It Never Seems

Here's the next installment. Thanks for sticking with this. Enjoy.

CAli

Ch. 14 - The Build Up

July 6th, 2009 - The Northwest

Contemplating suicide was never an issue for Nathan. After all, every day for four years he thought how he could end it all; every remorseful feeling, every shameful act. He was a despicable man for leaving his family for a form of slavery. Even though in the beginning he thought he was protecting them, the faux justification faded as each day passed into a week then into a month then into a year. Years, and he thought all of this was pointless. Each day, his will to live for some stupid hope faltered. If he just held on, maybe something good would happen. Maybe Haley would find him. Maybe she could find it in herself to forgive. Maybe their love would outlast his depression.

But seeing Haley from afar dashed every tiny hope he held as the days blurred into weeks into months into years. No, dash wasn't even the right word. His hopes were beaten to death then shattered into smithereens, like millions of glass pieces when destroyed. Just even twenty feet away, as his son dragged his wife across the hotel lobby in excitement, he saw her sadness. Just a glimmer in her eyes, and he knew how much he had hurt her. He absolutely destroyed her by leaving. Any hope he held on to - the one thing that stopped him from committing suicide - evaporated.

In that moment, he understood the severity of him leaving his pregnant wife behind.

On the bus to the airport, he thought how he could commit suicide right then and there. How many pain pills did his coach have? Could he sneak into his bag right quick? What was the strongest dosage he could maximize to seal the deal? Short answer, there was no way he could get the pills without the bus pulling over. He would have to wait when they got to the airport. But the bag was always on his coach's person. He would have to find another way once they got on the plane.

Once on the plane, he wondered what alternative he could use to kill himself. An overdose was not an option the more he thought about it simply because he could easily be revived if someone noticed right away. Someone like Tony. On the plane, he wondered if there was any cleaning products in the lavatory where he could have the privacy of killing himself. There had to be chemicals somewhere; an easy access and easy way to consume something and work equally as fast. Or maybe something plastic where he could wear an edge and nick the artery in his neck that would bleed him out quickly as possible. Or his wrists. But he was leaning towards the artery in his neck. He wanted his death quick because after all, he was a coward.

And he felt like he suffered enough living four years without his family.

But alas, there was nothing of everyday use in the lavatory once he found the time to go when no one crowded the area or noticed what was going around them. He desperately searched in the cramped space and screamed in frustration when there was nothing except a toilet full of blue water, a mirror, a tiny-ass sink that filtered clean water, and a soap dispensary. He briefly thought maybe the toilet water or the soap but he highly doubt there would be enough consumption to warrant poisoning. He made eye contact with himself through the mirror and shook his head in disgust. What a desperate and pathetic man he had become. He was willing to drink toilet water just because it looked like it had dangerous chemicals in it and it would poison him. His fingers tightened against his scalp and he pulled.

"You're a fucking shell of a man," he muttered, lowly to himself.

Disgust wasn't enough of a word to describe or show the hatred he had towards himself. He scoffed and let the anger consume his entire body and punched himself through the mirror while he yelled again. It did not shatter like he wanted. He wanted a shard to paralyze his hand because it nicked a nerve and he wanted a weapon of his own where he could slice his own throat. He just wanted it all to end.

Instead, his knuckles were only throbbing and if anything, he bruised his fingers. He tried again, but he knew it was useless. But he still tried - punched harder the third time - and all he got out of it was his hand being numb and tears falling from his eyes.

He was such a failure.

He exited the lavatory and forced himself to stay awake during the rest of the flight back to Seattle. He refused to fall asleep because if he just closed his eyes for a fraction, he would be haunted by Haley's sadness. It was one thing to imagine it and think about the what ifs. To see it in real life was a new level of guilt and self-hatred. He couldn't self-contain all those emotions if he closed his eyes. He would explode and try to jump out this plane himself. So, he forced himself to be quiet; sit stiff and glaring until the goddamn the plane landed and he could try to commit suicide at his place.

