The only end

A week after the party, I parked my Cadillac in the three-car garage. My house was nothing too special. A four-bedroom two bath, with a bar in the living room. It had come with the farm when my mother bought it, but she was into all the luxuries life had to offer and lived in a mansion not too far away. She came to visit regularly, but with running the company they were short visits. So I was surprised to see her when I walked in. 

“Hi, honey.” She walked over and gave me a side hug, careful not to disturb the drink in her hand. When it came to looks, I felt like a complete opposite of her. Where my hair was platinum blond, almost white, her’s were dark brown, my eyes were grey, her’s, brown. Ya, I got called a vampire a lot in school.

“Is that…” I sniffed her drink. “Is that Kilian?” She gave a sheepish smile and took another sip. I limped into the other room to find Alek pouring me a glass of the cool liquor. “You’re too good to me my friend.” 

“Ha, well, you Americans have shitty Vodka.” He raised his glass and tapped mine. “To a good drink.” I nodded and sipped the Russian delight. It was strong, beyond anything we had here, but it went down well. My absolute favorite drink in the entire world was this one in my hand. 

“So, what’s the special occasion?” I looked between my mother and Alek. The two of them were very close, in a brother-sister kind of way. Alek had helped her build the company from the ground up and was very involved in our lives. There was something off about them tonight though. 

“Stella honey, I have been very patient with you since your accident, but I have to step in now.” A serious look came across her face. Being a single mother there were many times in my childhood when the ‘serious face’ came to light, and it was never good. It usually ended in her winning or me just wanting her to stop and her winning anyway. “I do not want you involved with these people anymore. Gabriel and Marco are fine, but I don’t think you should be a member on the board.” 

If the vodka wasn't so expensive, I would have done a spit take on her, but I forced it down and gaped at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you right…” 

“Look at you! Blind in one eye, limping around with a bum knee. This has gone too far. I don’t want you mixed up in this, especially if you're getting hurt like this and even more so if that asshole Jason is here.” Though stern, her voice carried concern and I honestly couldn’t blame her too much. She worried about me. 

While I was playing polo in California Jason was on the field with me and he made a dangerous call on the field and ended up taking my horse down and me with him. I touched my hand to the side of my face recalling the horrifying event. When he went down on our first flip he crushed my knee, shattering it and ripping too many tendons and ligaments, on our second his hoof scraped the side of my face, blinding me.

I forced myself out of the painful memory. My gaze shot to Alek, who was sitting at the small bar trying to look busy. “Did you have something to do with this?” 

“He agrees with me. Please, Stella.” She was begging now, something I had only seen her do once when I wanted to pick up Rose in my brakeless 66 mustangs and she said it was too dangerous. I had listened to her then, but there was no way I was caving now. 

“Mom, it is not like I’m a gangster. I’m trying to revive a dead sport.” Out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t help but notice the ever so slight uncomfortable shift from Alek. 

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper, pain flashing across her weathered face. “I have lost many people in my life, I do not want to lose my only daughter.” 

I set my glass down and pulled her into a hug. “You won’t mom, I promise.” 

Debating on what to do with the Jason situation, I sat down on the steps to my garage. Three vehicles stared back at me, two underneath dusty covers. This had always been the place I’d come to relax after a long day. I’d throw on some tunes, and polish my 1966 mustang convertible. It had to be one of my most meaningful possessions. When I was little, every year on my birthday, my mother would buy me a small toy car and every year it would be a different color 60’s mustang. On my seventh birthday, I opened the wrapped toy car, it glowed a midnight blue, and instantly fell in love. The top was as white as Christmas, and my imagination took me to my own little world with the car. She had said my father had a car just like this, but white. They had driven all over the country with it without a care in the world. I had asked her that day to tell me more about my father, but the pained look on her face drove me to drop the question and hug her instead. In the 14 years since I had never asked about him. There were never pictures around our home or even on her phone of the man. It was like he never existed. 

I took a deep breath and strolled over to the covered car. Pacing a hand on the dusty cover, my heart broke ever so slightly, this was probably as close as I would ever get to my father. Reaching underneath the car I unclipped the bungee cord holding the cover on and gently pulled it back. The deep blue sparked back at me, as vibrant as ever. 

“She’s a beauty.” I looked up and saw Alek standing in the doorway I was standing in minutes before. “Are you going to take her out this summer?”

I didn't meet his eyes, just pulled back the cover to reveal the running horse on the grill then leaned against the wall sliding down on my butt. “Right after my accident, as I was laying in the grass, my horse struggling to get up beside me… I passed out… I dreamt about driving this car, trees on either side of me. Leaves blocking out the summer rays of the sun. And do you know who was next to me?” I looked up, he was now standing next to me, a sympathetic gaze meeting mine. My attention turned back to the chrome-plated emblem. “My faceless father…” I felt Alek tense beside me. He had never liked talking about feelings with me, and whenever the subject of my father came up he always avoided it. Instead of finding the nearest exit to occupy himself with a useless task, he sat down beside me. 

“Your father is very proud of you.” He smiled before giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Come on. Enough sulking, we’re missing the practice.” He got to his feet then offered me a hand. Grateful, I took it and heaved my broken body up. A wave of grief washed over me as a realization finally set in. I had no control of my life, my father was gone, my career was falling apart and there was another polo player determined to maim me. I was completely powerless.