Chapter 30
Theo O'Keefe
I can’t go through with this because I’ll find a way to wreck it.
Jamal thinks it’s a great idea, but he’s never dealt with John.
John has been blowing up my phone ever since he realized my paycheck wasn’t deposited in the family account.
That was four days ago, but nothing today, which makes me nervous.
Jamal thinks John has given up, but I know better.
John can keep hating me, but if Jamal turns his back on me, I won’t recover. He expects me to be a nice person, and I don’t think I have it in me. Yeah, I can fake it for a while, but I can’t live with him. He won’t like the real me.
“Are you crashing out over getting your stuff or about the praise from Coach and Ace?” Jamal’s a respectable distance from me in the elevator because there are cameras.
“I’m great, and they know it, and you know it.” I step toward him to back him against the wall but look up at the spy in the corner. After we played, Coach gave me a shout-out as player of the game, and it should be amazing except I’m a fraud.
I pass more and act like a team player for Jamal, not because I want to do it. My goal has always been to individually make the most impact on the game. John drilled it into my head to worry about my individual stats and berated me for playing my defensive position.
Jamal doesn’t respond but gives me side-eye, and I know the conversation isn’t over. I’ve been staying with him but leaving most of my things at John’s place. Jamal’s forcing me to get the rest of my shit tonight.
Forcing may be an exaggeration, but I haven’t had time to look for a place, and it seems safer not to rely on Jamal completely.
We walk in silence to my room, and he flops on the bed. “What are the chances we can sneak this mattress out of here and into my place?”
“I’m sure they’ll file a police report. Besides, it’s a queen. My mom wants guests to be comfortable but not enough to want to stay for long periods. A queen bed with a great mattress says ‘welcome’ but also ‘you can’t stay long.’”
“I don’t speak old-money rich.” Jamal holds out his hand, and I join him on the bed. “I’m exhausted from the game.”
“Me too, but we should get this over with.” I sigh, but he interlaces our fingers to keep me from getting up. “We can meet the guys out for the celebration, and they won’t talk.”
“Let them talk. The team gossiped about Ace and Gray sleeping together for years before it actually happened. We agreed not to confirm or deny, keeping them guessing. So far so good.” His eyes close as he speaks. Jamal is so pretty when he sleeps.
I decide we can rest for a few minutes before I pack.
I’m disoriented when I jerk awake to a flash of light, not sure where I am or who’s swearing. A hand squeezes my ankle hard enough to break a bone, and I kick instinctively.
“What the fuck is going on?” John screams with a bright red face and spit flying.
It takes me a second to realize Jamal is next to me in my bed. We’re fully clothed on top of the duvet cover, but as I sit up, our hands are tangled together. Not damning but extremely suspicious.
“You’ve been avoiding my calls, and I find you like this”—he waves at Jamal and me—“with him! Your mother won’t be happy.”
He uses the one thing he still holds over me: my mother. I can’t look at Jamal as I get off the bed. I’m afraid John will read something into it and be right.
“Hello, John,” I say casually, and walk toward him to steer him out of the room.
Jamal doesn’t need to be exposed to the piece of shit who donated half of his DNA.
It’s bad enough being related to John by marriage.
Jamal dodged a bullet, never growing up with him.
John's the number one reason I'll never marry. My mom is reason number two.
“What are you doing here?” John demands of Jamal as I back him out.
“Jonathan,” Jamal drawls. “Didn’t think you’d recognize me.” His voice is full of disgust.
Before John can verbally attack Jamal, I shove him down the hall to the living room.
“I thought you’d be thrilled. Your sons are friends, and we can be one big happy family. You preach family is the most important thing, and here we are.” I open my arms wide to keep his attention on me. Jamal hasn’t followed us, and I’m not leaving here without him.
“You are the sorriest excuse for a son.” John pokes his finger at my chest. It’s been years since he’s been physical with me, and I’m surprised by how much bigger I am.
He’s the monster under the bed, and tonight I’ve got the flashlight to see who he really is—just a small man still under the control of his father, desperate to maintain control over me and my mother.
My silence pisses him off.
“I gave you everything you have, and I can take it away.”
John can take away the trappings of an extravagant lifestyle that I never cared about.
He can’t take away the love and approval I didn’t get.
He has my mother under his control, and it’s time I face the fact that he always will.
