AN: Thanks for reviewing, and don't forget to do it again. ) This chapter is like 10 pages long, so have fun reading it.

Actually, you won't like this chapter. But more on that on the next chapter's AN...

Title: Tales of a Broken Man: The Troy Bolton Story
Rating: T
Author: MadiWillow
Summary: A memoir on the life of famous NBA basketball player, Troy Bolton.
Genre: Drama/Tragedy
Chapter: And I Fall

And I Fall

Gabriella and I married on New Year's Eve 2012, and lived as a happy couple for four years. She was enjoying her job as a professor for USC more than anything, and it was around this time that I was thrust into the public eye. I was named MVP in my second and third year of playing in the NBA, and I was called the next LeBron James, even though LeBron came into the league fresh out of high school and I came fresh out of college. But it doesn't matter either way. I was happy with what I was doing. I loved my life.

It was in October 2016, two months before our four-year anniversary, when Gabriella and I learned we were going to be parents for the first time. We were beyond excited.

And it was nine months later on July 9th, while I was at the supermarket, that I got the call that Gabriella was in labor. I remember dropping my basket of groceries, causing a jar of mayonnaise to explode, as I sprinted to my car and sped back home to drive my wife to the hospital.

Gabriella pushed out our daughter for a total of two hours and four minutes, and I was with her, holding her hand, the entire time. My hand was narrower and more squashed than my other hand for a few weeks, but I didn't even care. My life was complete the second Isabella came into this world, at 4:03 p.m.

I cut the umbilical cord, and Gabriella cried when the doctor handed our swaddled daughter to her. I put my arms around Gabriella and held her tightly as we stared at our daughter.

"She's beautiful," I remember whispering as we gazed at Isabella, studying her features, as she gazed back at us, blinking her eyes slowly.

"Isn't it amazing that we made her?" asked Gabriella softly. "She's half of you and half of me."

"Look, she has your dark brown hair," I pointed out, running my hand over her soft head, where a few wisps of dark hair sat.

Gabriella giggled lightly. "And your gorgeous blue eyes."

"That's your nose," I remarked. Gabriella added, "And your mouth."

I reached out and put my hand to Isabella's face, loving the touch of her soft, delicate skin on my rough palm. Gabriella and I had make this beautiful person. I never would have though it was possible.

When Gabriella and I met, I wouldn't say it was love at first sight. I didn't fall in love with her until after we sang, which is why I could still say, all through our marriage, that I wasn't sure I believed in love at first sight.

But that was until Isabella. I loved her from the moment my eyes met hers. Looking at her made me feel like I was looking into a mirror, because I saw my exact same eyes staring back at me. Who cares about all those sleepless nights Gabriella and I spent with her for the first few months? Or those nights where she cried throughout the entire night? I certainly didn't, and neither did Gabriella. We loved Isabella with everything we could, and we wouldn't trade it for anything.

And for a few months, my life was complete. Nothing was wrong. I went back to work over the summer for training and, once the season started in October, I started going out of town. I missed Isabella terribly when I went away, so much so that it hurt. There were many nights where I'd go home and tell Gabriella that I was thinking of retiring from the league early, just so I could be with them all the time.

Gabriella shot down that suggestion at once. We had moved out of our apartment to a three-bedroom house, and in order to continue meeting the demands of the mortgage, I had to stay employed. It would be too hard to get a good job in such a short amount of time, and basketball was my passion. Why quit? She said. You're getting paid to do what you love. Quitting is not the answer.

So I didn't quit. As time went by I was able to live through the days where I couldn't see my wife and daughter by telling myself that I was providing them with a nice house and food on the table.

Christmas came and went, as did our fifth anniversary. Isabella was growing into a gorgeous little girl, and whenever she couldn't sleep, Gabriella and I would sing to her. It instantly quieted her down, and if we stopped before she was fully asleep, she'd immediately start fussing again.

And that's how life went for a few months, until April 10th, 2018, the day after Isabella turned 9 months. Does that date sound familiar?

I had a game that day, so I needed to be at the stadium for warm-ups at 8:30 a.m. My alarm was set for 7, but Isabella woke up and started to cry around 6. I quickly got up and went into Isabella's room, hoping she didn't wake Gabriella.

