Nathan Northwood is simply living the perfect life every teenage boy dreams of. He is rich, handsome, captain and star player of the basketball team, could have any girl he wants and is basically the king of EverGreen High. However, Nathan wears a c...
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NATHAN
"What was that?" Kevin Northwood stood tall by the doorway to my bedroom while I was drying my wet hair with a towel after a taking shower.
He didn't show up to my games, but he watched them live on the news and never missed the chance to come into my room the moment I arrived home to criticize and point out every little flaw with them.
"It was a game, dad," I replied, throwing the towel away and picking up my phone to see if anybody had sent any messages on the group chat that consisted of me and the rest of the team.
There weren't any new messages so I just scrolled through the old ones so I didn't have to look at his moody face or the disapproving look he was clearly giving me.
"A game? Yeah, that's what it was. Just a game. Not a good game. Nowhere near good. That black coach of yours needs to upgrade his coaching. Things are looking bad for you all. Can't believe how we hire people like them."
And by them, he went colored people.
Honestly, Coach Jonah was the closest thing I had to a dad. Cause this asshole standing in front of me was nowhere near a father figure.
"Actually, you're at fault here," he said, his words stinging.
I'm always at fault. I always fuck up everything. I'm never enough. I'll never be enough.
"HEY!"
I flinched, my phone almost slipping through my fingers.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"
I swallowed hard and lifted my gaze to meet his furious blue eyes that he was staring at me through.
Dad had a broad frame and was always in his neat suits or workout attires. Today, it was a smooth black suit. He had high cheekbones, a sharp jaw and a constant scowl glued to his face. People always said I looked like him. That's why I hated looking him in the eye. It scared me how much we looked alike. How much I would look like him the older I got.
"You and your mom can't give me one fucking day to breathe. Always screwing up my day," he snapped, the thick vein on his forehead coming to sight.
I almost snorted of the irony in those two sentences.
He ran a hand through his short blond hair and his face gleamed of dangerous frustration. "I hope you can keep your fucked up head in the game next time. Tell your mom I'm leaving for a meeting. Can't handle that drunk bitch today."
