1st Time Love (Dirty Down South) Page 2

  My mom was everything to me. I was just like her, favoring her most with my light hair and eyes and we both loved the same foods and colors too. Clyde was always closer to my dad. He’s the oldest so he would help my dad work the ranch most days, while Nate, just sort of bounced between the two of them. He didn’t really favor just one parent, but more of a mixture of them both.

  Stomping up the rickety stairs, my feet make the loud thudding noises that my mother would say sounded like horses running into the house. She’d yell at us to slow down as boys, and then lecture that we didn’t always need to rush everywhere. She liked to preach that life wasn’t always a race and that sometimes you needed to slow it down to appreciate what you have.

  Yes, I was a momma’s boy, and I couldn’t be more proud of that fact. I miss her. I wish I could’ve slowed time down for her.

  A newspaper that’s resting on the kitchen table’s exactly what I’ve been dreading. Front and center is a picture of me on top of Marlyns, straddling him, about to land a punch. As much as I hate what happened, it’s a pretty badass photo of me, but it’s also not how I would want my parents to see me. I knew my brothers had to know about it happening. I can’t believe Nate didn’t rib me over it, though.

  Stopping in front of the article, the title catches my attention.

  Alabama’s golden boy, Tyler ‘The Freight Train’ finally shows us he’s an Owens after all, taking after his big brother during last Saturday’s game against Duke.

  Tyler Owens, number twelve for Alabama, was spotted during Saturday’s game, assaulting number eighty-eight, Wade Marlyns from Duke. Bama once bragged about Tyler being their homegrown country boy with unmeasurable talent on and off the football field. Judging by Saturday’s game, it appears he may be just like his older brother, Clyde Owens, who was once quite the football star himself.

  You may remember, six years ago Clyde Owens coming up on criminal charges for assaulting a rival player on the field during a game which led to Drew Bledsoe being rushed to the emergency room with life-threatening injuries. Clyde was stripped of all scholarships previously awarded and expelled as well from the campus. We later found out that his rage was brought on by a tragic accident where both of his parents perished.

  Justin Owens, forty-four, ranch owner, and his wife Katie Owens, forty-two, were pronounced dead at…

  Turning away, I stop reading as they go on in detail, explaining what happened to my parents on that horrible day.

  God, I wish I could go back. If I had the chance to, I’d appreciate my mother and father more. We never realized just how blessed we were until we no longer had them in our lives. Then the state showed up, nosing around. They’d tried to take over everything, but Clyde wasn’t having it, thank God. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren't for my brother being stubborn about it all.

  I was a freshman in high school when it all happened. Nate was in his third year as a junior and Clyde was in college, busy playing football himself. My brother withdrew from classes immediately. The school had begged him to play that last game, and in the end, he’d agreed. If only he’d have listened to us and not gone through with it.

  The articles they’d published were all wrong, and he wasn’t expelled. Drew was my brother’s best friend back then. He never pressed any charges, and he stood up for Clyde the moment he was able too. Drew had been pushing my brother all night for playing that game, saying he should be home after his parents died. Clyde just snapped. It’s not a valid excuse for the damage he inflicted on Drew, but a man can only take so much before he reaches his limit.

  That goes for all men.

  Clyde stood up for us and went to court on our behalf. He fought for Nate and me, using some of my family’s money that they’d left for us in the will. He was determined to keep us in our own home, going to the same school and around family. He claimed that our parents would want us to keep on track and he was able to make that happen. Clyde didn’t just lose our parents, though. With the fights and the state after us, he gave up everything to start a life taking care of his family.

  The judge wasn’t too thrilled, but he was an old friend of my father’s, so he gave in. It turned out to be the best decision for all of us.

  Clyde struggled in the beginning with my brother and me, but he was so young himself. Nate wanted to get in trouble, while I went the opposite direction. I was determined to be perfect, to make my mother proud of me if there was any chance she could be watching me from Heaven. I don’t know if there is a Heaven, but if so, my mother was the best type of woman, and I know she would have been taken there right away.

