Chapter 191: Who am I? - Cole

I watch as Luke's dad gets out of the truck, hopping on his good leg and getting his wheelchair out. This is the time where I usually jump to help him, but I feel so numb, I just continue to sit in Kamila's chaotic garden trying to feel her spirit or something.

She knew. If what that monster said is true, my mother called her and said he was getting suspicious. Kamila is the only one she would have trusted enough to divulge that information to.

"I thought you'd end up here some time or the other." Jerome says as he wheels his big body down the flowered path. "Everybody is real worried about you."

I gulp, guilt momentarily rushing through me, only to be replaced by this confusion again.

All my life I've believed one thing, now I've had the rug pulled out from underneath my feet, and nothing is the way that it seemed.

Who am I if I'm not the son of a murderer?

Who am I if I'm the son of a D1 football coach, former NFL player?

At least that's the one thing that makes sense, because the person who told me hours ago that he killed my mother because she lied to him, certainly doesn't look like he has much athleticism in him. He's skinny and pale, and he'd probably get crushed on a football field.

I hate that Monet is worried, she's probably going crazy right now, but I don't know if I can look her in the eye. That asshole's face was butchered by me, by my hands.

What if I do something like that to her when I could do it to a grown man when I was just six?

What if he somehow poisened me, and even though im not his kid, his evilness rubbed off on me?

I would never live with myself if I did something to harm her. I know I've done some stupid shit before, and I don't even regret it, but she forgave me for the cameras. Hurting her with my hands would be the death of me.

Jerome maneuvers the wheelchair so he is sitting next to me. "I've been coming by and cleaning up here and there. Not much though, I wouldn't want the garden to look anything other than what Kamila left it."

The words thank you stay stuck in my throat, my eyes burning yet again.

"That woman loved you like her own." Jerome continues, as if he knows those are the words I need to hear. "She didn't understand football to save her life, but she was there every game since you and Luke started to play. Look at you now, a national champion."

The tears fall freely from my eyes, blurring the brown and red leaves I was staring at.

"She would've been so proud of you." His voice breaks too, and I envy Luke just a little for having a man like this as a father. "I know the reason you came here wasn't a good one, but Kamila gave you a good life, and whatever is going on right now with Coach, I want you to cling onto that. That woman protected you like a warrior. Remember that is the kind of woman who raised you, and you have a girl worried senseless, a girl who loves you. What more do we need in life than that? Pick up your head, kid, and take on whatever challenges come your way."

"That sounds much easier said than done." The words are strangled coming from my dry throat, and I wipe the tears from my eyes.

"What are you talking about, man!" Jerome scoffs, and his big arm comes around my shoulders. "You are the sniper, the number one quarterback in college football! The world is waiting for you! You are not the mistake of the people who made you. You are a blessing to Kamila and Monet, and the best friend my son could've ever asked for. Thousands of kids look up to you, that is the man you are. Now go inside, get some rest, and tomorrow you get into your truck and you go back to school, and bask in your glory. If you need someone to talk to, I'm just a phone call away."

"Thank you." I say the words I've been meaning to.

He's right.

I am blessed to have had Kamila fighting for me when she really didn't have to. I have Luke, who always has my back, no matter what.

I don't know what the future might hold, or how Coach and his family are going to navigate this, and if they even have space for me.

But even if they don't, I have a family.

I have a girl who believes that I am good, even if I think my hands are dirty. And I know deep down that there isn't anything I would do to hurt her, at least not intentionally.

I haven't even opened Kamila's letter either, it's underneath the few I've written for Monet.

If she knew about Coach being my real father, surely she would've said something about it.

Wouldn't she?