Sweet Rome (Sweet Home) (35 page)

“They good, man?” Luke asked from behind me.

Turning and shaking his hand, I replied, “They’re fucking perfect… just… beyond.”

* * *

Later that night, I stood at the doorway of the place I never wanted to see again in my life. Too many memories—old and new—assaulted me as I opened the front door, and the first thing I noticed was how bare and cold the place felt without the usual antiques and artwork proudly and ostentatiously on display.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. My daddy’s lawyer was at the entrance to the office, gesturing for me to step inside.

When I walked into the study, my father sat behind his desk, unkempt and looking older than his years. He looked up when I entered and let out a small, bitter laugh—even hitting rock bottom didn’t change the bastard.

“Let you out on bail, then?” I drawled, taking a seat.

Shrugging, he answered, “Paid for it with the last of the Prince Oil share of the money, but don’t worry, son, I’ll be going to prison soon enough… and all because you were too fucking stubborn to do what you were told.”

Leaning forward, I hissed, “You deserve to fester in a cold cell. You killed my baby, you sadistic fuck. You’re lucky I don’t kill your evil ass.
You
laundered the money. It’s all on
you
!”

“Wow, Romeo, I can just feel the father-son love,” he answered dryly. I almost had to sit on my hands to stop from knocking the bastard out. I wasn’t going to hit him though. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of his conviction.

“What’s happened to Prince Oil? The Blairs?”

“The company is in administration. The Blairs are probably gonna declare bankruptcy.” He turned his cold, dead eyes to me. “Bet that makes you happy, eh?”

“And Momma? Where’s she? Off ruining more lives?” I asked, ignoring his shitty tone.

He waved his hand dismissively. “She’s left town. She won’t be back.”

“She should be rotting in jail too!”

The suit entered the study at that moment, putting an end to our conversation, and sat down before me, pushing a contract into my hands. “From this day on, you are to cut all ties from your parents. That includes any inheritance of their fortune—or what’s left of it when it’s liquidized by the government—their properties, and their possessions.”

“Done,” I answered quickly, causing the no-nonsense lawyer to glare at me over his glasses.

“You have no problems with this?”

Smiling, I said, “Let me put this to you straight. I hate them. They’re fuckin’ horrible examples of people. I have my own money—money they can’t touch—and I’m getting drafted by the NFL. I want nothing of theirs. Anything they’ve touched would only be cursed anyway.”

“So you’ll sign?” The lawyer confirmed again and I nodded. My daddy turned away from me in his chair, staring out the window.

The fucker was broken. And it was the best thing I’d ever seen.

Refocusing on the lawyer, I replied, “Gladly.”

He passed me a fancy-ass pen, and three signatures later, I was officially and legally free.

Standing, I walked over to my daddy one last time and declared, “We’re done. Never speak to me again. Never contact me again. If you come anywhere near me, Molly, or my friends, I’ll kill you and that’s a damn promise.” Crouching right down before his aging face, seeing his lip curl in anger, I smiled. “And have fun rotting away in a cell, being someone’s bitch for the rest of your miserable life. And while I’m sure y’all will think of me every minute for the rest of your days, I’ll make sure to never think of either of you Ever.
Ever.
Again.”

As I stepped out of the front door, I took one look at the old empty house that had held me an emotional prisoner for so long, and realized, my folks no longer had any power over me, not like before, and never would ever again.

* * *

Walking back into that locker room was hell.

As soon as I entered the doors, my rowdy teammates froze and stared at me as I made my way to my locker, dropping my bag and squeezing my eyes closed at the strength it was taking to face them all again.

I heard Coach walk into the room and clear his throat. “Rome?” he said, and turning, I looked to him, knowing my face was blank. “Damn glad to have you back, son.” He walked over and shook my hand, pulling me into his embrace, and when he stepped back, each of my teammates did the same. My eyes blurred with the emotion of the moment.

Chris Porter was one of the last to approach me, and when he did, he shook his head. “Bullet, man, I’m so sorry.” I could only squeeze his shoulder in response. The shit between him and me no longer mattered. Perspective—a wonderful thing.

“I finished with Shelly right away. Anyone who could be involved in something so sick isn’t worth the damn air she breathes.”