  Smiling to myself as I think about my mom, I grab the jug of red Kool-Aid out of the fridge, chugging half of the liquid down in big gulps. I’m sure whoever made it will be heated, but they can always make more. It’s not like I’m home all the time anyhow, just when I have a day or two off and can help out around here.

  A throat clears while I’m mid-chug and I know it’s my eldest brother, Clyde. Lowering the pitcher, I’m met with amused eyes and my brother lightly holding a shotgun.

  “You got him out there like an old heifer, lying in the grass.” He nods toward the door, and I grin widely. I’m sure it’s stained red from the Kool-Aid, but it’s all good. Clyde doesn’t mind; he’s happy when I’m back home, and the family is together.

  Shrugging, I set the plastic container on the counter next to me, and Clyde tosses me the shotgun. I easily catch the barrels with one hand; the gun pointed toward the ceiling just in case something was to happen, and it went off by mistake.

  “Load up in the back of the pickup and have him drive so y’all can do a sweep around the property. Obviously, he needs to rest and catch his breath.” He chuckles and walks toward the back door before I reply. He’s not a man of many words, and we’ve always gotten along.

  Nate and I will occasionally get into it over something, but not often. If there’s anyone who we all argue with, it’s my cousin Dallas. Not that I can complain, he’s been one of my closest friends growing up at a year older than me and a year younger than Nate. We haven’t seen each other much since he decided not to go to college. I was hoping he’d go to AU when time came for me to go, but he never enrolled.

  The screen door slams again, and I’m met with Nate’s stare.

  “Clyde talk to you?” I ask and pick up the pitcher for another swig.

  “Nope, and use a glass, fucker.”

  Ever since my mom passed, he’s taken over trying to correct us on stuff. Funny since he was the one who went sort of opposite when they died. We all roll with it since it seems important to him that we abide by Mom’s house rules even if we are grown men now.

  Pulling the drink away, I wipe my face on my arm. “Nah, I’m done. He wants us to do rounds.”

  “Does your pretty boy self remember how to use that shotgun you got there or has football and college completely taken over everything?”

  “I remember smoking you just fine last weekend when I was here, but I’m down to shoot if you want to get shown up again.” Laughing, I put the drink back in the fridge and head toward the front door.

  “I was out all night when you were here last weekend. If I’d actually gotten some sleep, then you wouldn’t have won; we both know this,” he argues and follows me to my father’s old beat-up Chevy he used as a ranch truck.

  Hopping into the back, I egg him on some more through the small open back window, “And what were you doing exactly last weekend, or should I say who?”

  “Shut it, Ty,” he grumbles, climbing into the truck and firing the engine up.

  “Do I know her?”

  “Drop it, Ty. Let’s go.”

  He still hasn’t admitted to me who the new chick is that he’s been seeing. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for the past few weekends when he’s come home at like four a.m. smelling like perfume, and one night he even had glitter on him. He doesn’t drink much unless we have a bonfire and he wasn’t hung over, so I know he
wasn’t partying. I’ll get him to fess up to who the cutie is he’s seeing—eventually.

  We ride along the outskirts of the property, making sure that the fence is holding up and that there isn’t anything amiss. Clyde’s tried to keep the majority of my dad’s animals, but there aren’t many left. We have three horses now; two others went to my uncle when my parents died. Sucks, but I think it was for the best. The ranch is a lot of work without the added animals.

  To make some extra money for the ranch, my dad used to break horses amongst other business ventures. My uncle would often bring his horses over to have my dad work his magic. Clyde tried it out for a while but wasn’t able to get into it much. He just doesn’t have the way with the horses that my dad did.

  Clyde’s headstrong and never realizes when he has too much on his plate. He can never just do one thing at a time. I don’t know if he wanted to try and take over absolutely everything my father did, but he just can’t do it all.

