30. Colt – “People haven’t always been there for me, but music always has.” — Taylor Swift
30
Colt
“People haven’t always been there for me, but music always has.” — Taylor Swift
“Now?” Abigail asks from the inside of her car. I give her a thumbs up, and she turns the key, only to be met with another failed attempt.
“Let’s try again.” She says.
I knew that the car wasn’t starting because either the battery was bad and needed to be replaced or she had some more significant issues. But she insisted on trying a few more times since she was stubborn. The engine dies each time we try, which is five times now.
“Shit.”
I hear her say.
I get out of my car and walk over to her.
“I can take you to your parent’s house if you need new clothes. It’s not a big deal. And we can come back and have my buddy look at it. He owns a car shop.”
“No, it’s fine,you’ve done enough. I’ll figure it out. Just take me back to my house.”
“Abigail, you don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?” She says with venom in her tone.
I know she thought she had to leave because I didn’t go all the way with her last night, and things would be awkward, but the truth is, I didn’t want to stop last night at all. The only reason why I did was I thought I was doing the right thing. If I ignored the consequences and gave in to my recklessness, I knew I couldn’t stop. I would have pleased her in ways I haven’t done in years. Don’t get me wrong, I loved going down on a girl, but I had to be into her. And I just haven’t been into any girl for a while.
Not even Naomi.
Jersey chasers were perfect at the beginning of my career, but I was so jaded after Blake's death that it was hard for me to fall in love, let alone think of a woman as something other than a means to provide a release for me. I was learning how to be an NFL player, a dad to Bodie, and deal with my brother's unexpected death, all within one year. Swooning women was the last thing on my plate.
“Pretend like you don’t need my help. It’s okay. I’m not going to hold it against you.”
“I don’t need your help. I’m fine. Besides, you need to get Bodie, just drop me off my parents. And I think I may still have Triple-A. I had it when I lived out in California. I’ll call them on the drive to my parent's house.
I stare at her. I’ve never met anyone, especially a young woman, who was so stubborn. I can see the turmoil in her facial expression. It’s seeping down to her core.
Why won’t she let me help her?
“Abigail-”
“I’ll grab my suitcase, and we can go.” She says, cutting me off. I watch her grab her bag in the back seat and pull it out. I open the back door to my truck.
“Here, let me,” I say, grabbing it from her and tossing it into the truck.
“Thanks. I really appreciate all you’ve done for me, but we both know I don’t belong here.”
She needed to stop saying that. It was starting to piss me off. But before I can say anything, she walks off, sliding into the passenger seat.
She looked out the window the whole drive, so bringing up Blake was a bad idea right now, even though I still had lots of questions. An image of her tattoo flashed in my mind from last night, and I still wondered how she got it or if they went to get it together.
At the same time, I wanted to push her away and keep her close. So, I had to give myself a pep talk the whole drive.
Drop off her shit and go home. She’s not my concern . I prayed she lived in a decent home, because if she lived in some trailer park, I would not even stop and entertain that idea.
I'm surprised when we pull up to her parent's house. I pictured some run-down dump. A tiny house. But this was an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Why would she not want to stay here instead of that tiny apartment in my lakehouse? My apartment was only 850 square feet. This house had to be easily over 3,000. I pull into her parent's driveway and park the car. She turns to me, giving me a puzzled look.
“Is it okay if I come in and use your parent's restroom? I drank lots of coffee, and then that healthy smoothie you made ran right through me.” I asked her.
She holds back a smile. But it’s her eyes that always give her away.
In the short time I’ve been around her, I noticed they light up when she tells a funny joke or when she’s being honorary. Or when she looks at Bodie when he talks. Or when she listens to a song on the radio, she bounces her head to the beat when she thinks no one is looking.
“Ya, sure,” she says, opening my car door. I follow behind her. She punches in a code on the siding of her garage, allowing the garage door to open. We walked inside, and I was blown away by how much stuff was in the garage. And it wasn’t tidy like you would think since the house was so lovely on the outside.
Great landscaping, too.
We entered the garage, and she opened the door, leading us into the laundry room.
“There is a bathroom down the hall to the left.” She says.
I hear a lady talking to herself, and then a man shouts, “Shut the garage! You’ll let the bugs inside.”
Is this how her parents always greeted her? Not very welcoming. I decided I would use the restroom and then introduce myself since my bladder was about to explode.
When I was done relieving myself, I searched for Abigail to tell her goodbye.
“Ya, can you believe that?” A lady stops when she sees me in the hallway and says. “Oh, I thought you were Abigail. I heard her come in. Are you here for the yard? Micheal, did you call the yard guy today?” She shouts as she lifts her chin over my shoulder.
“No,” I frown at her. “I’m one of Abigail's friends. Her car died, so I brought her home.”