But of course, Tony decided to stay at his place the night they got back. And each day after for a week. Nathan wished he wasn't above murdering somebody else that prevented him from ending his own life. Goddamn good people spreading love and goodness, Nathan thought, bitterly. If only he could be as cold-hearted as Dante. For the first time in his life, Nathan was jealous of Dante's facade.

July 8th, 2009 - The Northwest

Nathan sighed when he heard a knock at his door. He seriously considered ignoring it but knew the defiant move was moot. Tony would convince his landlord for the spare key in two hours. But he just didn't want to get up. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to live, period.

But for the life of him, killing himself never worked out so the only thing he could do was hate himself, especially his cowardice. If he couldn't kill himself, why couldn't he kill Dante instead? The man took everything: his life, his soul, his will. He put the all the blame on himself for giving in to Dante's threats, but a lot of blame was also responsible towards Dante. If only he was smart and reported the dealings to the cops. If only he had the courage to do it now. The pressure was getting to him. But the more it built inside him, the more Nathan just wanted it all to stop. There was only two choices and he wasn't for sure if he could ever follow through. He either should kill himself or kill Dante.

But he was stuck. The indecision was eating himself alive and and he basically had a voided personality since they came back from Los Angeles. He was devoid of everything. He didn't feel or react; he was just over everything. But the only way to stop was to end the problem. He just wasn't sure if he was the problem or if Dante was the problem. He didn't know who to hate more. It was all very frustrating but he forced himself to go through the motions the last couple of days. He did what was told. He took a shower. He went home and stared at his gun. Yesterday, he got as far as holding the gun inside his mouth. But his finger wouldn't budge. So, he took the bullets out and threw the gun as hard as he could against his wall, crying his eyes out.

After sobbing an hour, he went outside in the pretense of jogging in the fresh rain-scented air. His gun wobbled inside his hoodie's pocket while his shoes pounded against the wet asphalt. He ran faster as each building past because in his mind, it was a metaphor to run so fast that the buildings blur. By the time he made it to the river bank, he thought maybe he had enough courage and adrenaline to propel himself over the railing and plunge into the freezing water. Maybe he would die of hypothermia. That would be a tortuous enough death. But it was June. The water would be warm, even after heavy rainfall. Once again, he thought himself as a coward. Instead, he stopped at the railing and took in the seagulls and ripples of water slapping against the wooden beams underneath that held this dock stern. His hands rested on the cold metal, ignoring how his hands immediately became numb. He panted as his grip tightened and he stretched, bending down until his ass nearly touched the ground. In one last ditch effort, he thought if he could just jump over and end it all. But once again, his willpower was shot. He cussed, looked over both shoulders, then sighed as he pulled out his gun. With as much arm strength he had, he pulled back his arm then lunged forward and the gun hurled several yards in free air before it broke the water's surface and disappeared. The plop was distant in Nathan's fuzzy ears. He stared out into the green water. He badly wished he was that gun that sunk deep down to the river's floor. If only he had the courage to free fall like that.

Then Game 2 of the playoffs happened. Every anger and frustration was poured into that game. He was to be aggressive, yes, but after another failed suicide attempt, he took it personal. Nathan was untouchable and tenacious as he went hard in every play. This was what Dante wanted after all. He wanted a show out of Nathan. And he gave one but each defensive stop was a little too hard. Every post defensive was a little too rough. Every rebound he went after was ferocious. Every time he committed a foul, he made sure it was hard. And it was all because every player on the Lakers team had Dante's smug face on them. Nathan imagined them as Dante and he took out his aggression on them. Early in the fourth quarter, he had a reality check when it came very close to him getting ejected from the game.

In the aftermath and Nathan looked at the tape, he would say he didn't blame the other guy. The aggressive way Nathan was playing, well, it was only a matter of time before someone else lost their patience and let the frustration get to them. It was a hustle play where Nathan poked the ball from the other player but there was contact and the referees allowed it, which was the last straw for the other player since he felt he was hip checked on the play. There was a scramble and the other player dragged him down to the hardwood floor. In the tangle, the other player went for a punch and so did Nathan. In the chaos, they both swung, but there was dogpile as players and coaches both sprinted over and crowded as the other player was pulled off him. The cameras did not catch him swinging as a swarm of men covered around him. He was lucky the only clear view was the other player clearly swinging his arm down before the men crowded over them. The cameras did not catch him throwing a low hook to the guy's abdomen. If they did, he would've got ejected along with the player.