  Nate and I make it back to the house as the sun’s setting. I can smell the meat on the grill that Clyde must have started cooking already. Being so active, we eat a lot of protein, especially when I’m home. Thankfully my brothers respect my diet requirements. Through the shit they give me about being a football player, they encourage me to be at my best. We usually eat whatever I need to, and I love Clyde’s barbecue. I could practically live off the stuff. We pretty much did, too, when he first took over things; that and pizza.

  “What’s going on tonight, man?” I turn to Nate as we climb the stairs on the front porch.

  “Not much, probably just watching a movie in my room,” he mumbles as we head to the kitchen.

  Nodding, I wash my hands in the kitchen sink and make my way out the back door to see if Clyde needs any help.

  I was right, he’s cooking, and it’s perfect timing. “Thank God; I’m starving. You need me to do anything?”

  “No, I got everything we need already. You can plate up your salad and take a seat. This chicken’s almost finished.”

  Sitting in my normal spot, I load a heaping spoonful of greens just as a large white truck comes barreling down the dirt road leading to our house. We both watch it for a few seconds as it gets closer, and Clyde gripes something under his breath about it.

  “Are we having company?” I gesture to the vehicle with my thumb.

  “No, damn it,” he glowers, watching the truck pull to a stop. A tiny woman hops down from the driver’s side. “It’s the woman for the taxes again. She’s relentless.”

  “What’s wrong with the taxes? Do we owe money?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Ty. Watch the grill,” he orders and quickly strides over to the smoking hot lady.

  Whatever they’re talking about seems to get pretty heated, making Clyde gesture and huff at her. Whenever Clyde is upset, he doesn’t show many emotions like my father used to do, so this chick must be pissing him off pretty badly. I wonder what she has to say about taxes that would bring her all the way out here and have him so wound up.

  Flipping the meat, I sprinkle some seasoning on it all as the back screen door slams closed and Nate comes outside. He flops down in a seat at the old table, already dishing salad onto his plate.

  “Her again?” he complains rolling his eyes.

  “Who is she? It’s the first time I’ve seen her.”

  Shrugging, he takes a drink of his glass of Kool-Aid and then finishes. “Some woman that keeps showing up and pissing Clyde off. I thought maybe he was seeing someone. I don’t know when he’s had the chance, but I asked anyway. He said she wants him to pay a bunch of taxes or else sell her the house. Too bad cause she’s hot.”

  “She is gorgeous. But is she crazy? Why would we sell her the house? It’s paid for.”

  “I don’t know. I could be wrong, but it’s something like that. You know how he is, though; he always tries to keep us out of anything he’s got going on. She’s persistent, though, showing up here at least once a week for about a month now. Gets him like that every time too.” He nods to our brother, who appears to currently be towering over the small woman, growling something to the poor lady.

  “I can’t believe this has been going on for an entire month and no one’s mentioned anything to me about it. This should be discussed between all of us.”

  “Don’t worry about it; he’ll take care of it.”

  That’s always been my brother’s attitude, skirting away from anything that could give him a bit of responsibility. Me, on the other hand? It drives me crazy not knowing what’s going on. We’ve lost so much already; I don’t ever want to be blindsided like that again.

  Keeping the rest of my thoughts to myself, I concentrate on dishing up our barbecue even though it irritates me that Nate can so easily let Clyde take on all the stress of this place. He should be handling everything right alongside Clyde; he’s here twenty-four seven with him.

  Setting the platter down, I load up my own plate and watch Clyde until he joins us to eat. “So who’s that?” I nod to the blonde chick, now driving away.

  “No one important,” he rumbles, attempting to put an end to my questions, while he busily loads his food onto a plate.

  “I can help if you need it.”

  “No, Tyler. You can concentrate on school and football; you’re the real deal. I can handle Shyla all by myself. I don’t want you worrying about anything other than school and playing ball.”