I held her in my arms for a while, watching as her scrunched up face slowly returned to its normal smoothness as she stopped crying. I changed her diaper and gave her a formula bottle. Then we watched TV for a while before I had to start getting ready for work.

I put her in her crib and turned on a stereo we had in her room. In it was a CD Gabriella and I had recorded together, singing our favorite songs. Every time Isabella heard us sing, whether it be live or recorded, she was always at peace.

After showering, brushing my teeth, and dressing, it was time for me to leave. I woke up Gabriella, shaking her gently, before her eyes fluttered open. I remember thinking about how beautiful she was as I looked into her deep brown eyes. I said, "Honey, I'm going now."

She smiled drowsily at me before leaning forward to kiss me on the mouth. "I love you."

I grinned. "I love you too. Isabella's awake – I changed her diaper and fed her at about 6:15."

"Is she in her crib now?"

I nodded. "She's listening to our CD."

She grinned back at me. "Bye."

"I love you," I said again as I swung my sports bag over my shoulder and left the room. I went into Isabella's room to find her giggling and smiling up at the ceiling as mine and Gabriella's voices floated from the stereo. "And we're breaking free..." I remember were the words I heard.

I bent over the crib and ran my hand over her baby-soft head. She smiled at me and kicked her legs. "Bye sweetie. I love you."

She let out a gurgling noise and I couldn't help myself but to pick her up and cradle her in my arms. I caressed her cheek before kissing it. I hugged her quickly before realizing I was going to be late for work. "I love you," I said again before carefully placing her back in the crib and leaving the room. "More than you, more than me, not a want, but a need..."

I arrived at the Staples Center 10 minutes late, much to the frustration of my coach. "Bolton, this is the fifth time this month!" He scolded me as I hurriedly entered the locker room. Most everyone else in the room was done changing, or close to be doing done.

"Sorry!" I remember gasping tiredly, as I'd run from my car. "It won't happen again."

"Yeah, that's what you said the first time..." my coach mumbled irritably. "Just get changed, Bolton."

We went through our normal pre-game morning routine, and as we took a lunch break I called Gabriella. I talked to her for a few minutes before she put the phone to Isabella and I talked to her. I didn't get a response, but it didn't matter.

I called her again right before the game started at 7. She told me good luck, and I said I loved her. I told her to tell Isabella that I loved her too. She assured me that they both loved me too before hanging up.

The game that night was going great. We played an amazing first half, with me scoring a total of 11 points. Half time was coming to a close and our coach always gives us instructions in the last 2 minutes before half time ends. But just as he was starting, my cell phone rang.

I sent the team an apologetic glance before answer my cell phone, which I always would bring with me out to the court during games. The rest of the guys made fun of me, but I liked the feeling that I could always be reached.

Without checking the caller ID, I answered the phone, assuming it was Gabriella. "Hey."

"Is this Mr. Bolton speaking?" an unfamiliar male voice said on the other line.

After another quick glance at my waiting team, I said, "Yes, it is. Who's calling?"

"This is Captain Brian Simpson from the Los Angeles PD. I need you to come down right away."

If I could've seen myself, I'm sure I would've had a very confused look on my face. Ignoring my coach, who was clearing his throat impatiently, I said hurriedly, "Where? The police station?"

"No," Captain Simpson paused. "Your home."

Immediately I suspected the worse. "Why?"

"Something has... happened," he said uncomfortably. "I'd like to tell you in person."

"No, tell me now!" I exclaimed urgently. A fellow team member of mine hissed, "Troy, come on!" but I paid no attention.

"Are you sure you want-?"

"Yes! Tell me right now!" I said, slightly louder than I wanted.

"Well, it's your wife... and your daughter..." Captain Simpson seemed to be having trouble speaking.

I remember feeling the blood drain from my face. "Gabriella? And Isabella? What's wrong!" I demanded angrily.

"They... they're dead,"

I don't remember anything that happened from that moment on until I reached my house. But according to reports from my teammates and some other people, I remained silent for a few moments before hanging up my phone. The coach instantly pulled me roughly aside and growled angrily, "Bolton, what the hell do you think you're doing? We have 30 seconds until the half starts!"

