Sweet Rome (Sweet Home) (2 page)

Slowly sitting back up, I looked my worried cousin in the eyes. “I’m not sure I can, Al. It’s all so raw.”

Ally rubbed a soothing hand down my back. “It’ll be good for you. You need to remember why you changed, what brought you guys together. It’s good to talk. I can’t see you go back to Rome, pre-Molls. It was like you’d been numb your entire life, never letting anyone in, and meeting Molly woke you the heck up.”

Feeling a burning in my chest, I glanced over to the balcony—
our
balcony—and my eyes blurred at the onslaught of memories racing through my mind.

“I… I guess it all began months ago. I recall it so clearly. It was just like any other normal, typical day…”

1

The University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa

Several months ago…

I felt it the minute it left my hands. It was perfect: the spiral just right, the speed and angle faultless. I watched, holding my breath, as the ball sailed through the air, gliding smoothly down the field, then landed right into the outstretched hands of Gavin Sale, the wide receiver. It was the sixth pass I’d hit with such accuracy in the last hour alone, and this time, the team all stopped and stared at me standing frozen, still in my position.

Coach Dean ran over, looking at me funny, and went to slap his hand on my shoulder until I flinched and backed away. He hadn’t noticed my reaction—that I’d expected him to cause me pain. I was thankful. Daddy wouldn’t want rumors to start.

“Rome! What the hell, son? I’ve never seen an arm like yours in my entire twenty years of coaching! The way you pop that ball is like… like… a bullet being fired from a gun!”

A burst of pride spread across my chest at his praise, and I straightened a little taller on seeing all my teammates nodding their heads in agreement.

I was good at football. I was actually
good
at something.

I may not be the perfect son, the best-behaved kid in the world, but this meant I wasn’t a complete failure like Momma always said. I’d found something I could do well and, it seemed from Coach’s reaction, better than most.

My face muscles twitched, and I could feel myself begin to smile; it was only small, but it was there. It was something I never, ever did—express joy—and when Austin Carrillo, my best friend and teammate, ran over, giving me a high five, I let myself be happy. Just for once, I let myself feel content with who I was: a quarterback, the best the coach had seen in twenty years.

I shouldn’t have bothered being happy, though, because, of course, the minute I let down my guard,
he
arrived to take it all away.

The large silver Bentley pulled to a stop right at the side of the field, and out stepped my daddy: big, dark, and intimidating. All the parents stopped their chatter and watched as Joseph Prince glared toward my place on the field. He was dressed in his silver-gray suit, exerting raw power. The other parents kept their distance; folks around Tuscaloosa knew not to go near him unless invited.

Coach Dean didn’t get that memo, though, and on seeing my daddy arrive, he ran over, excitedly pulling me with him. Of course, Coach didn’t know my daddy’s view on my playing football. No one did. Coach didn’t know the level of punishment I would face at being caught here at the field or that I’d sneaked out of my room in order to make today’s practice, acting directly against my daddy’s orders.

My head lowered as we approached—I couldn’t face seeing the anger in his eyes.

“Mr. Prince, I’m so happy you came. I have to say, sir, I’ve never seen a talent like your son’s in my whole coaching career, and he’s only ten! I honestly believe he could go all the way.” Coach put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Your boy will play for the Tide, you mark my words. In eight years’ time, we’ll be seeing him lead Bama to the championship!”

I stared at the floor, never once daring to lift my eyes.

“Rome, get in the car,” my daddy ordered coldly, and my heart sank as I broke loose from Coach’s hold and ran into the back seat, shivering at the too-cold temperature of the black leather under my legs.

I strapped myself in, watching my daddy’s back bunch as he spoke to the coach. Coach Dean swallowed hard, looking shocked at whatever my daddy was saying. He’d be telling him I couldn’t come back, that I couldn’t waste my time on football anymore, that I had a duty as a Prince and football wasn’t it.

Leaving the coach standing frozen in shock, my daddy spun on his heel and stormed back to the car.