  “So you know her then?”

  “Yep. We went to high school together.” He stops talking, stuffing a large bite of greens in his mouth just as Nate meets my gaze wearing a mischievous smirk.

  I shake my head, but it doesn’t stop him from asking, “You have a history with her, huh?”

  Clyde answers with a grunt, meaning he’s not going to talk about it, but my money’s on yes. Something probably went down between them, and now she most likely loves it that she can make his life hell at the moment. If that’s the case, hopefully, their drama wasn’t so bad that she has it out for him. He needs to make amends, so she’ll move on or whatever.

  First chance I get when I’m on my next break, I’m finding out exactly who this chick is. Maybe she’s just the type of distraction my brother needs in his life. It’s time he does something for himself and stops worrying so much about and Nate and me. In fact, we could all use a distraction. I wonder if Shyla has any cute friends for the rest of us?

  There are four seasons in the South:

  Winter, Spring, Summer and Football.

  University of Alabama

  Monday…

  Hiking my camo print backpack over my shoulder, I rush through the hall after class. I’m always cutting it close to practice on Mondays and Wednesdays with the lectures running overtime. Mr. Matthews likes to talk, even after his time is supposed to be over. It drives me crazy; I hate being late.

  I’ve attempted to speak to Coach about it, hoping to get the time issue worked out. That did no good, though; he told me to buck up. He said I need to get with the college program and that it wasn’t for whine asses. So, I shut my mouth quickly and adapted the best I could.

  This isn’t high school; the instructors don’t make exceptions for you or help you out with your grades, so that they can see you play on Friday nights. Here, college ball is on Saturdays and most of the professors couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether you show up to class or not. They get paid either way, and it’s completely up to you if you want to succeed.

  It was difficult for me to adjust to everything my freshman year. This year I’m not only a sophomore, but I’m also a starting player and a team captain. The coaches have seen my skills over the past year and have begun to come around a little more. Now if only the professors would do the same.

  I paid my dues last year riding the bench a few times. I was pretty angry at first, not understanding what it was that I was doing wrong. Then one day my buddy broke it down that no matter how good you are, you ride the bench. Everyone has to—at least once—to sort of brea
k you in and dig it in deep that each position is earned.

  Nothing is given freely here. If you’re good and you bust your ass, then you get playing time. However, if you screw up or screw off, then you dwindle away until one day you’re no longer at practice or sitting on the bench at all. I’ve worked too hard, for too long to give my spot away.

  My parents were so proud of my athletic ability when I was growing up; I refuse to let them be disappointed in me now that I’m getting somewhere with it. The fight last weekend wasn’t like me at all. I’ve had haters my entire life, but they usually aren’t able to get through to me like that. I can only imagine the disappointment my parents must’ve been feeling if they were watching from above.

  One thing that hasn’t changed from when I was in high school is the amount of women giving it up freely whenever I want it. Chicks seem to flock to me whether I’m on the bench or playing the entire game. It’s not the small high school or away girls anymore; it’s anyone and everyone sending me the ‘I’d fuck you’ looks. I’ve even had a few dudes hit on me. Freaked me the hell out at first, but I learned to roll with it.

  College is a new life in itself. Being in my second year, I’m still adapting. My brothers have no clue what I deal with. Well, Clyde has some, since he went for a while; however, I prefer the normalcy of when I’m at home and can decompress. Here at school, I’m always on.

  “Ty! My man!” DaShwan yells, throwing me a peace sign as he passes by, full of a bright smile.

  “Get it, Gator!” I holler back, using his nickname and chuckling. I don’t know him well, but he’s been someone who’s cheered me on since I first got here. For those people, I’m grateful. They helped me power through the tougher times of being at a new school and not knowing anyone.

  JJ catches up at my side, and we bump each other’s forearms in greeting. “Bro, we fucking missed you Saturday.”