The team we were playing had already positioned themselves on the court, I found out after watching the TV recording of the night later. Apparently, I didn't answer my coach, but instead grabbed my stuff and tore into the lockers, much to the confusion of everyone in the stadium.

I must've changed in the locker room before driving home, because when I arrived I was in the same clothes I'd dressed in that morning, and my basketball clothes were stuffed in my sports bag.

My entire street was roped off and there was a large crowd around the perimeter, trying to inch slowly closer. I ran to the front of the crowd but was stopped by a barrier of yellow caution tape and a large police officer. "Sorry, no one's allowed in here," he said to me in a very deep voice.

The worry and anticipation that must have been stirring inside me since the call suddenly erupted from me at that moment, turning into anger and frustration. "Do you know who the hell I am?" I remember yelling at the officer.

"Yeah, you're a basketball player," he spat back at me. "Don't think that gives you any special privileges in crime scenes, though."

"Fuck man, that's my house!" I shouted. "That's my wife and daughter that have just been killed!" My voice cracked painfully as I said it. I felt as if I was confirming what I didn't yet know what true.

Someone heard me yelling and within seconds a blonde man had swooped up next to us. "Mr. Bolton," he held out his hand to shake mine. "I'm Captain Simpson who called you earlier. Please, come with me."

The other officer stood aside, slightly abashed, as I ducked under the caution tape to follow the Captain up my street. There were ambulances and about six police cars parked around my house, while the front of my house was marked off with caution tape like the ends of my street had been. Neighbors who had lived on our street were huddled in front of one of the houses, whispering urgently to each other.

Captain Simpson led me in my living room, where I found many police officers walking around, examining things. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary here, but I dreaded seeing the rest of the house.

However, we didn't go anywhere else. Captain Simpson turned to me here and said, "Mr. Bolton. I'm terribly sorry."

My eyes burned from holding back tears, and my throat was tight from trying not to cry. I had no idea what was going on, but I wanted to know what so badly. "Please... just tell me where my wife is. Where my daughter is."

The Captain sighed. "Are you sure you want to see them?"

I blinked. "Am I sure?" I remember asking, my voice hoarse. "Why wouldn't I be sure?"

"It's a pretty... disturbing sight,"

I could no longer hold back my tears. I felt drops of salt-water leak from my eyes as I stared back at Captain Simpson. "D-disturbing?"

He nodded solemnly.

I shuddered, before nodding. "Of course I want to see them."

The Captain sighed again before leading me up the stairs and into my bedroom, where even more officers were leaving and entering, whispering to one another and holding bags of random items. Some of them were taking pictures.

As soon as I walked into my room, I collapsed. The sight, more than anything, ripped my heart and soul apart. I grew light-headed and remember Captain Simpson saying, "Mr. Bolton? Mr. Bolton, answer me!"

My head was swimming but I forced myself to stand up. I stood shakily, staring from the floor and up to my bed.

On the floor was a large pool of blood. From there was a trail of blood that led up to the bed I had once shared with Gabriella. The trail stopped when it reached my wife, naked and bloody, and in her arms was Isabella, also nude. Part of Isabella's face was completely obscured by bruises and blood, so much so that it looked as if someone had attempted to rip it off. Gabriella's head was more squashed than normal, giving me the impression that it had been bashed. Both of them were also bleeding freely from the vaginal area.

The two people I loved more than anything else were lying in a large pool of their own blood, the life gone from them. It killed me a little more the longer I looked at it, but at the same time I couldn't tear my eyes from them.

"We found this next to them," the Captain whispered, handing me a small plastic bag. I blinked through my burning eyes to make out a small piece of paper, splattered with blood. I had no idea why he'd given me the paper, until I found some lightly scrawled words across it: I love you Troy.

"Gabriella wrote this?" I whispered.

I wasn't looking at the Captain, but I'm pretty sure he nodded before saying, "We found a pencil in her hand."

I turned to him, not even caring that my entire face was soaked with tears at that point. "What happened?" I asked, my throat burning.