He was really fucking lucky.

But he didn't feel lucky. He wondered if Dante would kill him himself if he cost him thousands of dollars on that game. But Dante never acted in anger; he acted in calculated danger. Look how long he waited before he tortured Nathan. He was patient as he recovered from his injuries then played mind games, threatening his family. Then he took his soul. No, all Nathan felt was empty and disappointed that he didn't find a way to end all this pain, guilt, shame, and frustration by getting ejected. He couldn't even defy Dante's orders. What a fucking bastard he was.

"Keith," Tony yelled through his door, interrupting his memories of last night. "I know you're in there. Open the door, man."

Nathan sighed. He just wanted it all to end. But what he wanted will never happened. He would never end it all. So, he got up and let Tony in. He deflected Tony's questions regarding the game last night. He did what he had to do to keep Tony at bay, which was listen to his compassionate speech and take in his concerned looks before he dismissed that anything was wrong. He kept that wall up and acted like he only tolerated him and all his concerned questions. He glanced at his watch. Ten more minutes of enduring this, then he had to kick Tony out. Because in an hour and half, he had to seal his fate with Dante. Another beating he could take. It was all he was good for, anyway. It's not like he had the self-will or courage to kill Dante tonight. Just like he couldn't kill himself last night after the game.

Nathan groaned and felt like he couldn't breathe. Another punch landed to his kidneys and his arms jerked forward but was forcefully stopped by the chains holding him up. He kept his groan quiet; only wincing but never going a full octave to protest the pain. But his glare intensified after every hit. He could take the punches as long as he focused on Dante's inquisitive look. He imagined every punch he took in the last four years, every hard bruise he incurred, every fracture he sustained and took weeks to heal, all of it, he tried to recount them then multiplied the final number by four. His unofficial number was 563 times he would punch, kick, and stab Dante when he had the chance. His chances of getting Dante alone where he could kill him was nil but at least it made this beating go by fast.

The more Tony tried to talk to him earlier, the more anger he felt. Actually, anger and resentment stirred inside his body and he was still reeling from the emotions when he arrived at the warehouse hours later. He was intensely angry at himself for not being to kill himself this past week and he was deeply-seated in his resentment towards Dante for turning him into a coward. The hopelessness and despair he felt was all gone and he began finding ways to plot Dante's death. He had to take action somehow. Seeing his wife on TV finally chasing after her dreams awoken the same passion inside himself; it just took longer for it to manifest and grow. If she could let go of the things holding her back, why couldn't he? Wasn't he tired of living his life this way? Didn't he want to salvage whatever dignity he had left? Didn't he want to make his own choices?

Didn't he want his family back?

So, if he couldn't kill himself then he should kill Dante. The logic was clear in his mind the more Tony talked. Killing was the only option, it was only a matter of whom. It was one or the other and if he was too much of a coward to end his own life, then he needed to get his shit together and end Dante's life. It was like a light switched on inside of him. He had to take action somehow and if he didn't kill himself because he saw a glimpse of hope when Haley glided across that lobby ten feet away from him, then he had to fight to get his family back. And the only way to do that and leave this life was to cut off the person responsible for the living, tortured hell he's been enduring the past four years.

So, he glared and fantasized what he would do to Dante, while the man himself stared him down also but had a smirk tugging against his lips. Nathan felt the hatred brew inside of him then boil to the metaphorical top. He breathed through his nose as another hard punch landed and he tampered down the groan. He bit his chapped, bloody bottom lip and clenched his fists tight around the chains that roughly rubbed against his exposed skin. He knew his wrists were bleeding because the metal grated against his skin, leaving a nasty open wound and the area marred with blood and fresh scratches. But he ignored the pain and imagined another scenario where he chopped off Dante's head and fed it to the sharks. Dante wasn't even worried with how much his behavior had changed, and that pissed him off to the nth degree.

