a few moments before finally, his head pulled back, and he frowned. “Go sit in my truck, Cole.”

“But I thought—”

“Go on.” He patted my back. “Go on, son. I’ll be right over, and we can go for burgers while your daddy naps.”

A burger did sound really good. All I’d had that day was a cold cheese sandwich with a carton of milk for lunch. Cold lunch was for kids whose parents were so far behind on paying their lunch bill that they got the cheapest thing the kitchen could make. I wasn’t complaining though; food was food.

I walked back to his truck and climbed in. My heart lurched into my throat when I saw him push the door open and go inside. My dad didn’t take to strangers well. This wasn’t going to end well for Coach … or me.

A few minutes later, he came out and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He paced as he talked on the phone to whoever it was. I just hoped to hell he didn’t wake up my dad. I knew Coach wanted to help, but he didn’t know how mad my dad got sometimes.

Once he hung up the phone, he walked back over to the truck and opened the door.

“Cole?” His voice sounded nervous as he ran his hand on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, Coach?”

“Your daddy … he’s, uh … he isn’t well. I called the ambulance. All right?”

“Because of the drugs? The ones he puts in his veins withneedles?” I asked, not surprised. He was always passing out after he did that stuff.

I didn’t know who would want to put something that made them feel so awful inside their own body. I often wondered what he would be like if he didn’t use that stuff. I wondered if maybe, just maybe, he would like me more.

“Yeah.” He looked at me and took his sunglasses off. “I think … I think this time, he might have overdone it, son.” Reaching over, he rubbed my shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“He’ll wake up,” I told him. “He always does.” Glancing out the window, I watched the trees sway in the wind.

“I don’t know if he will,” he said. “Is … is there anyone I can call?”

“It’s just him. I don’t have anybody else.” My stomach growled, reminding me the sandwich was long gone. But I was used to this. Normally, I wouldn’t even eat until the next day at school. Unless one of the neighbors saw me passing by and offered something. I loved it when that happened.

A few minutes later, an ambulance screeched in. Followed by a cop car. Causing everyone to pop their nosy heads out of their trailers. I’d had to call an ambulance for Daddy before. They had given him medicine, and he had come back to life. They’d do the same thing. And by the next day, he’d be back to himself. His mean, angry self.

I started to open the door. It was clear we weren’t going to get burgers.

“Stay in here, buddy,” Coach’s voice told me. “Just stay in here. I’m going to go check with the paramedics. I need you to stay here, okay?”

I nodded. Maybe he wanted to take me to dinner after all.

I watched him walk up to the officer standing on the stairs. Pulling his hat off, he clutched it in his hand before shaking his head. He glanced at me in the truck before walking over.

Getting back in the truck, he closed his eyes briefly. “Cole, your dad … he’s … I’m sorry to tell you this, son, but he’s gone.”

“Gone,” I mimicked.

I’d hoped for that man to be gone for a long, long time. I doubted today was the day it finally happened. He’d go on to live another day and hurt more people.

“He … died. I’m sorry.” He reached over and clutched my shoulder, causing me to jump. Noticing my reaction, he pulled his hand back slowly. “Do you want to stay? Or go and say your good-byes or …”

“No,” I said before turning my attention back to the window. “I don’t want to go back in there.”

A big part of me still thought he was probably going to be saved, and then I’d be stuck, living with him. Back in that hell. I despised that old, dirty trailer so much. Even though I was just a kid, a kid who shouldn’t think these types of thoughts, I wished I could light it on fire and watch it burn. Some days, I even wished for this to happen with him inside of it.

I knew that was awful to say. He was my dad. But he made me feel so worthless. He hated me so much, and I didn’t even know what I had done wrong. I did okay in school. I got mostly Bs. I passed my tests. They said I was talented at football. I didn’t know what I had done that made him hate me so much.

I still prayed each day for my angel. My hope was wearing thin—and fast. But I knew my angel was out there somewhere, waiting for me.

“Are you sure he’s dead?” I asked him one last time.

His jaw was tense as he nodded his head once. “Yes, he is. I’m sorry.”

The thing is, I didn’t feel sadness. I wasn’t angry or upset. I wasn’t in shock either, and I didn’t cry. Not even a little.

The day my father died, I felt a different type of feeling. I felt … relieved. And I understand how completely messed up that really is.