"We're not entirely sure yet," said Captain Simpson, his own voice cracking slightly. "But we're pretty sure that someone broke in, raped and bludgeoned your wife and daughter to death. Since they haven't been examined yet, we aren't 100 sure if they were raped or what the ultimate cause of death was."

I remember sinking to the ground, gripping my hair tightly, so tightly that I felt a few hairs pop out of my head. I was shaking violently and before I knew it, I'd turned my head and vomited in a corner.

When I was done, I stood up again, my legs feeling like jell-o, and wiped my mouth on the back of my arm. "How did Gabriella write me that note?" I remember asking.

"Well, we think Gabriella was still alive when the killer took off," Captain Simpson explained. "We think she was here on the floor-," he pointed to the pool of blood. "-and stumbled onto the bed, where Isabella was already dead. Right before she died she must've written the note and held Isabella. This theory can be confirmed once they coroner examines them."

I wiped away my tears. "Wh-why didn't she call 911?"

"I think she knew she was going to die," said the Captain glumly. "She probably thought she had more important things to use the last of her energy on than make a call that wouldn't be able to save her."

I nodded. That sounded like something Gabriella would do. Slowly, I walked forward to Gabriella and Isabella. It made my heart explode with pain seeing them like that. And it killed me thinking of what they must have gone through in their last moments – the fear, the pain. I reached out and touched Gabriella's cheek; it was ice cold already.

And poor Isabella... by the sounds of it, Gabriella wasn't with her when this heartless person tortured her... she was all alone...

I collapsed again, shaking and throwing up. I remember a bucket being shoved in my face, although I don't know who gave it to me, and I started throwing up in there. After a few minutes I dry heaved, because there was nothing left in my stomach to throw up. I looked up to see Captain Simpson holding a glass of water for me. I took it, swishing some around and then spitting it into the bowl to wash out my mouth.

I felt clammy and shaken – this can't be happening, I kept telling myself... They can't be dead...

"I think you need to get some rest, Mr. Bolton," the Captain told me gently. "You can't stay here, since it's been locked down as a crime scene. And I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want to stay here..." He sighed. "We've already set up a hotel room for you. After hearing about the murder, the Beverley Hilton were kind enough to give you a nice room, free of charge, until you can come back here." After that he gave me his card with his number on it. "Call me if you have any questions?"

I vaguely remember hearing him say all that, but I nodded anyway. He had a police officer pack some things for me, since I was so out of it, and drive me in my car to the hotel.

It was around 10 p.m. by the time I was finally settled in my room. It was big, I remember, and very nicely decorated. But I don't remember anything else from the room, because I was so torn up inside.

I needed something to do besides mulling over the fact that my wife and daughter were dead again and again in my mind, so I turned on the TV. ESPN was the channel it was set on, and I was extremely surprised to hear my name mentioned on it.

"...Troy Bolton became a hot topic for discussion tonight when, without any explanation at all, he fled the Lakers vs. Knicks game right before the second half was due to start. We still have no word as to why he left..."

I quickly changed the channel, because it made me think of the nightmare my life had become, but to no avail. The next channel I clicked to was the ABC local news, which was in the middle of its first story of the night.

"A gruesome murder occurred earlier tonight in the suburbs of Los Angeles, when the wife and 9-month-old daughter of L.A. Lakers forward, Troy Bolton, were discovered in their home, beaten to death," the blonde anchorwoman announced in a solemn tone. "Mr. Bolton was in the middle of a game when he received the call, and rushed home. More from Pat at the scene."

"Thank you, Kelly," said a brunette woman, who was standing with an ABC microphone right in front of my home. I stared at the TV in astonishment as she started her report. "The police aren't saying much about this case, except that the victims have been bludgeoned to death. All we know, other than this, was that a neighbor phoned 911 at around 8:20 to report 'noise and screams' coming from the Bolton house. Police rushed to the house and found the disturbing sight."

"Pat, are there any suspects?" asked blonde Kelly.

"No, Kelly, none that we are aware of," answered Pat. "Usually in murder cases such as this, the husband is the first to be targeted, but so far it seems as though the police have discarded Mr. Bolton as a suspect."

I turned the TV off at that point, shaking once again. Hearing on the news seemed to make it more final that seeing their bodies...

