Real Players Never Lose by Micalea Smeltzer

1

Teddy

Winter break was a fuckingfiasco of epic proportions.

I don’t know why my dad thought a ski trip to Vale would make things better. I would’ve rather spent my break cooped up in the mega mansion like a prisoner than forced to pretend that we’re one big happy family on vacation as we smiled and waved at cameras.

I couldn’t even enjoy skiing like I normally would’ve.

But the McCallister family is nothing if not all about the appearances.

Gag me.

I open the door to my shared dorm with my friend Jude. He’s a junior and I’m a senior, but I pulled strings sophomore year so that we’d be roomed together. It helps when Daddy Dearest is a huge donor to the school you’re attending.

It’s a few days before the new semester starts. It took some convincing to get back early, but my mom was on my side. If it wasn’t for her, I think I might’ve strangled my dad a long time ago. He’s a controlling son of a bitch. He doesn’t care about me or even her. The only thing that man loves is money and now he’s using it to keep me in line.

If I don’t do what he wants, he’ll keep my inheritance from me.

My grandpa set it up so that I would receive it upon my college graduation. I think the old man was afraid I’d skip out on school if he didn’t add that stipulation, and he was probably right.

But with my dad holding the reins now, it means I have to listen to him.

And sure, I’ve fucked around a lot—I’m a twenty-one-year-old red-blooded male. Of course, I like having sex and drinking in excess and partying until the sun comes up. It’s college. Who doesn’t do that shit?

But I got shit-faced over the summer and accidentally stole a yacht—I thought it was my family’s—and after trashing the inside with a party I accidentally crashed it. My dad had enough after that and laid down the law.

My senior year is fucked because of his iron fist. Thank God I only have a few months left and then I’m done with this place, I get my inheritance, and I can bounce.

I have no idea what he’ll do when he doesn’t have his precious one and only child to continue on the family business and connections.

Jude’s not back yet, so I have the place to myself which is an appreciated change. It was nice living with him before, when we could both enjoy women and booze, but watching him while I can’t is a total annoyance. Sometimes I find myself questioning if I was really that bad.

Yes, yes I was.

Actually, I was worse, but that’s a story for another day.

Jude and I have a shared space between our bedrooms that’s big enough for a couch, TV, gaming system, and tiny kitchen. We’re stuck sharing a bathroom too, which was weird for me at first when I came to college since I grew up in a house with seventeen bathrooms.

Yeah, seventeen.

I’ve never even taken a shit in all seventeen. Why anyone needs that many bathrooms is beyond me.

And at prep school we all had our own private quarters.

I set my suitcase on top of my unmade bed.

At the estate I grew up in, there would’ve been someone making sure my sheets were clean, bed was made, and whisking my suitcase away to unpack.

I won’t lie, it was strange when I first came to school and realized I had to do shit myself. Even at the fancy prep school I attended there was always someone picking up after me.

But now I like doing shit myself. Well, like is a strong word, but I guess I appreciate not being coddled twenty-four-seven. I’m not complaining. I know I’m privileged as fuck, but all I’m saying is it’s not always what it’s cracked up to be.

Having money doesn’t mean things are constant rainbows and sunshine.

Sometimes it means you’re merely a pawn and even a punching bag when need be. And you can never say a word or they’ll end you.

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down. I don’t want to obsess over this. I’m typically a happy go lucky guy. I refuse to let things get to me. Especially anything involving my father.

I dump everything out of my suitcase, freshly cleaned by the maid at the penthouse we stayed in. I shove everything into drawers, not bothering to refold it, because what fucking difference does it make if it’s folded or not when I pull it out to wear it?

With everything put away in less than five minutes, I stand in the middle of my room with my hands on my hips. It’s quiet in here. Too quiet.

I turn on my Bose speaker and the annoying voice tells me it’s now connected. I turn on my Get Pumped playlist and drop to the floor, banging out a set of sit ups, then push-ups, then burpees. Anything to keep my body moving.

I don’t like idle time and I don’t like silence.

Both of which I currently have in spades.

I work out until I’m covered in a light sweat, then hop in the shower. By the time I get out, towel wrapped around my waist, Jude’s arrived.