If my mother has to choose between him and his money or her son, she’ll pick him every time.
I’ve always known it but couldn’t admit it.
“Okay.” It’s not defeat but agreement. The worst thing he could do is send me an invoice for the boarding school and private hockey lessons. He’d have to sue me to get it, and I don’t think he wants to fight me in public.
“Put your money where it belongs,” John bellows.
Jamal appears, loaded down with hockey gear and my big suitcase.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put that back.” John’s face is purple with fury.
“Don’t you love family reunions?” Jamal asks me, and then pivots to John.
“His dirty laundry?” Jamal unzips my duffel bag, and the stench of hockey equipment permeates the room.
“This guy hasn’t gotten used to how our equipment manager does things.
I’m not sorting through his stinky clothes to find what he needs, but I can—” Jamal holds the bag up as if he’s going to dump it.
“No!” John roars, realizing it will take weeks to get the smell out of the room.
Jamal shrugs. “We gotta bounce for the meeting,” he says to me.
“You don’t have a meeting at night after a game. Theo, you’re staying here until we sort out your insubordination.” John crosses his arms as if his word is law.
Jamal smirks, and if it weren’t for the bead of sweat on his temple and pulse hammering in his neck, I’d assume he’s unfazed. “I’m sure Coach will excuse O’Keefe from the meeting because his father wants to talk to him.” He says father like a taunt.
“I’m not his father,” John barks, advancing on Jamal.
Jamal puts his hands up in defense. “You’re right. Wild how you want to control the finances of your not-son.” Jamal picks up my gear and heads for the exit.
“You can’t walk away from me, boy,” John whines as the shock hits him that he can’t control us.
“Why not? It’s what you did.” Jamal doesn’t slow or glance back.
I follow him in awe. I’m going to be free of John. It doesn’t seem possible. As we enter the elevator, we hear him screaming directives at someone. I will no longer be allowed in the building. I hope Jamal got most of my stuff.
“You okay?” he asks.
So many things swirl through my brain; I can’t form a coherent thought. I start to nod and then shake my head so it ends up going in a circle.
Jamal offers me a reassuring smile, but we’re met by security in the alcove leading to the garage.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. O’Keefe, but Mr. King has accused you of stealing from his apartment.” The doorman shifts from foot to foot.
“Search everything you want.” Jamal unzips my gear again, and the stench is worse in the small space. “He’s got equipment and dirty clothes. Between you and me, the stuff in that apartment is gaudy as hell and ain’t no one going to steal it.”
The security guards peer into the bag but clearly don’t want to get any closer.
Jamal cracks jokes for a few more minutes. “Hey, we have a captain meeting we’re supposed to be at for the Enforcers. Y’all mind if we go?”
With their approval, we’re pulling out in my SUV with a wave.
“Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief. Jamal tries to dismiss my thanks, but his hands tremble. “Hey, you were amazing. Maj, you good?”
“I’m sorry he’s the father you were stuck with.” He leans his head against the window. “I used to dream of meeting him. Even after his wedding, when he ignored me, I had the fantasy of him wanting to know me. Me, Jamal, not Jamal King the hockey player. That probably sounds dumb.”
“No dumber than my fantasy of my father coming back because his death was all a big mix-up and we could be a happy family.” My eyes are glued to the road, so I don’t see his reaction. “Yours was at least based in reality. Mine needed wizards, or aliens, or cryogenics to make possible.”
“There’s a better chance of your stepfather being a good person. He’s not.” Jamal jerks his thumb back at the Park Ave apartment. “I’ll be fine. Unexpected situations that I can’t control fire up my nervous system, and it takes a minute to slow down.”
The drive is fairly quick by New York standards, but we don’t talk. It’s not uncomfortable, but I wish I knew what to say to make him feel better. I’m better off keeping my mouth shut than saying the wrong thing.
“We should talk about what Ace said. Planning ahead if it gets out about us before we tell people. Right there!” Jamal yells, and I slam on the brakes. “You can parallel park, or I can if you want.”
We switch places, and Jamal parks my SUV like it’s a compact car with no need to straighten out afterward. We lug my gear the block and a half to his place.
Tyrone opens his door as we pass and leans on the frame. “Great game tonight. You going out to celebrate?”
“Nah, boutta knock out. Catch you later.” Jamal gives him an up-nod and unlocks his apartment.