Sweet Rome

I stared at the floor, never once daring to lift my eyes.

“Rome, get in the car,” my daddy ordered coldly, and my heart sank as I broke loose from Coach’s hold and ran into the back seat, shivering at the too-cold temperature of the black leather under my legs.

I strapped myself in, watching my daddy’s back bunch as he spoke to the coach. Coach Dean swallowed hard, looking shocked at whatever my daddy was saying. He’d be telling him I couldn’t come back, that I couldn’t waste my time on football anymore, that I had a duty as a Prince and football wasn’t it.

Leaving the coach standing frozen in shock, my daddy spun on his heel and stormed back to the car.

Slamming the driver’s side door, he started the engine. I made sure to keep my head low. I knew he’d be looking at me in the mirror, his brown eyes lit with fury, so I kept my chin tucked down to my chest, avoiding looking him directly in the eyes.

“You f**ked up today, Romeo,” he said calmly.

I flinched.

Romeo. I hated that name. It always caused my stomach to tighten and my breath to come out too fast. My fingernails dug into my palms as my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I’d been getting real angry of late, so mad that sometimes it was a struggle to contain it. I didn’t know how to make it stop.

“You think it was smart to sneak out and come here when you’d already been told not to?”

I didn’t reply, was too scared, too angry to reply.

“Answer me!” he shouted, hitting the steering wheel with his large hand.

“N-no, s-sir, it wasn’t smart,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice from breaking. He would just laugh if I cried; it always just made things worse. He said it made me weak.

My daddy hated weakness.

“You want folk around here spreading the word on how good you are at football?”

I did, but that wasn’t the answer I was expected to give.

“No, sir.”

“Then from now on, do as you’re told! How many times do we have to go through this? I have plans for Prince Oil, plans that you will need to see out. Football is unacceptable, boy!”

We drove the rest of the way home in silence. When the Bentley pulled to a stop in the driveway, I rushed into the house and up to my room, curling into a small ball on top of my bed, waiting for what I knew would happen next.

And it did. It was the one constant in my life.

After a few minutes, I heard the creaking of the old stairs, and a moment later, the bedroom door opened and my daddy entered my room, jacket and tie off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was always calm, collected. I’d never really seen him flip. The quieter he was, the more scared I became.

He was deathly quiet today.

I held in a cry as he glared at me and snapped a thin black leather belt in his hands. “Get up, Romeo. This will be over quicker if you don’t put up a fight. You need to be punished for disobeying my orders.”

Taking a deep breath, I got to my feet and stood in the center of the room, eyes squeezed shut, wrists held out, waiting for the lashing I knew was about to come. I would take the pain. Football was what I wanted and I wouldn’t give up on that dream, not for anything…

I snapped my eyes open, body stiffening at the old memory that haunted my dreams, my heart pounding in my chest and my breathing erratic.

It was only a dream… It was only a dream, I told myself over and over again as I pushed my long, sweaty hair from my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nose, trying like hell to calm the f**k down.

My alarm cut through my panic, the bastard thing blaring out its annoying tone at a stupidly high volume.

“Uhh! Bullet, turn it off,” a female voice moaned.

Dreading who I would find next to me this morning, I looked down, following the sound of the voice. Sprawled on my bare chest, was… was… fuck if I knew. Some random chick.

That familiar sick feeling burst in my stomach and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Hell, I needed to stop with the drinking and the f**king. This was my year—time to get serious, no more distractions, no more feeling like shit.

Lifting my head cautiously, I tested the severity of my hangover and winced at the bright morning sun shining through the window. Jesus, what the hell did I drink last night?

The chick groaned again at the movement, and I pushed her off me, her hung-over ass flopping to the mattress as I slid off the edge of my bed, sighing in disgust as I spotted the used rubber still on my dick. Nice.

Looking back, I tried to remember something… anything, a small bit of info about who the hell she was. There was nothing, just fragmented flashes of a party and being led to my room… then sweet. Fuck. All.