He would kill Dante if he ever built up the courage.

"Stop," Dante's deep voice echoed down the dank area which brought an eerily chill up his spine. "Let him down."

Nathan saw in his peripheral the man nod his head and even bowed down a little. The little gesture made him want to kill this guy too for showing such admiration and respect towards this evil man who towered over him once again as he crumbled to the floor. He looked up and burned it in his memory Dante's full smirk. Dante liked the message he portrayed just by simply standing over him. He was in power, Nathan was not. He better learn his place now because he was going to be there for a while. Nathan was reminded this almost every day. If only he could just rise and win.

"I hope you know your place, boy," Dante said, his voice low. "Should I expect a fucking miracle for you to know this after four years? You do as I say. Almost getting ejected was not one of the things I told you last time."

"I can't control the opponent's emotions," Nathan said, just as low but ever defeated.

"He speaks!"

The silence dragged on after Dante's booming voice magnifies across the room. Nathan focused on his breathing to ignore the radiating pain that flowed throughout his body. It was easy to block it all out as it was happening but the aftereffect was there to remind him he actually went through a rough beating. But Dante's voice resonated within him. He ignored the chills that spread all over his body.

His mistake was looking up. The moment his defiant eyes saw the sinister look on Dante's face, he regretted his momentum of standing up. Then he felt the whiplash as Dante punted his face; the steel tip of his boot smashing square under Nathan's jaw. This time he was loud and clear in his groan as instantaneous blood filled his mouth and the tangy taste was just too much. He spitted; the blood sprayed in an almost perfect 90-degree arc as his body fell backwards. He landed on the back of his shoulders in an echoed thud. If his jaw wasn't broken then his upper back might be. Nathan closed his eyes and thought maybe there was a third option. Maybe Dante would kill him in a fit of rage.

He closed his eyes and lolled his head to the side. The kicks and the roars filled the room and filled his heart. Dante cursed and taunted as he landed each fitful punch or kick until he exerted himself. Nathan was disappointed he was still breathing when it was over but ultimately wiped that depression and thought about the new number he would multiply by four. If he had use of his body, he would kill for a calculator right now.

"Get this worthless piece of shit up," Dante growled above him. "Clean his ass up. I want the wounds on his wrists cleaned up and bandaged. Make sure it looks like a stress sprain. And get Karofsky down here to see if I dislocated his jaw. If I did, I want it popped back into place and hop this motherfucker up on pain meds. I still need this goddamn monkey in Game 3."

Nathan was picked up and carried to another room like his body was a bag of weightless pennies. Dante silently watched as they picked him up and walked away, carrying him with ease. He moved his head quickly to the right and sighed in relief when he heard a series of cracks along the right side of his neck. He did the same when he turned his head to the left. Dante thought back hard and an uneasy feeling started to build inside him. Nathan was starting to blossom to his former self. Dante lowly growled to himself and pulled out his cell phone.

It rang once before the line indicated someone picked up.

"We have a problem with your sweet son," Dante said.

July 9th, 2009 - The West Coast

Dan puckered his lips then licked them as he leaned against the wall. He passively watched mindless people walk in front of him, crossing from one side of the street to the other. He stayed in his position, disciplined and focused until his object came into view. Finally, his patience was rewarded and he saw a flash of wavy brown hair, then his eyes trailed down to the little boy's hand she tightly held on to. Dan tilted his head as he took in the sandy brown hair and colorful mix of blue eyes. His grandson looked an awful lot like his bastard son. He smirked as the thought passed that Haley might've been more wild than she let on. It would definitely be interesting Tree Hill drama if the sweet tutor girl had an affair with her best friend while she was supposed to be married to the star high school basketball player.

