VOLUME 1: JUKEDChapter 1: QuincyThis can't be happening I think as I run through the hospital parking lot. Not my baby sister. Not Sarah.I race through the sliding doors and up to the counter, interrupting someone talking to the nurse at the check-in desk. "I'm looking for my sister, Sarah. Sarah Watson. Someone called me and said she'd been in an accident. I'm her sister, Quincy."I can feel how wide my eyes are and how rapidly I'm breathing, but I can't calm down. I haven't spoken to Sarah in seven months. Seven months since we'd gotten in a fight about her dropping out of college. She'd wanted to take some classes and get a job as an administrative assistant. I told her she was crazy to throw away the college education Dad had wanted her to have and all of the credits she had already earned. She was only twenty then, so I'd tried to strong-arm her. I used guilt. Dad had left that money to her in his will for her to get a college degree, not go to some vocational program. She
I hate shopping on Saturday nights. But being the lazy ass I am on my off days, I didn't bother stocking the fridge before leaving on our last road trip. So now I'm out of everything from deodorant to milk.At least it's after midnight. That means fewer people in the store and boxes everywhere as employees stock the shelves. Boxes equal hiding places from unruly soccer fans.Not that there are many in this town compared to, say, football fans. But soccer fans are insane. Really insane. Soccer is the only sport where fans bring drums and horns to the stadium and play them through the entire game. The craziness at FIFA speaks for itself.As a forward and the team captain, when I do get recognized on the street, I tend to get mauled. Hence the need to hide behind boxes.Plus I'm having some trouble with my corner shot so I'm in a cranky-ass mood. God help the fan who tries to talk to me about it.As I'm grabbing a thirty-pack of Ozarka water on sale, I hear a screaming baby. Who the hell
The air is cool and comfortable at the cemetery. But the breeze has a bite to it. That's really the only kind of cold we get in Houston. I'm not really feeling it, though. I'm already cold, more out of numbness than anything.I haven't cried at all today. In fact, the last time I cried was the night Sarah died, when I was at the store freaking out about what to feed Chance. Since then it's like I've been on autopilot. Feed the baby. Call Sarah's employer. Burp the baby. Meet with the funeral home. Change the baby.Bury my sister.I stare at the casket in front of me. Sarah lies inside of it. I can't believe I'm burying my baby sister.Genevieve, my best friend and coworker, sits next to me, holding the baby. She keeps trying to quiet his cries while the preacher drones on about the sanctity of life and the need to treat every day as if it's your last. The baby always cries. Never stops. I wonder if he misses Sarah as much as I do. Can babies feel grief? Does he understand she's no
The bleating of the alarm on my phone jars me from sleep.Fuck. I hate mornings. I especially hate mornings when I don't know where I am.I blink rapidly for a few seconds, looking around the room. Ah yes. Hotel room. Los Angeles.Blonde hair is splayed across the pillow next to me. I scan her from top to bottom. Flawless, porcelain skin, hourglass shape, nice-sized tits. LA certainly doesn't disappoint in the beautiful women department.Hmm. If I wasn't supposed to be in a van going to the airport in twenty minutes, I might think about a morning quickie. But coach would have my ass if I missed the flight home.I fling back the covers and get up, looking at the woman in my bed. Nice ass, too. I take a quick shower before packing my bags, making sure to put the dirty stuff on top for quick sorting when I get home.I clutch her phone and my wallet and take a quick glance around the room.Used condom in the trash can? Check.Credit cards still in my wallet? Check.Naked pics of me on her
I'm so fucking tired, and yet my mind won't shut off.Once again, I'm wide awake in the middle of the night. I thought making bottles before bed would help me get a little more sleep, since I wouldn't have to actually think when it was time for Chance to eat overnight.But it doesn't really matter because my mind won't stop spinning. All I can think about is Sarah and the last conversation we had.The movement of the turnstile inside the microwave is almost hypnotic as the bottle goes round and round. It lulls me into a false sense of calm. And just like that, the memories start to invade my mind again."You're doing what?" I screech into the phone. I'm going to be late for work if I'm not careful, but once again Sarah has to be talked off a metaphorical ledge. "Quincy, I know you're mad," she said. "But things have changed - ""You are less than two years away from a degree," I chide. "Two years! Why the hell are you going to throw away two-and-a-half years of college to go to vocat
Practice is a lot of fun lately. Why? The rookies. We're watching them closer than before. Pushing them more, forcing them to show what they're made of. It's awesome.There's a lot of trash talking by the veterans, and you can tell the newbies are scared as shit. They have no idea where they stand, so they should be. Will they be benched for the next several seasons? Will they be practice players only? Will they be the next starter or even the next star? No one knows.One of them stands out among the rest, though. Rowen Flanigan. The kid is probably six one, so he is already on the tall side for a soccer player. His bright red hair, seriously white skin, and bright green eyes draw attention. If his name wasn't a dead giveaway about his Irish heritage, his looks would be.But that's not the only reason he stands out. The kid is a machine. As a draftee straight out of college, not only is he keeping up with the veterans, it looks like he may run circles around our current starting right
"Thanks for helping me clean out the apartment," I say to Geni as I tape up the final box. For the last few days, we've spent all our free time at Sarah's place.Once I tracked down the building manager and provided proof that Sarah had died, he gave us a full thirty days to clean it out. We didn't need thirty days to do it. There wasn't much.We had taken all the baby stuff before the funeral because I obviously needed to get Chance set up as soon as possible. A small crib, a swing, some clothes. It all looked secondhand, but it was clean and in good condition. The apartment was in a decent location. It was small but well maintained. There was healthy food in the fridge. The lack of bottles leads me to believe she was exclusively breast feeding, explaining one reason why he cries so much. She even had a few pictures of her and Chance in cute frames around the apartment. I made sure those came with us before anything else.I was really proud of my sister for what she had accomplished
"So how's it going with the baby?"Laurie, our caseworker from the Department of Family and Protective Services, sits with me on the couch in my apartment. Her kind smile is non-threatening. I like her. I feel like she has our best interests at heart. She's visited with us a couple of times over the last month, and I always enjoy talking with her.While I had been granted emergency custody of Chance the night of the accident, there is still a long road ahead of us. In order to obtain permanent custody or adopt, the state still has to do a complete home study, I have to take some parenting classes, and a few other things have to be processed to get through the red tape.They're still looking for Chance's biological father, because the law requires it, but Laurie assured me they weren't having any more luck than I was. That will make the entire process a lot faster since I'm Chance's only blood relative, which I am grateful for. Laurie is a really nice woman and seems to really want to h