“Oh, great. She can ask her dad for help, but I doubt he’ll give her money to fix it. I kept telling her she needed to be taking care of that car since it was the last one she’d see from her dad. Oil changes are everything.”
“I checked the oil myself. It’s not that. It’s her battery and I think it needs to be replaced, or there may be some engine issues.”
“Well, I don’t know how she’ll pay for a new engine.”
Unlike Abigail’s vibrant eyes, this woman’s eyes seemed lifeless.
I couldn’t believe what I was even hearing.
Did she even say hello to her daughter? Does she even care who I am? I could be a serial killer or a kidnapper, and she would have no idea since she was in her own world, babbling on.
“I’m Colt, by the way.” I hold out my hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
Taken by surprise, she reaches out. Her grip is fragile in my large hand. She is petite like Abigail. I tower over her, and it reminds me of how helpless Abigail is. I see a slight resemblance, but not too much. We break our hands free.
“I’m Josh’s brother.”
“Josh? Josh? Abigail, have I met Josh?” She shouts over her shoulder.
Does this lady not believe in going up to the person to ask them a question.
“Mom, where is my bed?” I hear Abigail say as she rounds the corner coming up behind her mom.
“We put it in the garage.” Her mom turns to face Abigial.
“Why?” Abigail Grimaces blinking several times as she waits for a response.
“I ordered an easel I’m using that room to paint again. I showed you my paintings from years ago, haven’t I? I was a dam good artist. So I’m getting back into it..”
“But why couldn’t you use Adalee’s room? She’s moved out for good.”
“I have another project going on in that room. Since your dad wants to leave all his money to whores I need to get busy and back into painting. Doing something I like for once. We are planning on divorcing, didn’t I tell you?”
“No, you never call me mom. And you guys have been saying that for years. So I doubt anything has changed in the two weeks I’ve been gone.”
“You aren’t ever going to divorce me.” I hear a man’s voice from the other room.
“Watch me!” Her mother shouts over her shoulder again. Then she starts walking down the hallway, turning the corner into what I assume is the living room.
She says something inaudible to her dad, and then I hear the dad say. “I’m not chaining you here, am I?”
“Just watch your fucking football.” Abigail’s mom says.
Feeling odd standing here by the bathroom in the hallway, I follow Abigail into the living room. Their house is lovely. There are many windows, tiny details, tall ceilings, and a bookshelf by the entertainment center—lots of hanging ceiling lights that looked pretty expensive.
“Mom, where am I supposed to sleep?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you have a blow-up bed that you brought from California?”
Is her mom serious right now? Wow. In the first ten minutes I’ve known her, I can tell her mom lacks empathy and sympathy. Aren’t those characteristics of a psychopath? No, maybe it’s a narcissist. Right now, I’m hoping this lady and I aren’t the same zodiac sign.
Her father sits on the couch watching football as he sips a beer.
What do you know, her dad is an NFL fan.
I walk over to him and casually intercept his bubble. I look at the screen and see the Raiders are playing the Los Angeles Rams. He recorded this in January since it’s not football season until September. And by the looks of him, I guess he’s rooting for the Las Vegas team.
“Raiders fan, huh?”
He briefly looks up and then back at the screen. “Ya, but they are sucking at this game. I’m not sure what the problem is with Tommy Tiller. He did great in the first half of the season. No one could get past him as a defense player. But he was just a different person in the last part of the season. It’s like his head wasn’t in the game at all. He missed so many opportunities causing the team to fail. I mean he could have saved the game so many times, given it starts with the defense.”
“Ya, poor Tom, he had a minor surgery on his shoulder.”
“Ya, I heard about that, but that shouldn’t have affected how he plays. Not this bad, anyway,” her dad says.
“And his wife cheated on him… he did his damndest to hide it since he didn’t want that going public,” I tell him.
Her dad slowly looks up at me as if I’m crazy.
“They worked it out somehow, but I still think it messes with his head when he’s away playing, especially if she’s not there with him.”
“Do you know him or something, or did you read that in the weekly gossip digest?” He laughs to himself as he takes a sip of beer.
“Ya, we used to play together until I got signed onto the Arizona Cardinals.”
His head swings back in my direction. He narrows his eyes on me. Many people don’t recognize me when I don’t have my jersey on or a clean-shaven face.
“Colt Killian, sir,” I stretch my arm our for him to shake my hand. A formal introduction like normal, welcoming people.
I watch his eyes go wide as our recognition sets in. “I’ll be damned. It is you. You're the Quarterback for the Cardinals. What an honor.” He shakes my hand with force.
“Yup, that’s me,” breaking free from his hand, I slip my hands into my pockets, bouncing on my heels once.