But she was never wicked that way. Haley fucking James was too sweet, too innocent, too loyal. It was such a damn shame. Dan felt so disappointed that she was too good. Maybe he wouldn't have ruined his son's life if she wasn't such a good influence on him. Maybe he wouldn't have broken away from him and chosen this fucking angel over his own father who bred and groomed him to be the best superior player he could be. After all, Dan was only doing what any good father would do that had big sports dreams for their son.

But his son fell in love with the sweetest girl alive, and what's worse, she could sing just like an angel. Pathetic, he thought. His son left all his dreams for her, even when she ran away to pursue her own aspirations with another man. Why couldn't she stay with that Chris guy? Why couldn't Nathan push her away fully when she came back asking for another chance for her family? Why couldn't he be angry and despicable like him? See, it was the good that Haley instilled in his son that drove him to this scenario; it was her good that led to this type of betrayal even though Dan didn't think it was betrayal but rightful justice.

Everyone was right where they belonged.

Dan curled his lip as he walked behind Haley several feet behind. His thoughts consumed his hatred towards this woman that ruined all of his plans for his son. Nathan was on the brink of becoming the best basketball player the South had ever seen in this generation. But because he fell in love with a fucking girl who believed in compassion and love, his priorities changed to something more than basketball; as if love and a family was more important than accomplishing this basketball glory.

Yes, he blamed Haley a lot for his son's changed behavior all those years ago and he blamed her now for this current predicament. Everything was according to plan these last four years. He finally got Nathan back on the right track and playing professional basketball. Haley finally knew what it was like to feel betrayed by the one person who was never to turn their back on you. He finally got his control back. But then she fucking had to sing on national TV and that's all it took for his plan to crumble just like that. It was like the last four years of hard work and inflicting all kinds of emotional and physical abuse was to go waste as quick as snapping fingers together.

All because she had to fucking sing.

Dan clenched his jaw. He thought he hated Deb and Karen but Haley definitely took the cake and if it was easy, he would have her killed. Hell, if he thought he could get away with it now, he would grab her from behind and shoot her in the back. All he had to do was pull her close against him with his gun already out and press the trigger down twice. As simple as that, and his problem would go away. Kill quick and walk away. But that fucking little boy was there and no doubt would draw attention. He doesn't know it, but his presence is the only reason why his mom is alive right now. The only reason.

So, Dan kept following until she stopped inside a building and went inside. He watched from across the street under a shaded bench. Patiently, he sat until she reemerged with her son in toll again. He watched her go other direction and followed the entire way across the street. She stopped at a park and let her son play until she received a phone call. He watched from afar as she continued to watch her son until he caught a glimpse of his bastard son, Lucas. Lucas approached her but they barely interacted, not even a measly hug which caused Dan to quirk an eyebrow up. Their conversation wasn't even thirty seconds long when Haley called her son to her, kissed and hugged him good-bye. The boy immediately went into his Lucas's arms and he led him back to the park. Dan watched as Haley walked back towards the building from earlier. He quickly crossed the street and made sure he was a couple of paces behind her as she walked.

If only he could kill her. The thoughts of how easy it would be now consumed his mind. His eyes squinted in anger and his lip curled in a nasty snarl. He picked up his pace so he could be closer. His right hand went inside his jacket where his gun was safely tucked inside.

July 10th, 2009 - The West Coast

Nathan didn't know how he felt being back here. He sighed as he approached the same lobby from a week ago. It felt like his stomach leapt to his throat as he unconsciously stood in the very same spot he saw his wife and son practically glide across the room. He was supposed to breathe out but his mouth wouldn't comply. He was supposed to blink but his eyes refused and his vision blurred. The very memory consumed everything inside of him and he knew his brain was losing oxygen but he couldn't help the reaction. He couldn't breathe out and he couldn't look away from the very same spot he saw his family from a distance. Then all the suicide thoughts came back. What was he doing here? He would never his family back so why fantasize? Why torture yourself when everyone involved knew it wouldn't change a damn thing? You left. Haley would never trust you again or let you near your son. Just kill yourself. End it. No one would care. You would make the world better if you just left the planet.

Just end it.

"Keith!"