Slamming the driver’s side door, he started the engine. I made sure to keep my head low. I knew he’d be looking at me in the mirror, his brown eyes lit with fury, so I kept my chin tucked down to my chest, avoiding looking him directly in the eyes.

“You fucked up today, Romeo,” he said calmly.

I flinched.

Romeo.
I hated that name. It always caused my stomach to tighten and my breath to come out too fast. My fingernails dug into my palms as my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I’d been getting real angry of late, so mad that sometimes it was a struggle to contain it. I didn’t know how to make it stop.

“You think it was smart to sneak out and come here when you’d already been told not to?”

I didn’t reply, was too scared, too
angry
to reply.

“Answer me!” he shouted, hitting the steering wheel with his large hand.

“N-no, s-sir, it wasn’t smart,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice from breaking. He would just laugh if I cried; it always just made things worse. He said it made me weak.

My daddy hated weakness.

“You want folk around here spreading the word on how good you are at football?”

I did, but that wasn’t the answer I was expected to give.

“No, sir.”

“Then from now on, do as you’re told! How many times do we have to go through this? I have plans for Prince Oil, plans that you will need to see out. Football is unacceptable, boy!”

We drove the rest of the way home in silence. When the Bentley pulled to a stop in the driveway, I rushed into the house and up to my room, curling into a small ball on top of my bed, waiting for what I knew would happen next.

And it did. It was the one constant in my life.

After a few minutes, I heard the creaking of the old stairs, and a moment later, the bedroom door opened and my daddy entered my room, jacket and tie off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was always calm, collected. I’d never really seen him flip. The quieter he was, the more scared I became.

He was deathly quiet today.

I held in a cry as he glared at me and snapped a thin black leather belt in his hands. “Get up, Romeo. This will be over quicker if you don’t put up a fight. You need to be punished for disobeying my orders.”

Taking a deep breath, I got to my feet and stood in the center of the room, eyes squeezed shut, wrists held out, waiting for the lashing I knew was about to come. I would take the pain. Football was what I wanted and I wouldn’t give up on that dream, not for anything…

I snapped my eyes open, body stiffening at the old memory that haunted my dreams, my heart pounding in my chest and my breathing erratic.

It was only a dream… It was only a dream,
I told myself over and over again as I pushed my long, sweaty hair from my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nose, trying like hell to calm the fuck down.

My alarm cut through my panic, the bastard thing blaring out its annoying tone at a stupidly high volume.

“
Uhh
! Bullet, turn it off,” a female voice moaned.

Dreading who I would find next to me this morning, I looked down, following the sound of the voice. Sprawled on my bare chest, was… was… fuck if I knew. Some random chick.

That familiar sick feeling burst in my stomach and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Hell, I needed to stop with the drinking and the fucking. This was my year—time to get serious, no more distractions, no more feeling like shit.

Lifting my head cautiously, I tested the severity of my hangover and winced at the bright morning sun shining through the window.
Jesus, what the hell did I drink last night?

The chick groaned again at the movement, and I pushed her off me, her hung-over ass flopping to the mattress as I slid off the edge of my bed, sighing in disgust as I spotted the used rubber still on my dick. Nice.

Looking back, I tried to remember something…
anything,
a small bit of info about who the hell she was. There was nothing, just fragmented flashes of a party and being led to my room… then sweet. Fuck. All.

Same shit, different day.

I stood, stretching out my arms. Seeing a crumpled red dress on the wooden floor, I picked it up and threw it at Jane Doe’s naked ass. “I’m going to shower. Feel free to let yourself out.”

She muttered something unintelligible and gradually awoke at those words. Doing what I said, she put on her slip of a dress, scooped up her shoes, and smiled in satisfaction as she left the room. “Catch you later, Bullet. It was worth the wait. All the rumors about you were true.”

Hell
, treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.
Or
be the starting QB for the Tide and do whatever the fuck you like. They still come running back for more. It was a novelty to fuck the great
Bullet
Prince.

