Los Angeles | 2009
Bradley's POV
The morning was wide open, a blank slate. My first thought was to text Alex, see what she was up to. My fingers moved across the screen before I'd fully decided what to say.
Me: Hey, you free today? Project, video games, whatever.
Her reply came back a minute later, laced with her signature brand of dramatic exasperation.
Alex: Ugh, I wish. I'm trapped. My mom is making me go dress shopping with Gloria for some super boring wedding of her friend's.
I couldn't help but smile at the image.
Me: That sounds painful.
Alex: It's my personal ninth circle of hell. But I have to go. I'm reluctantly doing it for my mom. So, yeah. Have fun in the free world.
Me: I'll try. Survive the shopping. I'll see you in the evening then.
Alex: No promises. See ya.
I chuckled, setting the phone down. With Alex occupied with unavoidable family obligations, my day was suddenly clear. It was the perfect chance to catch up with the guys. I pulled up Leo's contact and hit call.
It was always Leo who called me, always Leo who invited me to hang out, an invitation I'd often turn down in favor of another hour on the court. But my dad's words about needing a "crew" and my own recent realizations had been rattling around in my head. It was time to stop being the busybody who always had to be asked. It was time for me to be a friend.
I found his name and hit call.
"Yo," he answered, the sound of a video game in the background.
"Hey, Leo. What are you up to?"
"Nothing, man. Just trying to beat this stupid level on God of War. What's up?"
"Want to go bowling?" I asked, the words feeling surprisingly easy. "My treat."
There was a pause on the other end, followed by the sound of the game being paused. "Seriously? You're not practicing?"
"Taking a day off," I said. "Tell David to come along too."
I heard a loud, genuine laugh from Leo. "Dude, as long as you promise to buy him food, David will go with us to hell and back."
"It's a deal," I said, a real smile spreading across my face. "See you guys at the mall around 1300 hours."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone for a while.
"Ah right General's son. Sweet. See you then, man."
I hung up the phone, the quiet of my room feeling less like silence and more like peace.
I still had sometime before I had to head out, so I just lay on my bed thinking.
The days after the tournament had been filled with a deep introspection. The golden trophy sat on my desk, but it felt heavier than it should. Mom and Dad had pointed out certain tendencies in my play that were not to their taste, and my first thought had been of anger. I expected them to support me in everything. But after some deeper analysis, I realized that I had gone too far in my childish revenge against Caleb. The act of humiliating him by passing the ball to him was a step too far.
When Dad had told me to apologize, it was the strange timbre to his voice—that mix of command and disappointment—that had cracked my pride. I didn't want him or Mom to be disappointed in me. So, I had gulped down my anger and my own desires then to go and apologize. The fact that Alex had supported me throughout that entire, awful ordeal had touched me deeply, especially for how she attempted to lift my mood afterwards.
Who doesn't like a peck on their cheek from their girlfriend?
Yet after all that, there was a part of me—my own ego, perhaps—that relished the feeling of dominating my opponents. And for the life of me, I couldn't deny it that pleasure. I liked it. I liked beating my opponents so thoroughly that they would think twice before facing me on the court again. Their fear was my comfort.
This was the conflict. The boy who wanted his parents' pride and his girlfriend's affection, and the beast who fed on his rival's fear. I had to reconcile them.
So, I made a decision. I decided to tone down the level of humiliation I would inflict on my opponents, to make it less visible and more visceral. I would not kill it within myself. It was my killer instinct, my drive, the sum of my ambition that made me cold and relentless. I couldn't give it up because it put off people. I wanted to be the best, and the best have the greatest of egos.
School would start in two weeks, and in two days, we were heading to Florida for a vacation with some of Dad's military friends to watch a rocket launch. It sounded interesting, though I didn't think much would come of it. That meant today and tomorrow were my last free days to spend with my friends.
Dad had left with Erin to the Pritchett house and Mom was out running errands. I walked out onto the sunny porch and found Harris taking a smoke, leaning casually on the SUV.
"Hey Harris, you smoke?" I asked, my voice making him jump slightly. He didn't react overtly, but I watched him slowly bring the cigarette down and carefully snuff it out on the sole of his shoe.
"Good Afternoon, Bradley. Yes, I do," he said, his professional mask firmly in place. "And I would appreciate it if you don't tell Mrs. Naird about this. She saw me smoking previously and was adamant that I quit. I agreed, of course. This is just a momentary relapse, you see." His words were hurried, a rare crack in his composure.
A glint appeared in my eye along with an evil thought. This was an opportunity. A weakness to be exploited for information. "Oh, really?" I said, letting my lips curl into a slow smile.
"I can keep it a secret, on one condition," I said, trying to sound as menacing as a twelve-year-old could be.
His face twitched, and he let out a long, reluctant sigh. "Sure. As long as it's not something too dangerous."
"Oh, it's nothing dangerous. You just have to tell me a story."
"A story?" he asked, his guard clearly up.
"Yes," I said, my smile widening. "A story about a certain Homeland Security Officer who took upon the mantle of a bodyguard."
He held his face in his hand for a moment, a quiet groan escaping him. "Haah... I knew it would come to this someday... Fine. I will tell you, but no gory details and nothing that's a state secret. Deal or no deal?"
"Deal," I said, the single word sealing our contract.
"We can talk in the car. Tell me where you wanna go first," he said, his professionalism returning as he opened the rear door for me.
"To the mall," I replied.