They're dead, I remember thinking. I'm never gonna be able to hold them in my arms again... they're really gone forever...

A few minutes later, I got up after realizing that I had to tell our families. I flipped open my phone to see that I had 16 missed calls; 10 were from my dad, 3 from my good friend Chad, and 1 each from my other three good friends, Ryan, Zeke, and Jason. They'd all probably seen the game and were wondering what was up with me.

I decided to call Gabriella's mother first, my mother-in-law Maria. I remember dialing the phone; that was the longest moment in my life.

I remember this phone conversation clearer than anything else about that night. I don't know why; perhaps because it touched me in a way that nothing ever had before.

Maria answered it after two rings. "Troy?" she said.

"H-hey, Mom," I stuttered. Maria had always told me to call her Mom, but this was the first time I'd actually granted that wish.

"Troy, I saw the game today," Maria said in a worried tone. "What happened?"

"Um... there's something you need to know," I said, realizing at that point just how hard it must have been for Captain Simpson to tell me such tragic news over the phone.

"What?"

"It's Gabi and Isa," I said, using the nicknames Maria used for them.

There was a small pause. "What's wrong?" she asked urgently.

"They're... they're dead," I whispered.

There was a long silence on the other end before Maria burst into such loud tears that I jumped, holding the phone away from my ear. She sobbed, "No! No, it can't be true! Troy, please tell me you're playing some cruel joke on me! Please!"

"I'm so sorry, Maria!" I said, starting to cry again myself. I let out a sob. "Maria, someone murdered them..."

"No!" She shrieked as she continued weeping. "Not my baby... not my grandbaby... no, please, God... why them?"

The two of us cried together on the phone for about ten minutes before Maria was able to control herself. I remember her saying, "T-Troy... I'll be here in the morning... I'm taking the first flight out..."

"Okay... I'm staying at the Beverly Hilton, so go there... not our house..." I choked.

Maria didn't answer; she just hung up.

After than I phoned my parents back in Albuquerque. My father, Jack, answered on the first ring. "Troy!" He exclaimed angrily. "What the hell do you think you're doing, running out in the middle of a game! You better hope they don't kick you off the team for that little stunt, talk about throwing away your career-!"

"Dad-" I tried to interrupt him, but he kept on ranting.

"I mean, Jesus, you've been working on getting where you are right now your entire life, and then you do this! I can't even begin to wonder why you would do something like that, what would make you think it was okay-,"

I remember hearing my mother, Gwen, in the background, saying, "Jack, give him a break, he's a grown man-!"

At this point, the anger I was feeling towards whoever did this to my family burst out of me and I screamed at my father, "Dad, they're dead! Gabriella and Isabella are dead! Someone raped and beat them to death! Is that a good enough reason to leave in the middle of a game? Is it?"

There was another silence on the other line until I heard my mom wrestling the phone from my dad and screaming, "Troy! I think I misunderstood you. Did you just say my daughter-in-law and grandchild are dead?"

I didn't answer, but my silence alone must've been enough, because my mother started wailing like Maria had, and before she hung up, she sobbed, "We'll be there as soon as we can, Troy!"

Tears poured down my face as I took deep breaths. This was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. I could barely stand having to tell everyone what had happened...

However, I compromised with myself that I would have to make one more call that evening, to mine and Gabriella's best friends from high school, Chad Danforth, and his wife, Taylor.

I called them up and told them the news. That was the first time I'd ever heard Chad cry, and it tore me up inside listening to Taylor sob the way she did. I was so drained that I asked them to inform the rest of our 'group', indicating our group of friends from high school that we're still very close to. Thinking back, I don't know why I asked my two best friends to painfully explain to everyone else what had happened, but I was hurting so much from having to say it three times myself that I didn't even think.

After they promised that they would call everyone that night and get on the first flight over with their two-year-old son, Caleb, we hung up.

And I went to sleep...

Since my life was a nightmare, my dreams became normal. I dreamt I was at home with Gabriella and Isabella, cooking dinner for them, watching proudly as Gabriella giggled her tinkling laugh as she tickled Isabella, who'd inherited her laugh from her mother.

When I woke up, crying, I remembered what really was real... my worst nightmare.