PROLOGUE
Jay
Ten years ago, age 17
The rain pours down from the heavens in sheets. The air at the top of the cliff face is cold and bleak, hitting me in the face just as harsh as the stabbing rain that pecks at my skin.
I glance over the top of a forty-foot drop as I take another swig of whiskey from the bottle I bought earlier at the mini mart. I’m not even old enough to drink, so I paid some dude ten bucks to buy it for me. I’m kinda regretting it now, because I drank too much and all of my problems are swirling around my brain, darker than the clouds that loom above me. The idea that I could feel better seems stupid. It never lasts, anyway.
My issues stem from my parents. They’ve always been a problem for me. For one; my mom never wanted me. She thought I was a complete waste of space and often told me so. My dad split when I was seven, finally having enough of her. She’s a cold, hard woman and often unrelenting in most things she does.
I grew up in the mid-west, but we’ve been bouncing around a lot the past few years, never staying in one place for too long. Then we got to San Diego a year ago and Mom found a new boyfriend, Gus. I don’t like the guy because he only seems to fuel my mom’s drinking and they fight a lot. Sometimes his anger directs itself toward me, but I’m old enough and big enough to not take any of his shit. Or at least, I feel like I am.
Finally, after months of things getting worse, I had enough and split.
I’ve been couch surfing for the past few weeks, missing school here and there, and hanging out with my friends. I’m holding up the best I can, but I got in the middle of a fight last night and it wasn’t even my fault. The shiner on my right eye is worse than the one Gus gave me recently when I back chatted to my mom. My observations at the time told me he was trying to prove his worth to her or some shit. Like he really cares about her. It’s toxic, like all of her relationships.
I’m not a hustler by any means. I’m the funny guy in school, always keeping people entertained with my clever wit and stupid jokes. Call me the class clown.
But last night when I was hanging out at the ice skating rink, I split up a fight between two guys from school arguing over a chick, Desley Palmer. She’s also a senior, one I was beginning to think must have beer flavored nipples the way these two guys were carrying on, going at it like a couple of fools. Basically, Jason took a swing for Levi but my face got in the way.
I ended up giving Desley a ride home because she’d had enough of the both of them. And let’s just say one thing led to another in the car and her nipples definitely don’t taste like beer… But they looked good all the same.
I take another swig and peer over the edge to the waves crashing around below.
On a good day, it’s ferocious. So, when the weather is wild like this, it’s unforgiving.
I sigh as I watch the water swirl, the current pushing the deep, gnarly waves up against the rocks. Splashes of the dark blue and white swell protesting with a vengeance.
I know how the waves feel. I’ve been protesting against my mere existence since the day I was born. Seventeen years of being unwanted, unwelcome, and unloved is no picnic.
And I ain’t after no pity party, but it’s been tough. I know for a fact none of my friends live like this.
I have two best friends, Tanner and Ben. Ben’s mom took pity on me and I can’t deny I haven’t been hamming it up just a little. She’s a great cook and I help with the dishes, so maybe I’ll get to bunk with them a little longer. I know it’s not a permanent thing, I can’t stay forever. But the thought of going back to my mom’s isn’t an option.
I’m in my final year of high school, and I’ve been selected to play in the USHL back home in North Dakota as soon as I graduate. It’s pretty cool to even happen in high school, and I’ve been the talk of the town for quite some time. The officials would have a fit if they saw me like this. That’s why I’m trying to fly under the radar and not miss too much school, so I don’t draw attention or let my grades slip. My future prospects won’t benefit from me fucking up; and that involves getting as far away from my home life as I can.
My dream is to obviously play in the NHL and I’m going to do everything I can in order to get it,
I run a hand down my tear-streaked face. The rain mixes in, blurring the difference between the water from the thunderous sky bleating down on me, and my traitorous eyes.
I know what set me off this afternoon; an argument over the phone with my mom about Gus. I still can’t believe the douchebag shoved me and gave me a shiner. Funnily, she’s notpissed about that, only about wanting to know where I am. It isn’t like she cares. It’s only to tell me she’s moving on, yet again, to whatever town she said… I don’t even remember the name. Fuck knows. Could be Timbuktu for all I care.
I’m not going. My sights are set on the USHL and North Dakotah, I’m looking forward to having some stability and living with my grandpa Ray who still lives there.
My mom has done nothing at all to help me in that regard. She keeps telling me I’m going to fuck it up and takes none of it seriously. I’m lucky that I have some selfless peers in school that have aided my journey on and off the ice. And by some miracle, I’m a damned good player.
Ice hockey is the only thing I’ve ever been truly passionate about. That and art, though I haven’t been able to draw or paint anything decent for so long I might’ve even lost the knack. Still, it holds a special place for me.
Thinking back to the conversation now with my mom, I realize she must have been having one of her good days. Meaning, she actually sounded like she meant the words she spoke.“Jay, I need you home. You can’t just wander around San Diego, it’s not safe. Stop being a baby and tell me where you are.”
“I’m not coming home,” I told her. “You and Gus can live your lives happily ever after. It’s what you want, after all. That’s if it lasts.”I snickered at the last part. She’s had a ton of men over the years, never settling on anyone, and I doubt Gus will be the exception. Mom uses men to get what she wants, then spits them out when she’s done. It’s always the same.
As I gaze at the half-empty whisky bottle in my hands, I begin to shake. And it’s not from the cold. Fuck. Am I turning into her with the booze?
It’s my biggest worry, and I should have never picked up a drop of the stuff. I know somewhere deep down that I’m betterthan this. I’ve had to be in order to even have a shot at doing something with my life.
It’s the one thing I swore I’d never do, but look at me now; half wasted and contemplating my anticipated future and what it holds. It’s weird how all of it suddenly loses meaning when I get all in my head about shit.