I’m both glad for the company and irritated, because I know this place will be crawling with people soon. Jude wasn’t always such a manwhore, but after his longtime girlfriend left him for another football player, he kind of lost his shit.

“’Sup, man!” He greets me with a wide grin. “How were the slopes?”

“Great.” I scrub a towel over my scalp.

“That’s all I get?” He scratches his jaw.

“Uh … fantastic?”

He shakes his head. “You seem out of it, dude. You know what’ll fix that?” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “Beer and chicks.”

“What do you have in mind?” I hope he doesn’t pick up on the edge in my voice.

“Harvey’s, what else?”

“Sure, why not.” Harvey’s is our usual haunt, and I could go for a beer or five. It won’t be the typical crowd since most of my friends aren’t back yet, but what does it matter? Besides, it’ll keep people from hanging in our room and I can get out for a while. Even if I have to keep my hands to myself. Such a fucking tragedy. “When do you want to go?”

“Nine?”

“Perfect.”

* * *

Harvey’s is normally packedfrom wall to wall, where even standing room is filled up. The bar is the go-to for most people on campus. But with students not required to be back until Sunday, people are using that time to their advantage.

Despite the small crowd and lack of most of our friends, Jude and I still take our usual U-shaped mega-booth in the back near the dancefloor.

It isn’t long until guys and girls crowd the table and Jude pulls one of the girls, a busty blonde, onto his lap. A raven-haired beauty is talking up a storm to me, but I’m mostly ignoring her. She’s fucking gorgeous—long hair, pert tits, and big lips I’d like to see wrapped around my cock—but I can’t go there. One of my father’s stipulations is no one-night-stands and since that’s all I ever do I’ve had to give up sex entirely. It’s been over six months and at this point I’m mostly numb to my baser desires, but when a chick is giving me the fuck me eyes it’s tough.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Uh…” I blink at the dark-haired beauty. “No.” I don’t even bother to lie.

Her brown eyes turn to slits. “Do you even remember my name?”

Again, “No.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fiona was right, you really are an asshole.” My cheek stings when she slaps it, sliding out of the booth and off to look for another victim. I don’t even remember a girl named Fiona either, so I guess I really am an asshole.

I lived the first three years at Aldridge in a haze of booze, women, and marijuana. I’m not into the harder shit. But this year, I’ve had to stay alert … well, mostly. I’ve had a few slips, but my friends reined me back in, knowing how important it is that I don’t fuck up. Honestly, it fucking sucks seeing things through clear eyes. A lot of the glamour and appeal of college has faded, but I only have a few months left, and at least these will be filled with baseball, then I graduate, get my inheritance, and I can bounce.

I’ve spent my whole life being groomed to take over the family business—to schmooze the rich and famous, rub elbows with politicians, and dazzle royals. I never minded the idea of it, I’d been raised in this world, but I realize now I don’t want to be like my dad. Cold and cruel, not caring who I hurt on the way to the top, even if it’s my own child.

The McCallister family comes from old money. I can trace my family tree back for generations.

And when my friends ask what exactly my family does, I always either ignore them or find a way to change the subject. How do I explain that my family descended from a prominent Scottish royal, that there’s a castle there still named after us, and that the wealth continues to grow from multiple businesses we own, to real estate, and even oil? The McCallister family has sought wealth like some people hunt Pokémon. Only one has led to a slippery moral compass.

I finish off my beer and lean over to Jude. Two girls are draped over him, clinging like long-limbed octopuses that don’t dare let him loose from their grip lest he get picked up by other predators.

“Dude, you need a refill or anything? I gotta take a leak.”

“Another.” He mouths, pointing at his empty glass.

Sliding out of the booth, I go to the bathroom, hiding inside longer than necessary. For once, I’m not enjoying myself. It’s not even because I’m trying to be on my best behavior, I’m just in a shit mood from being with my parents for weeks.

The whole thing was a fucking joke.

The only blessing is, by the time I got to be a sophomore in high school, my dad stopped using me as a human punching bag. The bruises have faded, but the trauma hasn’t.

That was another blessing of going to school away from home. I didn’t have to deal with him.