"To the mall it is," he said, closing the door after me.
The SUV moved smoothly through the light afternoon traffic. I watched the city blur past for a few minutes before turning my attention to the man in the front seat. "So, Harris," I began, breaking the silence. "The deal was a story."
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. He let out a long, slow sigh.
"You really want to know why a guy from Homeland Security is playing glorified bodyguard to a general's kid?"
"I do."
"Alright," he said, his voice a low, clipped monotone, as if he were reading a field report. "I used to work in a federal task force under Homeland. High-threat situations, mostly domestic. During a mission in the States, a raid went bad. I suffered a grievous injury, was hospitalized for months. When I came out, the physical stuff was mostly healed, but during my psychological evaluation, I was found to be suffering from PTSD."
I watched him, seeing the way his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
"They couldn't have an agent with PTSD on an active task force, so I was put off the task force and onto a desk. Paperwork. For a year." His voice was flat, but I could hear the bitterness underneath. "When I was finally cleared for active service, I was eager to get back. Too eager. I made a mistake on my first assignment back, and it got me suspended."
He fell silent for a moment, and I let him.
"It was then that I found out through back channels that a liaison was to be appointed to General Naird. A new position. I used my connections to apply for the post. I figured it was my only way out of the doghouse. Your dad interviewed me himself, and he accepted me."
He finished his story, and the car was quiet again. I processed the data points: the trauma, the demotion, the desperation. The pattern was clear.
"So, you want to use my dad to get back to your old position at Homeland," I stated, not as a question, but as a deduction.
I saw him flinch in the rearview mirror. He was genuinely shocked by the deduction, his professional composure cracking for a second. He was silent for a long time before he finally spoke, his voice a weary whisper. "Yeah. That's the truth of it."
I leaned back in my seat, considering his confession. "I don't see it as a bad thing," I said finally. "Ambition is a good motivator. So long as you do your job well and don't neglect the people under your care."
He looked at me in the mirror again, and this time, the look was different. It was one of surprise, and maybe, a flicker of genuine respect.
…
The SUV glided to a smooth stop in front of the main entrance of the mall. The automatic doors slid open, revealing a wave of people and a blast of cool, air-conditioned air.
I grabbed my bag from the seat beside me. "Alright, Harris," I said, looking toward the front seat. "Meet me back here in three hours."
"Understood, Bradley," he replied, his eyes already scanning the area.
I stepped out into the bustling afternoon crowd and pulled out my phone, dialing a familiar number. It picked up on the second ring.
"Yo," Leo's voice said, the sound nearly drowned out by a loud crash in the background.
"Leo, where you at?" I asked, navigating my way through a group of shoppers.
"Bowling arena, dude! By the food court," he said. "Hey, listen, we ran into another kid from the school. We invited him to hang with us, that cool with you?"
The news brought a smile to my face. A new kid huh well this could be fun. "Yeah, of course it's fine," I replied. "The more the merrier. I'll be there in five."
I hung up and started walking, the sounds of the mall—pop music, arcade jingles, the chatter of a hundred conversations—all blending into a familiar, energetic hum.
I made my way through the crowd onto the 4th floor of the mall and was hit by the familiar, sounds of a bowling alley: the rumble of balls, the crash of pins, and the tinny pop music playing over the speakers. I spotted them near the entrance. David was standing with a tub of chicken popcorn in his hands from KFC, and beside him stood Leo along with another kid. This new guy was about my height and had curly, shoulder-length brown hair, which matched his eyes in color, and golden-natural skin. He was listening intently as Leo talked, his manner somewhat reserved.
"Hey guys, how's it going?" I stepped in, throwing a casual arm around Leo's shoulders.
"Yo, Brad, it's going great," Leo said with a wry smile, pointing at David. "Junkie here couldn't wait and had to stuff himself up as soon as possible. Besides that, we've been waiting for you."
"Shut up," David retaliated through a mouthful of chicken. "I eat and I grow. You don't, so you're still down there."
Leo ignored him. "This is Patrick," he said, gesturing to the new kid. "He just shifted here from Milwaukee. He's my neighbour and hung around with me the past few days, so I thought why not invite him as well."
I looked at Patrick and extended my hand. "Hey man, nice to meet you. My name's Bradley Naird, you can call me Brad."
Patrick met my handshake firmly. A firm handshake. He might just turn out to be a solid guy.
"Hey Bradley, my name is Patrick Verona," he said, his voice quiet but with an undercurrent of confidence. "I'm new in town, hope I'd make some friends." I like that, I thought. There was something familiar about him, too; he reminded me of someone I knew.
"Well, let's see how you play bowling, and then we can talk about the rest," I said with a competitive grin.
"No, no, no," David groaned, holding up the tub of chicken like a shield. "I have had it with competitions. I'm here to enjoy the fruits of my labour, not have another competition with you again, Brad." He said it with exasperation.
"Fine," I assuaged him. "I'll compete. Whoever else wants to can do the same. Besides, David, we will still have fun."
"Fine," he relented with a sigh.
"Shall we?" I motioned to the hardwood floors of the bowling alley.
As we walked toward the shoe rental counter, I overheard Patrick lean over to Leo. "Damn, mate, you weren't wrong when you said the guy had heaps of competitive spirit."
I paused for a second. An Australian accent. This was certainly turning out to be an exciting afternoon.
__________________________________________________________________________
Come on guys we have got to get into the powerstone ranking. Help me out here.