Page 26 of Lucky Shot

Sixteen Years Ago

“Can we put away the football kit already?” Monty’s deep baritone floats down the hall to my room.

No. Absolutely not.

I stare at myself in the mirror. In my Chelsea Football Club kit—blue jersey and shorts with Hardy emblazoned across the back. They swim on me, but they were his—my dad’s—and that’s enough of a reason for me to keep them forever.

But when I don’t hear my mum refute him, flustered panic claws its way up my throat and steals my voice.

Say it.

Say it!

“It’s one of the only things he has left of his father’s,” she says softly in that appeasing tone I’ve come to despise.

“Yes, well, his father is gone. He must move on. I’m telling you, that’s exactly why the arrangements I’ve made are needed.”

I pull a pillow to my chest and hold it tightly, my heart hurting and my eyes scrunched to hold back the tears.

Suck it up, Alexander. Men don’t cry.

Monty’s refrain is a constant in my head every time I miss my dad.

“But he’s only ten, Monty,” my mum says.

“Exactly. Old enough to have a man made out of him, and since it’s not happening here, it needs to happen somewhere.”

“I don’t know that I agree,” she murmurs.

“No? Every time he acts out at school, you run to him. Every punch he throws on the pitch, you coddle him and make excuses. You really think it’s not required, Simone? How are we to live our lives as we choose? How are you to be the wife of Monty Kettering and attend required society functions and the necessary trips? How can we do that when we have a troublemaker causing exasperating disturbances?”

I wish I had wings so I could fly far, far away. So I could fly high and touch my dad’s angel wings.

So I could escape Monty’s authoritative voice and desire to discard me. So I could make my mum love me more than her need to cling to status and society. So I could pretend the whole last year never happened.

“You’ll agree when we have the freedom to move about Europe without worrying who will take care of him.” He chuckles and she giggles that scratchy sound that reminds me of Coke when it’s poured out. The hiss of bubbles trapped against the edges of a glass cup. They tickle your nose and make you want to sneeze simultaneously. Hatred for him tastes like acid on my tongue. “Kindly get him out here so I can advise him of his new adventure.”

I jump off my bed, yank my dad’s jersey over my head, and stuff it into my pillowcase to hide it. No one is taking it from me.

There’s a hushed back and forth. It makes me uncomfortable because I know they’re fighting about me. Then again, it’s not really fighting because Mum never fights for me. Not anymore.

“Alexander? Honey?” Her footsteps come down the hallway toward my room, each one heavier than the last, despite the cheerful tone of her voice.

She’s only cheerful when she fakes it.

I stand in my room, shirtless, and cautious when she fills the doorway. “What?” It’s a croaked syllable. My heart is pounding, and I don’t like this one bit.

The last time my heart pounded like this, my dad died.

Why do I feel the same now?

“Monty and I have a surprise for you. An incredible opportunity only offered to the best of the best.”

“We could go away together,” I whisper, eyes darting toward the sitting room where no doubt he hasn’t moved from. “You and me. We could travel together. Go to a place where no one, not even Monty knows. And I’d try my hardest in school so you wouldn’t have to worry about that and—”

“But I love Monty, sweetheart.”

Her words are like a punch to my gut.