Page 35

THIRTY-FIVE

jack

I keep my eyes squeezed shut until the elevator stops at the parking garage level.

The doors open and I walk into the desolate space, Carter’s words looping through my mind.

He’d never said he loved me before.

Of course, I’d hoped he did.

Christ, at one point, I’d wanted to hear those words come from his mouth more than anything else.

But now, after so much damage has been done, I can’t accept them.

The risk just isn’t worth it.

So it’ll be me, on my own, once again.

Just like it always was.

Life has shown me over and over again that I can’t count on anyone else for my happiness.

And at this point, I have finally accepted it.

I have hockey. I mean, hopefully, I still have it.

Who knows what the press will do with the story I told today?

They may crucify me for exposing my demons.

My endorsers and fans may reject me, fire me, cancel me.

Bob and Coach Enver say the Raptors are on my side, but money talks, and if ticket sales plummet and the fans desert us, how long will they sing that tune?

I took a lot of risks today in coming clean about my story.

Maybe people will accept me, maybe they won’t.

I might get hurt again.

At least I’m free and I know I’ll find my path forward.

Just like I always have.

And now I need to help Jeremy and give him the chance to do the same.

I pull out my keys and run toward my car.

My GPS says the address is about fifteen minutes from the arena.

“I’m coming, Jer,” I mutter, shifting the car into Drive.

“Hang tight, bud.”

It feels like hours have passed before I come to a dilapidated building in one of the more run-down neighborhoods in Oakland.

It’s eerily quiet and still outside the building, and a cluster of guys, maybe high school aged, gathers at the top of the block, eyeing me as I get out of the car.

I have no faith the car will be here when I get out, but I’ll deal with that once I get Jeremy out of his apartment.

I give the guys at the corner a long look to show them I’m not rattled.

They don’t bother me.

They just stare back as I dart into the building.

I pull open the door and the stench of rotting trash hits my nostrils, making my stomach roil.

The stink hovers over me, consuming my senses like a toxic cloud.

Loud music comes from a few of the units on the bottom floor.

Jeremy’s apartment is 3C.

I eye the elevator and shake my head.

No fucking way do I get into that thing and risk getting trapped.

Instead, I run up the steps to the third floor and step into the hallway.

Broken bottles and greasy brown bags line the walls, the tattered tan carpet stained with dirt and grime.

I try not to breathe in the stink, focused on the numbers on each door.

I finally come to 3C and stop.

The door is cracked open and the sound of whimpering floats into the hall.

“Jeremy?” I call out.

The whimpers get louder, but no words are spoken.

I push open the door, the apartment dim.

An ominous sensation slithers down my spine.

Shit, this isn’t good.

Maybe I should have called the cops.

But I keep inching forward.

My feet squeak on the cracked linoleum floor.

Streaks of red appear under my feet as I move deeper into the hellhole.

I whip my head around, panic clenching my gut when I see Jeremy’s crumpled-up body in a corner.

There’s gray duct tape slapped over his mouth, his face stained with tears.

I bolt toward him and something smashes me against the side of my face.

I stumble backward into a wall, narrowly missing a line of cockroaches that scurry past along the floor.

The same man from Play It Forward appears out of the shadows, a demonic smile on his face.

“Guess it really is true that hockey players are dumber than shit,” he bites out, swinging a gun in front of my face.

“All it took was a couple of texts to get you here. Goddamn, that was too easy.”

I hold a hand to the side of my face and wince, my skin on fire.

“Look, you sick fuck, back the hell off. I’m taking the kid.”

He lets out a sharp laugh.

“You and what army? I’m the one holding the gun right now. How the fuck do you think you’re gonna get out of here?”

Jeremy’s father takes a few unsteady steps toward me, his breath reeking of liquor, eyes so bloodshot, I’m surprised he can see straight.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I spot a rolling pin on the counter.

I don’t even want to think about why it’s there or what the fuck this maniac was using it for, but it may be our only hope of getting out of here.

A rolling pin against a gun.

Fuck me.

“Nobody is gonna tell me how to raise my kid,” the guy sneers.

“And I’m gonna make sure you pay plenty of your fucking millions for dragging my name through the dirt.”

“You don’t deserve him,” I seethe.

“You’re a miserable fucking bastard for hurting him. Your kid. Your flesh and blood. You’re the most vile, disgusting kind of person and you deserve to fucking rot in hell.”

He just laughs.

“Say whatever you want. But now I’m gonna show you what happens to people who don’t know how to mind their own business.”

The guy lumbers toward me, the toe of his shoe getting caught in a cracked floor tile.

I grab the rolling pin and swing it around so it cracks against his head.

He goes down hard and I dodge him to get to Jeremy.

His hands are taped together behind his back and his feet are taped up, too.

His dad moans and writhes on the floor.

I see a pair of scissors and cut through the tape around his ankles the pull him off the floor.

Just as I cut through the tape around his wrists, the guy grunts and staggers to his feet, the gun still in his hand.

Memories of the last night I saw my father pop between my ears.

I shove past him, like I did my father years ago.

Holding Jeremy close, I lead him toward the door when the explosion scrambles my brain and shudders my chest. A bullet lodges into the wall next to us.

“Don’t even think about it, fucker. He’s my kid!”

I look back, down the barrel of the gun.

Shoving Jeremy in front of me, we reach the door.

I push him out just as another shot fires.

My body buckles but I keep moving.

I push Jeremy toward the stairs, clenching my teeth when my left arm erupts into flames seconds later.

I clutch my dead arm, a warm, sticky liquid flowing over my fingers.

“Go,” I rasp. But he hangs onto me, helping me down the steps.

Three fucking flights.

I fall to my knees once we hit the bottom floor, my breaths short and sharp.

Jeremy pulls me up and pulls the tape from his mouth.

“We have to go,” he says in a shaky, teary voice.

“He’ll kill us if he catches us.”

In the deep recesses of my fogged brain, I hear yelling and know he’s right.

I use every bit of strength in me to get up and out of the building.

Thankfully, my car is still next to the curb; although, my rims are gone.

Jeremy digs through my pockets to grab the keys and helps me around to the driver’s side.

I fall into the seat and stab the button to start the car.

Jeremy runs around to the passenger side and gets in.

“Go,” he screams. “We have to get out of here.”

I swallow hard but my mouth is as dry as a camel’s ass.

I blink fast, my vision blurred.

Numbness sets into my arm, creeping down my side.

My head feels heavy and I just want to lean back against the seat and close my eyes.

“Coach, please. We have to go,” Jeremy sputters through his tears .

“Okay,” I say, putting the car in Drive.

I slam my foot on the gas and speed down the street.

“Where are we going?” I slur, my brain slowing to a crawl.

My eyes droop and I struggle to keep them open as I make a turn down another street.

I have no idea where we are or where we’re going.

Pins and needles assault my legs, all sounds fizzling out to white noise.

My right leg relaxes off the gas, my eyes falling closed again as I slump against the seat.

“Coach, watch out!”

I force my eyes open right as the car heads directly into a tree.

I try to turn the steering wheel but have no ability to move.

Tires squeal, metal crunches, Jeremy’s screams pierce the air.

This time when my eyes close, I let them.

And darkness swallows me whole.