Marcus Osborn better count his fucking days.
4
MARCUS
“You were absolutely incredible tonight!”
I smile at the sound of Mom’s voice on the phone. I’ve been hearing those words a lot tonight.
You’re the best.
Legend!
A fucking beast.
But none of them mean anything. They’re just empty words from people who’ll turn their back on me the moment I stop performing or lag behind.
They’re fame chasers, people with lives so empty, they only get satisfaction from other people’s accomplishments.
This voice, however, is different.
It’s the voice of the woman who made me who I am.
Theonlyperson I’m grateful for.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it, sweetie.”
I can hear her walking through the chaos that is Stantonville’s emergency room.
Now that she’s become head nurse, her responsibilities have doubled rather than decreased.
“Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’m the one who should be sorry. Tonight’s game will probably make the ER busier.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault.” She pauses. “How does it feel beating your biggest rival?”
“Awesome.”
“That’s my boy.”
“You know it.”
“I’m so proud of you, Marcus. Have I told you that lately?”
“Maybe twice today.”
“Not enough.” She laughs, but it slowly fizzles out. “So tell me. Weretheythere tonight?”
I don’t have to ask who “they” are.
Theyare the others.
The people whose existence alone threatens the life Mom and I have.
“No,” I say, leaning against my bike, my eyes on the dark sky.
The night air is sharp, numbing my face and pushing through my leather jacket until it settles in my bones.
“Are you lying to me?” There’s suspicion threaded through Mom’s chastising tone, and honestly, she has every reason to feel it.