“How’s Molly?” Jacob Thomsson, our linebacker, asked.

“She left me. I have no idea how she is.”

The tension in the room intensified as I turned my back to the team and began to change into my training shorts, unable to bear the pity in their faces. They needed to know Molly wouldn’t be around for the pregame kiss to which so many of my teammates and fans attributed my near perfect performance this season. I knew the majority of the guys would shit themselves at that information—going into the championship with a heartbroken QB wouldn’t exactly fill them with confidence.

A tattooed arm hooked around my neck, and Austin whispered, “We’ll get you through this, Rome. I swear to God we will.”

I friggin’ hoped so.

“She’ll come back.”

Smiling grimly, I said, “Ally, Jimmy-Don, Lexi, and Cass all tell me the same. But you guys don’t know the half of it. You didn’t see her face the night she left. She’s gone, man. Gone for good.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. What you fail to realize is that the rest of us saw how she looked at
you
, despite all the grief. She may be going through shit right now, but she loves you, Rome. She’ll be back.”

Cracking a smile and feeling a tiny bit of happiness for the first time in what felt like an age, I joked, “You going soft on me, Carillo?”

Barking out a laugh, he replied, “Nah, I just envy you, man. Who wouldn’t want a girl sticking with you even when everything goes to shit? She may be gone now, but she won’t be gone forever.”

33

BCS National Championship

Rose Bowl Stadium, Pasadena, California

POD’s “Here Comes The Boom” pumped out of the locker room’s speakers as the team—the University of Alabama’s famous Crimson Tide—prepped for the biggest game of the year. Some guys were shouting in excitement; some were quietly listening to earphones; some were puking in the john; most were simply waiting for the referee’s whistle to start the game.

Ally and Cass were using my game tickets. They had flown out to California, along with thousands of Bama fans, to watch the showdown against the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame. As a senior, it was my very last game for the Tide. Fuck. It was my last game with a group of guys who were my family. I had to win the ballgame for them. I had to get in the zone and play the game of my life.

Coach entered the room and slowly surveyed the scene. We all fell silent. “Take a knee. Let’s pray.”

We did as he instructed and recited The Lord’s Prayer. Each player then looked to Coach, who instructed, “Stand up. Listen good.”

We all got to our feet and Coach took his place in the center of our player circle. Moving to look each of us in the eye, he stated, “Let’s fight the Irish… all… over… the… field.” Coach emphasized the last four words. My blood rushed in my ears and the energy building between the team was infectious.

“Defense, offense, special teams. Stay alert. Y’all know your assignments.” Coach paused, pointing to his watch. “Sixty minutes, no more, no less. Don’t take this win for me. Take it for each other. Let’s leave it all on the field.”

Bodies shook with adrenaline, players swayed where they stood, anxious to hit the field, and Coach turned cheerleader. “We’re the reigning champions! Do y’all wanna
stay
champs? Well, do ya?!!!” he asked loudly.

“YEAH!” yelled back the locker room, the enthusiasm through the roof.

Shaking his head in disappointment, Coach yelled, “Not good enough, so I’ll ask y’all again. Do ya wanna stay the champs?!!!”

“YEAH, YEAH, YEAHHHH!!!” chanted the team, the sound of shouting rumbling along the lockers, and players began pounding the doors and walls with their fists, the noise of the crowd outside building and the excitement of the players almost too much to take.

“Then grab your gear, hit the field, and…
ROLL TIDE!!!”

Heading for the locker room door, in unison, the team,
my team
, chanted, “TIDE, TIDE, TIDE!”

As returning BCS champions, we had the honor of running out onto the field first. Rolling my shoulders and jumping on the spot, knees to chest, I gripped onto my helmet guard tightly, trying my damnedest to get psyched up.

I tried real hard not to let my mind drift to Molly. I’d been hoping she’d show after the voicemail I’d left her yesterday. But, as always, there was no reply. I’d made peace with myself that she wasn’t coming back to the US. My plans were firmly in place—to win this fucking championship, then fly to Oxford and sort this shit out once and for all.

The announcement for the Tide came. Just like last year, it was a blur as the team ran onto the field. Austin and Jimmy-Don led the way, pumping up the crowd to a crazy volume.

