Page 133 of His Hungry Wolf

“I don’t want to hear it,” my father grumbled drawing my attention to the kitchen table.

The red-headed man looked his usual shade of ruddy pink. Like I suspected, he had a near-empty bottle of Lonehand Sour Mash Whiskey clutched in his grip. Tennessee’s finest.

“Dad…”

“I don’t wanna hear it. Do you know how much I sacrificed for you?”

“I know, Dad. You sacrificed everything,” I recited from our script while looking around to see what I had to clean up first.

“That’s right, everything! I God damn sacrificed everything. And for what?”

“So, I could become a big star,” I said skipping a few pages ahead.

“Don’t you fuckin’ do it. Don’t you talk to me like that,” he bellowed. “I should just go. I should get in my fuckin’ truck and never come back to this shit hole again.”

This was always that part that hurt the most. You would think I would have gotten used to him talking about leaving, but I never could. Maybe it’s because I knew his leaving was in my hands.

My father saw what I was capable of doing on the football field long before anyone else did. He saw that I would be a top NFL draft prospect and with it would come millions of dollars. He always made clear that he would stick around for that. There was no telling what he would do once he got his cut, but until then, I was pretty sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

“This wouldn’t be a shithole if you stopped wrecking the place.”

“Fuck you!”

“Nice Dad. Way to talk to your son.”

“You’re not my son.”

“Come on, Dad. Don’t start this again.”

This was a new subplot he had added to our script not too long ago. It went that I embarrassed him for not living up to my potential, so I couldn’t be his son.

“You’re not. You’re just some baby I stole thinking I could make some money…”

“Enough, Dad! I can’t take it anymore! You wanna leave so bad? Here!”

Pitching back my arm, I through his truck keys so hard it shattered the window and disappeared into the night.

“You wanna go? Take your fuckin’ truck and go. If you wanna stick around and milk me of everything I got for eternity, then stay. I just don’t give a shit anymore. You hear me? I can’t take this anymore.”

Bubbling with anger, I stormed to my room. The cabin shook as I slammed the door behind me. Staring back at it, I panted in fury. Tears rolled down my cheeks in rage. I wasn’t crying because of the things he said, it was because I was trapped. My skin burned as his words danced in my mind.

I had no mother or family. He was all I had. Without him, I was alone. But the only way I would ever get his horrid voice out of my head was if I let him go.

Yet, being left by myself felt like a fate worse than death.

The thought of it made the blood vessels in my temple throb. It hurt. My pounding heart ached. It felt like my body was about to tear itself apart until I heard a terrifying sound and my swirling thoughts stopped.

“No,” I said sprinting back into the living room and finding my dad gone.

As hateful as he was, I knew I wouldn’t be in the position I was if not for him. When sober, he reminded me of it every day. And, he was right.

Yeah, it was me on the field for 6 am practices and 7 pm sprints. But all he did for sixteen years was drive me from place to place and stand on the sidelines watching me play.

I knew what he was doing. He was keeping an eye on his investment. And, when I was 10-years-old and I would beg him in tears to do anything else but throw another football, he forced me to continue.

I truly wouldn’t have anything without him. Not my scholarship. Not my football-loving girlfriend. And not my chance to play in the NFL. I don’t know who I would be without everything he did. But, was the price I paid too high.

All of my swirling thoughts stopped when I heard a terrifying sound.