Small Town Boy

Chapter 12

My phone was flooded with messages when I awoke on Saturday morning. There could have been many explanations for this, although most weren't great. Still, it was already nine, and neither Mom nor Dad had woken me up yet, so whatever had happened, they didn't know. I placed my phone back on the nightstand and got dressed. I could enjoy the morning before I'd inevitably have to deal with the messages. 

Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, sitting at the table when I got there. Mom was sipping a cup of coffee while Dad read a newspaper. I ignored them both and went to the counter to make my breakfast. 

"Are you not going to say good morning to your parents Landon?" Dad asked. I rolled my eyes, but I was facing the wall so he couldn't see. 

"You looked busy. Good morning though." I answered, taking a deep breath. 

"Oh we're never too busy for you," Mom said warmly. Bullshit. They'd spent half of the last five years in Denver, and when they were here, I played second fiddle to their rich friends. Moreover, when they really got to know me, I bet there would suddenly be no time for their favorite son. 

"How was the football game last night? Shame we couldn't make it." Dad said, laying the newspaper on the table. See what I mean? Too busy to come watch his son starting at quarterback for the first time. 

"Bad. We lost." I sighed. 

"Oh, I thought you were winning a lot this season?" Dad said, slightly surprised. 

"We were," I said. "But we played badly the last two games. Plus Owen got injured." 

"Well, you better turn your form around quickly if you want to make the playoffs." Dad shook his head. For once, I agreed with him. 

"Yeah, we need to." I agreed, placing two slices of bread in the toaster and pushing them down. I didn't really want to think about practice this week. It would be bad enough with the coaches angry at our poor performance, but after what happened after they left, I didn't even want to go. 

He resumed reading his newspaper, while I waited for my toast. Usually, I'd have my phone, and I'd just go on that while I waited, but that was still in my room so I resorted to looking out the window. It was clearly almost winter. The peaks were all covered in a white blanket, a blanket which was creeping closer and closer to the valley floor with each week that passed. The trees which lost their leaves were now almost bare, left standing naked in the wind. 

The peaceful moment was broken by the pop of the toaster. I spread jam onto the pieces of toast and carried the plate to the table. Mom looked up, hearing my approaching footsteps. 

"Oh my, what on earth happened to your leg?" She gasped. I looked down, remembering the cuts and gashes from last night. I'd hastily ripped the bandages off last night before showering and been too distraught to do anything about them, so they were on full display. 

"Someone's cleat," I mumbled. 

"Did you get them back?" Dad asked, not looking up from his reading. 

"No, what good does that do?" I asked. 

"Shows him you aren't to be messed with. An eye for an eye, you know." He said. 

"It was an accident." I shrugged, taking a bite of my toast. Dad didn't bother me for the rest of breakfast, and soon I was done, eventually retreating back to my room. I brushed my teeth, cleaned the stuff from my room that'd been dumped on the floor last night, and then sat on my bed, holding my phone. I didn't dare look at it. 

There was a huge part of me that wanted to look at it. Even if there was a traunch of hateful messages, I just wanted to know. The other part of me was scared. I hadn't fallen apart yet, and there was every chance that I would. I felt it vibrate again. Another message, probably.