Taking a sobering breath, I shot out of the tunnel, pyrotechnics going off all around me, keeping my head down as we swarmed onto the field. I robotically sang “The Star Spangled Banner” with all my heart and as
“…the home of the brave
” died away into the night air, it was time for the rival team captains to meet for the coin toss.

I enjoyed this calm before the storm.

The Fighting Irish captains called it correctly and elected to receive.

Toward the end of the coin toss, the Bama fans rose as one and began to chant, “Kiss, kiss, kiss…” so damn loud it was deafening. Now back on the sideline, I hung my head in embarrassment and squeezed my eyes tightly, trying to ignore the pain of Molly’s absence. How could they know their good luck charm was across the fucking Atlantic? I cringed, knowing I couldn’t deliver, as tens of thousands of Bama fans demanded the ritual they believed had carried the Tide through an undefeated season.

Even so, the ever-increasing volume took my breath away, the crescendo of noise from the fans almost intolerable.

I concentrated on my game plays, anything to block out the deafening roar. My teammates began walking forward, checking out a new commotion in the crowd, but like a pussy, I hung back—I wasn’t interested. I couldn’t wait for the damn referee’s whistle to blow.

Someone suddenly jumped on me—Austin.

“Rome, look!” He pointed toward the Jumbotron. When I looked up, my heart exploded in my chest like a friggin’ grenade.

Molly?

I whipped my head to the direction of the stands, scanning for a familiar face, and our gazes locked.

Fuck me. She looked stunning: brown hair long and loose, white dress… so goddamn beautiful.

Deep emotion surged through my body, but all I could think of as I walked as if on air toward her was she came—she actually friggin’ came back for me.

The closer I got, the more my throat dried and my chest tightened. Her golden eyes widened with nerves.

I let go of my helmet, no longer needing it to stay centered… calm.

As I glided to a halt before my girl, I looked up and watched her take a deep breath, the stadium around us uncharacteristically still and quiet.

“Hey, Mol,” I said in a rough voice.

“Hey, you,” she whispered back. Then I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring that familiar accent once more.

“You going to give up that sweet kiss?”

“If that’s what you want.”

The heavy burden I’d been carrying around for weeks lifted, and I answered, “It most definitely fuckin’ is.”

Reaching forward, I lifted Mol over the barrier and wrapped her into my arms, crashing against her lips with my own, tasting the sweet vanilla taste that was so uniquely her.

My girl took everything I gave, her desperation matching mine as we let our crazed need for each other take over.

Needing a breath, I broke away and asked, “Are you really here?” running my hands over as much of her as I could.

Cupping my face, tears in her eyes, she cried, “Baby, I’m so sorry I left. I couldn’t cope, but… I love you. I love you so, so much. Please forgive me. Please…”

She loved me. She fucking loved me, and the relief those words conjured had me literally dropping to the floor, still clutching Molly in my hold.

I was never letting her go again.

“Are you back for me? For good?”

Her warm breath breezed down my neck. “For the first time ever, baby, I ran back to something, to you… my Romeo.”

I
was
hers; she had no idea how much.

“You won’t ever run again. You get that now?” I said firmly, searching her eyes for any doubt. There was none.

“I get it.”

“You left me alone for weeks, no word, no explanation. Do you know how mad I am at you for that?”

“I know.” The sadness and regret in her soft voice almost cut me like a knife. But I had my answer. She
was
with me now for good.

Pressing my forehead to hers, I stated, “I’m going to win this game. Then I’m going to fuckin’ brand you, once and for all. It seems I’ve been too lenient with you, Shakespeare.” I pushed. “Maybe you didn’t quite get that you’re mine and as such can never, ever leave me—even if your heart is broken. Because if you’re hurting, baby, you can bet I’m fuckin’ hurting too.”

My muscles felt invigorated and I stood, hoisting Molly back to her seat, ordering, “You, back in those stands. Now. I’ve got a championship title to take back home. Then I’ll deal with you. Quite frankly, I don’t know which one I’m more excited for.”

Flushing beet red and throwing me a huge smile, she said, “Give them hell, baby,” then planted another lucky sweet kiss full on my lips, the Bama fans roaring in reaction.