SPOILERS: takes place after season 4. Note: these characters are not mine.
I was packing up my stuff at the house before Billy and I went down to the sherriff's.
I was leafing through my high school papers and junk, and found the picture they took for the Panthers yearbook my senior year.
I happened to be standing in front of a mirror, and when I looked at my reflection, and then back at the picture, I was shocked.
Even though I was just a couple of years older, I looked like I'd aged a decade.
People have always told me how good-looking I am. Pretty ironic that my lame-ass parents gave me my looks, and nothing else.
My face used to be more oval, soft around the edges, without any creases or worry lines.
I was tanner, and my cheeks were flush and healthy looking.
My hair was a little shorter back then, too—better trimmed, if you can call it that.
And I had this cocky look on my face, like I could conquer the world.
Now, my face is drawn, more angular. I've lost some weight since I haven't really been eating properly, living by myself in a trailer, mainly on junk food and beer, though that hasn't found its way to my face just yet.
I'm pale and exhausted looking, with dark circles under my eyes from the worry preventing me from sleeping.
I have frown lines between my eyes, and creases furrowing alongside my nose and mouth.
My hair is long and scraggly because I haven't cared enough to cut it in months, and Garrity ain't around to bug me. I used to kinda like attracting the chicks, but now, I could give a rat's ass.
Even my eyes looked sunken in comparison. Haunted, you might say.
Haunted with the fact that yeah, despite my best efforts and intentions, I'd found a way to screw up my life, just like every single person who ever knew me expected me to.
Even though it was Billy who came up with the plan to run a chop shop. And I'd objected, until I realized he was right—that our options to really make some money in Dillon were almost non-existent.
Although believe me when I tell you that I really thought I'd made it through the gauntlet. When I'd put my money down on that land, and I'd gone to the shop after seeing my new nephew at home, I couldn't have been happier.
For the first time in my life, I saw a path clearly, and it was a revelation.
I realized I was old enough to be independent, make my own choices, that I could use my hands to make a living.
I'd finally let go of football as the guiding light of my life. I'd never have been able to work hard enough to become pro, no matter that I have god-given gifts that have taken me a long way in the sport.
And most importantly, I'd let go of Lyla once and for all. I'll always love her, but I saw that it just could never be between us. It might, if she stayed in Dillon, but even if she could be persuaded to come back, she needs to find that out for herself, and that could take years.
I don't even want to sleep with chicks anymore just because I can. Now that I know what love is, I need to feel that when I'm with someone.
So for the time being, I'm a lone wolf, and that's just fine. It may be a long time before I can commit my heart to a girl. If ever again.
Anyway… I'll treasure the memory of that feeling in the shop—heavy metal blaring, doing my air guitar, working and feeling productive, basically having a blast.
Which all exploded when the cops came asking questions.
Better me than Billy, in any case. Little Stevie needs a dad, and I sure as hell would do whatever it takes to prevent him from growing up like I did—unloved, blamed for everything. That ain't right.
I don't even know my nephew and I love him way more than my fuckin' dad ever did me.
So all the pictures of my young, pretty face are packed up, and now I'm stuck with this old one.
Perversely, it reminds me of my dad's that time he had to go to jail when I was little. His grand legacy to me.
Alright. Time to go. Hasta luego, amigos.