“How the-what the,” he gets up and looks to Abigail. “Do you know him?” He points a finger in my direction.
“Ya, he’s-” Abigail speaks, but I cut her off intentionally.
“I’m Josh’s half-brother. Her friend. The place she told you she’s been living at is at one of my rental properties.” I would go into details about how I'm there because my house is currently under renovation, but her parents don’t act like they care for minor details. Hell, they barely care that their daughter is home after two weeks of being gone.
I didn’t hear one hello or any questions about why she was back or how she’d been. The only thing they said when she walked in was to close the garage.
Her mom was talking about the wedding last night and going on about the colors of Jenna’s wedding, having it outside with the mosquitos, and how she didn’t know why they couldn’t pick a different night to get married.
Ya, her mom had to be a narcissist or have some type of personality disorder .
As I quickly look around, I don't see one picture of Abigail in the living room. They had some of Adalee. I recognized who it was after meeting her sister last night when Jenna and Troy introduced me to her and some other her family members.
There was a photo of her sister from high school, prom, and her wedding, but when I looked on the bookshelf by the TV, I didn’t see any of Abigail.
Something was off. The whole vibe was off. And suddenly, I felt responsible for her well-being. I don’t think she needs to stay here. She’s not going to stay here.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Bolt Colt is standing in my living room. Can I offer you a beer? I have some whiskey?”
“Oh no i’m fine, thank you though.” I tell hm.
“How the hell do you know Abigail?” her father leans in closer to me. “You meet on an Only Fans page or something?” He whispers.
I cough as the saliva I try to swallow gets caught in my throat. “No sir, your daughter isn’t that type.”
“ I don’t know how else she’s affording a place on her own and putting herself through med school at the same time unless she’s, ya know.”
“I told you, I applied for grants this semester, Dad. I’ll have to take out grants and start working at Shifters.” Abigail says, making it known she heard her dad.
What in the actual fuck is going on? What kind of dad talks about his daughter like that.
He grunts to himself as he sits back down.
“Mike, don't you remember him from the wedding?” Abigail’s mom says.
“Now that I think about it. I remember seeing you and Josh, Ya, that Josh guy was all over the place. He got pretty drunk by the end of the night.” Abigail’s mom laughs to herself. “My sister and I stayed back to help clean, and we got a kick out of watching all the drunk people fall to the ground.” She laughed heartily, but it was an eerie sound, not a pleasant one, and it sounded like an old windpipe trying to work. I bet she didn’t laugh much, especially around her husband.
Ya, I needed to get Abigail out of here now . No way am I leaving her behind at this nut house. I’ve been here less than twenty minutes, and I felt uncomfortable. Unwelcomed.
The negativity oozed out of the walls, it was everywhere, and there was no way you could ignore it.
“Hey Abigail, you forgot those cassettes in my car,” I said the first thing that came to mind.
She tilts her head to the side, pinning her eyes on me.
“The ones you liked, and I said I would give them to you at the wedding last night.”
“Uh-no, you didn’t?” She squishes her eyebrows together.
“And that dress was gorgeous on Jenna. I will say she did a good job picking out that dress. I love the lace on any wedding dress.” Her mom continues to talk to herself. The dad is glued to the screen again, mumbling about money and Jenna's father.
Now would be a good time to bolt while her parents were distracted.
“Ya, I did. You didn’t hear me. Or you forgot.”
She left her suitcase in the car, and I know once I walk out of there, she will realize it's still in my truck. Thank God she left it in there. I didn’t offer to take it out because I wanted fate, the stars, to determine this path.
I'm sure she just forgot it. I could tell she was in her head the whole car drive here, and now I can see why.
“Well, it’s fine, don't worry about it.” She says, glaring at me.
“Nonsense. Let me go get them.”
“The chocolate cake was dry, but the almond was delicious.” The mom continued to talk to whoever was listening. My guess is that her dad was already tunning her out as he went into the kitchen to grab another beer. I also could take a wild guess and bet that he drinks every weekend to drown out his misery.
When my lungs take in the fresh air, I immediately feel like I can breathe better. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they didn’t give two shits about Abigail’s well-being, and I had no idea why. I mean, it was obvious her parents were selfish and un-happily married, but why would they not care about their daughter's well-being?
I open the door to my truck, hop inside, turn it on, and wait. I locked the doors so she wouldn’t try to get the suitcase and leave. I watch the clock, and I can’t help but think of what she told me.
Wish time is 11:11, Blake and I’s birthday.
What kind of wishes did they tell each other back and forth? Did any of them ever come true before Blake died?
I see the front door open, and Abigail waves a hand to get my attention. One and a half minutes. That’s all it took for her to realize she left her suitcase in there. Or to notice I left.