Lifting my shirt in the empty bathroom—that’s how barren Harvey’s is, that even the bathroom has no one in it—I look at the jagged scar on my abdomen. He slammed me into a wrought iron gate at a cousin’s estate in Spain and one of the spikes on the end of it pierced my skin. I was only twelve and I thought I was going to die from the pain.

My dad had taken one look at my face, at the tears I was holding back, and screamed, “Look what you’ve done now!”

As if it was my fault, he pushed me.

As if anything in my childhood was my fault. Sure, he’d try to make me believe that, but I knew better.

I’d be lying if I said most of my rebellion hadn’t been done to try to piss my old man off. I used to always try to keep him happy. If he was happy, there was less chance of him hurting me, but when I got big enough that he knew he couldn’t push me around anymore, I used that to my advantage and did dumb shit.

But now, I need that inheritance if I have any chance of getting out for good.

Getting out never used to be a thought in my mind. I didn’t think I could. But I realize now that the precious money waiting for me after I graduate can buy me my freedom.

Swinging the door open, I head over to the bar and order another beer for Jude and a glass of water for myself. Once I drink all of it, I’ll allow myself to have one more beer before I call it a night.

Back at the table, I hand Jude his beer. “Dude, where’d you disappear to? You were gone forever. Find a girl to steal away with for a moment?”

“Sure,” I mutter, sitting down with my pathetic water.

Jude’s too absorbed in the girls at his side—a third having joined—for him to notice the sarcasm dripping from my voice.

A year ago, I would’ve been cheering him on. Fuck, a year ago I would’ve been covered in girls like he is. But now seeing him surrounded does nothing but irritate me and give me a mild headache, because I know they’re bound to come back to the dorm with us, and I’ll have to listen to their porn style level of fuckery for the entire night. Except, I finally got smart and utilize my noise canceling headphones. Don’t know why it took so long for me remember them.

We hang at Harvey’s for another two hours, before we pile into an Uber minivan, the three girls following Jude like he’s God’s gift to women.

I can’t believe I’m even thinking this, but how the hell did I tolerate these girls and all their chittering? If I have to hear one of them breathily tell Jude how hot he is one more time I’m going to lose it.

Back in our dorm, I bid adieu to the four of them and lock myself in my room. I learned early on to lock my door unless I wanted a strange girl crawling into my bed. Whether on purpose or by accident, it doesn’t matter, I’m not going to have that.

Lying in bed, arm curled around my head I look up at the glow in the dark dinosaurs I put on the side of my wall. They’re cheap plastic things I bought at the local dollar tree, but they were another fuck you to my parents, because I was never allowed to have something so cheap looking in my bedroom growing up.

All about those fucking appearances again.

* * *

“Who the fuckis banging pots and pans this early in the morning?” I bitch, throwing off my sheet and stumbling out of bed. I look at my phone, plugged in on my desk and see that it’s after ten. “Okay, so not early in the morning.”

I shove my hand in my boxers, giving my balls a scratch. The banging continues and I go to open my door but realize it’s locked. Grumbling under my breath, I twist the lock and finally open it, stumbling into the living area.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I cry, slapping a hand over my eyes at the three naked girls sprawled between the couch and floor. A multitude of condom wrappers litter the floor along with a used bottle of lube—and that’s just what I was able to observe before shielding my eyes. Jude is nowhere to be seen, probably in his room. He doesn’t hang around after he’s had his fill.

But I realize if Jude’s not here, and the three girls are still passed out—which, how with this banging—then it’s not coming from inside the dorm, but outside.

More than likely it’s someone on the same floor that’s come to complain about Jude keeping them up last night. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.

Ripping the door wide open, it’s not a fellow student standing on the other side.

It’s my father.

My.

Father.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt, rubbing my eyes in case I’m imagining things. I didn’t drink much last night, but I sure as hell am hoping I’m absolutely plastered right now.

Unfortunately, rubbing my eyes doesn’t work like shaking an Etch-A-Sketch to get rid of the image in front of me.

“I can’t check on my son?” My father’s silvery gray eyes, so light it’s like they were bleached, stare back at me with a challenging look. His thin lips are flat, not an ounce of humor on his face.