Nathan whipped his head towards the voice and once Tony came into focus, he frowned. Tony looked highly concerned and Nathan just stared at him like he was unfamiliar. He felt pressure on his shoulder and his eyes darted down and he stared, like he wasn't registering Tony's hand was clamped down on his muscle. Tony called his fake name again and the garbled voice zoomed back to his normal booming pitch. Nathan flinched just the slightest.

"What?" He asked, like nothing was wrong. He gently shrugged Tony's hand off his shoulder.

"I've been calling your name," his teammate responded. "For at least twenty seconds now. Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you're zoning out and you're sweating. And I haven't forgotten the last time we were in this hotel."

Nathan narrowed his eyes in a dangerous slit. Anger consumed him and he found himself clenching both of his fists. Tony wasn't allowed to mention anything. It was their rule and he was breaking it. Without a thought if he was causing a scene, he took a step forward; his nose touching Tony's and he spoke in a harsh tone as he forced his teammate to back up.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he seethed. "Keep your fucking mouth shut, huh?"

"Hey, man, I'm just being your buddy. Is this how it's gonna be, now?"

Nathan opened his mouth, full intent on a nasty reply accompanied by a hefty shove. Before a syllable left his mouth, however, an assistant coach came over and quietly separated them, threatening a hellish two-a-day practice if the confrontation didn't cease at that very moment. Tony was all too eager to back away, saying there was no problem while Nathan reluctantly backed off, only standing there trying to look intimidating until his coach hissed under his breath that he walk away. All of the sudden, he just wanted to punch somebody. But he let it all go and went back to his misery. He sulked back to the very same spot where he saw his wife and son a week ago. And just like that, the sadness washed over.

Nathan closed his eyes and tried to block it all out.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way now."

Nathan had no idea why the man's voice caught his attention. He peeked one eye open and saw a man hurrying out the lobby, his cell phone tight in his hand as he spoke to it. His headphones were in and he wore a brim hat that Nathan only recognized as one of those type of hats hippie musicians wore. His style was very bohemian now that he caught a quick glance of him and his eyes narrowed because for some reason, he recognized this man. He was adjusting a guitar bag as briskly walked across the lobby.

"Good luck tonight, Mr. Waller," the receptionist called.

The man briefly stopped and smiled at the staff member. "Thanks, man! Be sure to vote tonight."

Nathan quirked his eyebrow as the receptionist grinned and nodded. He stood rooted to his spot until his coaches called them over to start heading to their assigned rooms. As he passed the desk, his curiosity got the best of him and he quickly leaned over, nodding his head to the receptionist to get his attention.

"What are you voting tonight?" He asked.

"American Idol," the man beamed. "Mr. Waller's a contestant."

"Oh. Are the tickets sold out?"

"I'm not sure, sir. But you could always try and get some at the venue."

"What's the address?"

The man easily complied and just like that Nathan had a way to be closer to his wife. He knew it was a bad idea and would probably only deepen his depression if he saw Haley singing up close and personal. But then again, her singing always gave him strength; always made him believe in himself. And he was desperate; yearning for some type of strength that will make him go over the edge. He needed out somehow, someway. Haley was always his rock. So, he made a split decision. The moment he was settled in and they were allowed some free time before taking the bus to the practice gym, he went to Google Maps and found out how long it would take to get to the venue. Then he bought his ticket for tonight's show.

The cheering was deafening and he couldn't breathe. His brain didn't tell his mouth to exhale or breathe through his nose. It was just like the first time he heard her sing. He was breathless because her voice was like an angel. And everyone around him agreed.

He stood in the crowd, nervous as hell in the far corner of the stage when the lights dimmed. He closed his eyes when her voice boomed around him and he felt like it was automatic; it was his natural response whenever he heard her voice. She started slow and he was transported back to that first time she sang when it was just the two of them in Karen's Cafe. He remembered to breathe this time and felt peaceful. Her voice always calmed him. Then he felt his heart breaking just a little when he heard the sadness in her voice. It was different than hearing it through earbuds on his secret computer. Her voice surrounded him and felt everything in her voice. The sadness and pain he caused that propelled her to sing her heart out.