Ya, she wasn’t too excited about moving back in with her parents. I wasn’t imagining her being comfortable at my apartment, working out, cooking, taking walks down by the creek in the backyard. She was comfortable there.
“Wait, I forgot my suitcase.” She shouts.
When she tries to open the door, she realizes it’s locked. She bangs on it, and a slight smirk slithers across my face. Got her
“Nope, not until you get in.”
“What?”
“I said not until you get in.”
“You are fucking crazy. Open the door, Colt.” Her voice sounded muffled through the window.
“I will once you get in.”
“So what? You’re going to steal my stuff now?” She places her hands on her hip, giving me an attitude. And it’s fucking adorable.
“Maybe. Suppose you don’t get in. I know you can’t follow me since you have no car. So, you have no choice right now.” I say through the window.
“Colt, you better open this fucking door.”
I rev up my engine. “What’s that? I can’t hear you over the noise.”
“Open the damn door! I’m not going with you.” She drops her hands from her side now:
“Wrong answer.” I start to back up a little bit.
“Colt.” She bangs on my window harder. “Stop playing around and open the damn door, this isn’t funny.”
I break out in laughter at that comment. “It kind of is, though.”
“I’m going to call the cops,” she says, pointing a finger at me. My dick gets hard at the sight of her, and fuck me sideways. No girl has ever had this effect on me or my dick. Even livid she’s absolutely stunning.
She’s Blake’s, you asshole.
I remind myself, but it doesn’t affect the situation in my pants.
“Oh ya, they’ll jump right on that. NFL player steals young girl's clothes because he has a shoe fetish.” I say as I move my hands across the dashboard to each word. “Come on, Abigail. Got to do better than that.”
I back up a few more inches on her parent's driveway.
“Would you stop!” she screams. “You’re going to cause a scene.” Her face starts to turn red. And I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or anger.
“I’m not the one screaming,” I say with a smirk.
She groans loudly, and I see the veins popping out of her neck.
Oh ya, She pissed, but I didn’t give in.
“Besides, sweetheart, I need to give you those cassette tapes.” I know I’m just egging her on more, but like I said, if she weren’t so fucking adorable mad, maybe I would have given in by now.
“I don’t fucking want them!”
“Ya, you do.”
Just like you want me too.
“Oh man, look at the time. I better get going. Bodie is going to wonder.”
I back up a little more, and half my truck is on the main road now, and if I don't move, I’ll be blocking traffic.
“Okay, fine. I’ll get in. Just open the damn door.” She says, throwing her hands up in the air.
I love persistence. It always wears down resistance—perks of being a pro athlete. We don’t give up easily on things we want, and patience becomes like sipping on cold tea on a hot summer day. Soothing.
I pull up slightly and unlock the car door. She opens the back door instead of the front.
“Why are you sitting back there,” I ask, looking over my right shoulder slightly.
“Because you’re an ass, I’m getting my shit.” She tries to pull her suitcase out, but I’m too quick, and I yank her by her shirt to pull her inside.
She squeals, but I ignore it.
“What the fuck!” She says as I hold onto her shirt
I quickly reverse the truck forcefully so the door closes on its own. Once it does, I release her shirt and lock the doors, hitting the child safety button before speeding off. She’s baffled in the back seat as she pulls her hair out of her face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Take me back right now” Her voice is piercing. It's almost toxic to my soul, but I let it go down smoothly, filling up the dark hole that lingers in my chest, because I don’t back down.
“No,” I grunt.
“I said now!” She shouts.
“You don’t have anyone at that house who cares about you,” I tell her
“And I do at your house?” She says, slightly calmer now.
I shoot my eyes in her direction in the rearview mirror. The answer to her question comes so quickly and rings so heavily on the tip of my tongue that I want to tell her. But I don’t, and she stares at me. My unsaid reply was hanging between us. She falters, realization softening her eyes.
“We’re going to get Bodie and then go home.”
“This is insane.” She crosses her arms over her chest and slams her back against my car seat. Her eyes flared. She’s tense and pissed and probably thinks she’ll deal with me with prying eyes later, but I don’t care. I’ve got her. I had no idea what her parents were thinking now, and I didn’t care. Let them scratch their heads and think about what they want for the next five minutes because that’s precisely how long it will take them to forget she exists again.
No wonder she took up Josh’s offer without a big fight. I don’t think she was abused or molested or anything of that nature. But it's obvious she was neglected.
“I’m not one of your siblings,” she says under her breath. “You can’t save me.”
I knew what she meant by that statement. I can’t save her to eliminate the guilt for not saving Blake. And she was right. I would never forgive myself for not taking his addiction more seriously. But that doesn’t mean I couldn't try to help her; I know it's what Blake would have wanted me to do.
With tension building from the emotion in this truck, I go heavy on the gas and get on the road that heads home.