“You never have before. To what do I owe this pleasure?” I purposely keep the door open as little as possible to block him from the three naked girls, and landfill worthy number of used condoms.

God-fucking-dammit, Jude!

“I wanted to make sure you were settling back in well.”

“You flew all the way from Vale less than twenty-four-hours after me, to make sure I’m settling in well?” I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest in disbelief. “Mom and you didn’t even bother to bring me freshman year, so I apologize if I’m not buying your bullshit.”

“Let me in.”

Fuck no.

“Why should I?”

“Is there something you don’t want me to find in here, son?”

“I have nothing to hide, but I’m beyond pretending that we have a good relationship. Look around, father, there are no cameras. There’s no need to play pretend.”

“You’re right.” His eyes flash, and it’s only for the fact that I’m caught by surprise that he’s able to shove me hard enough that I stumble back, he forces himself into the dorm.

Rage boils beneath the surface of his skin when he takes in the women on the couch and floor.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts, rushing me. He pushes me into the refrigerator and it literally rocks from side to side. Somehow, none of the girls wake up at his outburst.

“Take your fucking hands off me,” I warn, teeth gritted.

“You can’t tell me what do.” He’s so pissed that his spit hits my face as he speaks.

This time I shove him back and then mockingly dust off my chest like I’m completely unaffected by him manhandling me. The thing about abuse is even when you’re used to it, it still hurts—not only in a physical way, but soul deep, because you know a parent is supposed to protect you, not harm you.

“I warned you about this,” he seethes, finger pointing toward the living area but eyes never leaving my face. His normally pale color is beet red, and a vein in his forehead pulses. I wonder what would happen if I poked that vein.

“This,”I gesture to the girls, “isn’t my mess. It’s Jude. My roommate’s. I know you don’t know him, but he’s quite the ladies man.”

“I don’t see your roommate, I see you.”

“Yeah, because he’s shut up in his room nursing a hangover and a porn level of sex.”

His hand strikes out, slapping me.

The man hasn’t laid a hand on me in years, and in the span of less than five minutes he’s pushed, shoved, and slapped me. That’s how I know he’s beyond pissed and reaching a murderous level of rage.

He claims he’s angry because I’m not the perfect son, but we both know it’s a lie. Even if I did and said everything he wanted, walked the straight and narrow, he would still hurt me because while he’s already a rich powerful man, beating up his son makes him feel invincible.

“Do not put another fucking hand on me.”

His eyes flash, that same look I’ve seen over the years that says try me. It promises a world of hurt and pain.

Think of your inheritance. This man holds the purse strings.

I curse my grandpa for croaking on me. He wasn’t the best, but he was better than my old man.

“I warned you what would happen if you screwed up—”

“This isn’t my fucking screw up.” The urge to barrel down on him is strong, but I resist. Think of the money. Think of the freedom. “In fact,” I find myself saying, a complete lie rolling off my tongue effortlessly, “I have a girlfriend, and unlike you, I believe in being faithful when I make a commitment.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend.”

He’s right, but I’m not cowing to him.

“I do.”

“You never mentioned her the entire break.”

“Because the three of us discuss my personal life extensively.” Doubt fills his eyes and I capitalize on it. “It’s new,” I continue, rambling out my ass, “we’d only been together a month before break.”

His lips purse, disbelief in his eyes. “Prove it.”

“Huh?” I’m taken by surprise.

“Prove it,” he repeats. “Bring this girlfriend to dinner with your mom and I at the estate next weekend.”

“I can do that.”

“If you’re being honest with me, I’ll forget … this.” He wrinkles his nose like he smells something sour, flicking his fingers at the naked girls.

“Erase it from your memory, because she’s real.”

“Mhmm,” he hums doubtfully. “I’ll see you next Saturday at seven PM.”

He straightens his shirt, smoothing it free of wrinkles that aren’t even there.

No other words are exchanged between us as he walks out the door. It clicks shut softly behind him. My dad might throw punches, but he’s not the slamming doors type.

One of the girls lifts her head up, blinking open sleepy eyes. She’s completely oblivious to her nakedness when she notices me in the kitchen.

“Did someone slam the door?”

I throw my hands up. It’s not even noon and I’m done with this fucking day.