Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(91)
“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 f*ckin’ 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 f*cker 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.