After my shower, I threw on my training shorts and shirt and, grabbing my cleats, headed down the stairs of the frat house. Austin and Reece were already waiting for my lazy ass in the kitchen, so I grabbed my shades off the island and slid them on, flipping a huge fuckin’ bird to Austin, who was laughing at my sorry state as he passed me a protein shake, and we headed out the door.

“Is that chick who left just now yours, Rome?” Reece asked, almost jogging to keep up with Austin and me as we made our way to the gym.

Shrugging, I answered, “She ain’t
mine
, but all evidence suggests I fucked her.”

“You better’d wrapped that shit up,” Austin scolded.

Damn straight. Last thing I wanted was some wannabe NFL wife trapping me with a kid. “Done deal. Never ride bareback. Evidence was still on my cock this morning. I’m classy like that.”

Austin slapped me on the back, laughing and Reece nudged me in the ribs. “She was hot, man. Remember anything ’bout what she was like? Was she any good?”

Reece. I loved the damn kid, but he needed to get laid more and stop trying for my castoffs. Reece looked about twelve—blond hair, blue eyes—and it felt a whole load of
wrong
when he talked about screwing chicks. The preppy fucker was one polo shirt short of being on a damn Ralph Lauren ad.

“No fucking idea.” I turned back to Austin, who was smirking at me. “What the hell did we drink last night?”

“More like what
didn’t
we drink.”

Yeah, that felt more like it. I remember now why I slipped. My folks had called…
again
, about the bastard engagement, and I’d immediately turned to the Mexican worm. Austin, being my best friend, joined me in getting completely wasted.

“Shit. Coach will have our asses. I fuckin’ stink of tequila,” I groaned.

I knocked back the protein shake in one, ignoring Reece as he grinned and said, “Damn, Bullet. I’m always wishing I was you: never without a girl, the whole damn school following your every move. But when Coach sees you looking like this, he’s gonna make you wish you’d never been born.”

The Abercrombie-and-Fitch little fucker was right; Coach made me pay.
Hard
. You don’t drink in season without some serious consequences: suicides, hang-cleans, and laps being his chosen form of punishment that day. The Tide was still on two-a-day training, which meant working like a bitch and puking at every task. I ached, I sweated, but I loved every minute of it. It gave me the opportunity to get out my rage, to hit and pummel out my anger… to get through another damn day of this sorry excuse of a life. Ten months left until I could get the heck out from underneath
their
thumbs, and I was counting down every damn minute.

2

“Momma,” I greeted flatly, seeing her name flash up on my iPhone screen, en route from practice to my classes.

“You need to come to dinner tonight,” she commanded.

I clenched my jaw at her usual icy tone. “Sorry, busy.”

“Then change your plans! The Blairs are coming and you need to be here so we can discuss the engagement, thrash out the details, get the whole arrangement tied up once and for all. Shelly’s hosting her sorority’s initiation of new pledges this evening, but you should be here regardless of her absence.”

“I have practice again tonight. Coach has us on two-a-days. I’ve told you this.”

Silence.

“You will come tonight, Romeo,” she finally replied, her words dripping with authority. I stopped dead, right outside the humanities block. I was already running late for this friggin’ introduction class due to the overrun team meeting, and now Momma was droning on in my ear about this fucking engagement and calling me that bastard name… again. Almost twenty-two and it still made me feel like a kid. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I could feel my tolerance for her shit about to snap.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I focused on the relaxing feeling of the burning summer sun pounding on my back, attempting to calm myself.

Didn’t work. Nothing ever does.

“Look, I’m going to practice. I’m not coming,” I snapped with finality, slamming my finger on the END button and stuffing the cell in my jeans pocket.

Heading inside the building, I tried to let the blast of air from the air-conditioner cool me the hell down from the usual friggin’ anger boiling me from the inside out. My blood felt like acid pumping through my muscles. But I embraced it—welcomed it even. It was a reminder that I needed to get away from those people, finally break free from their overbearing ways. I’d had too many years of putting up with their degrading crap. I couldn’t take much more.