And when she rocked the stage when she carried her voice from soft to loud and angry and passionate? Holy fuck. He had to open his eyes when she went into the hook of the song and he was mesmerized. Not only could she sing, but she could entertain. Of course he saw all of her performances thus far but seeing it live was completely different. She controlled the song and if he didn't know any better, he would've thought this was her original song. She was so flawless. She was so passionate. She was so perfect. She was so beautiful.

Being this close to his wife after all these years and all the emotions enclosed inside of him. It was hard for him to swallow that lump in his throat and he choked. Then the tears flowed and he didn't bother to hide it, but he was glad for his hoodie. Everyone around him cheered when she fell to her knees in time with the lyric, "And I'm lying on the cold, hard ground." While everyone cheered, he bit his lip to stop the sob. He knew he broke her when he left, but seeing the pain upfront and personal really stabbed deep within him.

Despite the guilt and hurt from causing her this pain, he still felt his heart soar to the greatest height. She was living her dream and fucking killing it. He was so proud of his wife. She looked like she belonged here and looked like despite her pain, she was living and she was happy on this stage, singing her heart and soul to the entire country. She was proving she deserved to win this title and record contract. And because he saw that tiny happiness, he felt himself smile just a little bit.

She was following her dream. That's all he wanted from her; to live her dream without regret. And seeing her in this element, singing live and putting her heart out there for America to see her passion and love filled him with an insurmountable amount of pride. He was almost bursting as he allowed himself to rock his body with the beat. His eyes followed every twirl she made and he only wiped the tears once when the droplets blurred his vision. He didn't want anything obstructing his view of his absolutely gorgeous wife.

When she ended the song and the cheers were deafening, he still stared. She looked shocked and he kind of frowned at that. Did she not know how great she was? Did he really break her down that bad? Did she think all of this validation was not real? He would never forgive himself if he destroyed her confidence.

But everything was reassured when Ryan went to the judges for their critique. He nodded along with their praise and even joined the crowd in their cheering after each judge spoke. Then that British man, Simon, spoke. He could tell by his wife's face his analysis was spot-on and Nathan felt his stomach dropping and his heart breaking more. He hated himself to the newest, lowest degree of self-hate for the amount of pain he truly caused his wife. If forgiveness was a thing, he vowed to work every day, every hour, every minute, every second to earn it.

If only he could break away from Dante and be with his family. If only he could kill Dante. If only he had Haley's courage.

When Simon said his wife could win this entire thing if she sung like her heart was broken and the decibels of this place pierced his eardrums, he felt breathless again. His wife was crying shocked tears but she looked so happy and serene when the declaration was made. It was like she finally believed it herself and all Nathan wanted to do was comfort her. He wanted to touch her, hug her, kiss her, tell her that she would've won this thing a long time ago if she decided to try out on this show instead of going on tour with Chris all those years ago. She would've been a no-brainer. And just like that, he saw the what-if. What if he had courage and went to the cops when he started to receive threatening letters from Dante? Then he would be on that stage right now, being a supportive husband and holding his wife dear, whispering to her face that she would win this thing easily.

But instead, he was in the crowd, incognito, yearning for his wife; yearning to be that guy that she saw when he dropped all the bullshit and became real with her when they started dating. That's what he deserved; yearning instead of being there. He just wanted to be there for his wife. He was such a fucking coward.

Then she walked past him with her head down after the information was released on how to vote for her. He felt tempted to reach for her but that would've caused too much attention. He had to be careful so he settled on just staring at her. He bit his lip again to stop the sob. He just wanted to be with her, but he forced himself to be the person he was now; a shadow lurking from afar.

He was so entranced by his wife, he never once considered he was being followed. From afar, Dante's goons watched him as his arm moved but stopped after a second. He was oblivious as the man pulled out his phone and hit a speed dial number. It rang once before a voice told the man to speak.

"We got a problem," he said. "Our whipping boy is starting to grow a backbone."

End Ch. 14

Thank you again for sticking with this. Review if you'd like.

CAli