Chasing Headlines

I’m sure everyone’s sorry and said they’re sorry, and you’ve heard it a thousand times. We all mean well, by the way. We just don’t have words.” I rubbed a hand over my forehead. Maybe that was the end of it. A little different than the standard lines. She meant well. Good talk. “It’s fine. Most people just say ‘sorry.’ I don’t need a speech.” “I’m not, though.” Her hair swished against my arm as she shook her head. “It’s sad your mother died. It is. Because of all the things she’ll miss. It’s very sad. But, I’m glad she lived.

If I’m going to do the time. Might as well do the crime?”  She scowled. “Worst pickup line in evolutionary history. Truly proof you never evolved past neanderthal.

I have words for this patently pedantic policy and what the mildly misogynistic men who tried to run my life could do with it. And if it rhymed with "dove it up their mass," I'd never tell a soul.

Maybe you should be the one to get naked for me. 'Breslin Cooper's Revealing Interview. Take a peek at the real ass inside those hot baseball pants.

Life is passion. It's fire. Don't let the world extinguish it.

So, you’re asking me how long before a couple can break up after having sex?” And I was a tomato. “Yeah.”  “So you’ve never broken up with someone after having sex?” I stared at him. And that smug sonofabitch had the nerve to chuckle. My face was on fire and I wanted to slide to the floor. Under the tile. “That’s not . . . it isn’t—” “I can fix that for you. Seems like the least I can do.

Diabolical. You’re a scoundrel in tasteful athleisure wear.”  I grinned and stretched my arms. “Isn’t this jacket cute? I really couldn’t pass it up.”  “It’s adorable.” She sipped her tea. “You’re adorable. Cooper should eat you up. But I have two of you that are as stubborn as mules. How is even a certified busybody supposed to Hallmark-ending you two?

You could just fall in love with me, then.” He leaned closer. “Problem solved.”  “You first.” I huffed and moved away, pain seared through my chest—stomping out the warmth that had been so alive a moment before.

I held my breath and closed my eyes, just listening to the wordless song of falling.

But this is my fucking life! My mom died and some reporter wanted a story.” I heaved for air. “And all I cared about was playing in some game. Like that was what mattered. She was dying, and I was mad. I’m still fucking pissed. Criminals survive every day. Murderers and rapists and lunatics. But not her.” “Life, in all the years I’ve been living it, son, doesn’t make a lick of sense where that’s concerned.

Love was the quiet hum of a lullaby slipping past sleeping ears on a late November evening.

It occurred to me then, like one of those moments I’d remember years from now . . . the crisp November air, the amber-colored field lights so bright they eclipsed the moon. The electricity of the win suffusing every breath, every cell, every particle of the world that was Vanquer, Texas . . .  Everyone has a story.