Nate the Unstoppable

I sometimes get frustrated with the growing number of stories in my drafts folder, and I wish I had the discipline just to finish some. But then, the idea for an entirely new one pops into my head, and my ADHD is off to the races. This is one of those stories.

For those of you looking for free online romances with a side of gritty realism, this might not be the choice for you. Similarly, if you're looking for graphic sex (or really any sex beyond what you might find in a PG-rated movie), you might be disappointed. Like most of my best stories, however, this one just kind of wrote itself. So, despite the dearth of 'Lit' and/or 'Erotica', I suspect you'll enjoy it if you give it a try.

Nate the Unstoppable

PROLOGUE

I'm sure you've heard of the National Football League (NFL). It's the richest sports league in the world and a fixture on screens big and small across America each fall. With revenues of over $20 billion and more than 120 million viewers for the Super Bowl each year, it's a testament to the enduring power of football to inspire our dreams, make people wealthy, and give us a sense of belonging to something greater than ourselves.

You may not have heard of the World Football Alliance (WFA). In fact, it's completely understandable if you haven't. If the NFL is the 800-pound gorilla of sports leagues, the WFA was the cuddly hamster--cute and furry, but with a very limited shelf life.

The WFA compensated for its lack of on-field talent by scripting over-the-top storylines that had more in common with professional wrestling than football. Have you ever seen someone block a field goal with a folding chair that they snuck onto the field? If you have, you've watched the WFA.

The WFA had big dreams but shallow pockets. After just three seasons, it folded, with few mourning its passing. But few isn't the same as none. For one young fan, Nathan Peterson, the WFA was everything. He lived and died by his beloved Iowa Skyhammers and couldn't wait for their new season to begin. No one had the heart to tell him that it never would.

Was Nathan destined for heartbreak at the tender age of seven? Or--against all odds--would his gridiron heroes come through for him and save the day?

If you enjoy stories filled with heart-wrenching tragedy, improbable comebacks, and dashing heroes winning their best girls' hearts (and having theirs stolen in return), you might want to stick around to find out.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Our story begins at Peterson's Used Cars & Trucks in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, on a gray Saturday morning--the coldest day of the year.

CHAPTER 1

Michael Peterson

For as long as I can remember, Peterson's Used Cars & Trucks has been an institution in downtown Cedar Rapids. My father founded it the year I was born and passed it on to me ten years ago when he retired. For 38 years, we've delivered automobiles as steady and dependable as the Iowans who drive them. We have a hard-earned reputation for honesty and fair dealing--we charge a reasonable price and stand behind every car and truck we sell. For years, that has been enough to make a modest living with enough left over to give something back to our community.

But not anymore.

I should probably introduce myself before we go any further. I'm Michael Peterson, father of two and husband of none. My ex-wife, Sandra, left us just over three years ago when our bonus baby, Nathan, was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL).

Fuck cancer.

We all react to tragedy in our own ways. I doubled down on my love and devotion to the boys, while Sandra cut and ran. One day, I came home from the hospital to find a note on the kitchen counter that read:

Dear Michael.

Life's too short to be sad all the time. YOLO. Steve and I are moving to Florida to start our next adventure. Don't worry; I'll always have fond memories of you and the boys.

All the best,

Sandra

Believe it or not, my biggest worry after finding the note wasn't whether Sandra had left with fond memories of her former family. After googling YOLO (apparently, it stands for You Only Live Once--now you know), I realized that 'Steve' was Steven Patterson, my top salesman and former best friend. I guess YOLO and kids with cancer are mutually incompatible.

Nathan has the heart of a warrior, but over the past three years, he's been losing ground in his battle with cancer, and I'm terrified that he's starting to lose hope. He still has a smile for everyone, be they family, friends, nurses, or doctors (but never the despicable Charleston Blackcoats), but he's fading, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I feel so helpless most of the time, watching him suffer through endless treatments and procedures.

After his mother left, the only thing that consistently brought Nathan joy was the Iowa Skyhammers of the WFA. Their crowds were sparse, and the football was terrible, but no one cheered harder for that awful team or followed their mediocre weekly melodramas with more passion than my little man.

Every Sunday afternoon, we'd listen to their game on the radio (the Skyhammers never secured even a local TV deal). On Monday mornings, we'd sit in his hospital room and watch the weekly recaps on YouTube while he was poked and prodded or given one of his seemingly endless rounds of chemotherapy. I didn't have the heart to tell him when the league folded; I just couldn't take away the last piece of joy from his miserable life. But I knew he would have to find out eventually, and it would be one more heartbreak in a lifetime of them.

My oldest son, Lance, has been a rock. He's spent more time in the hospital with his brother than most people do in their lifetimes, and he helps around the dealership as much as he can. Before Sandra left, he was a happy-go-lucky kid with dozens of friends. Now, he's just a sad and empty shell of his former self. Your senior year of high school is supposed to be the best time of your life, but for Lance, it's been nothing but worry and sorrow.

Just one more item on my ever-growing list of failures as a parent.

The dill pickle on the shit sandwich that is my life was the Used Car Megaplex that opened outside of Cedar Rapids just over two years ago. They're a national chain, and their strategy is ruthless and unforgiving. Whenever they enter a new market, they mark their cars down to below-break-even prices for a couple of years until they force all their competitors out of business. Then they jack up their prices and make all that money back.

Predatory pricing like that is both highly illegal and incredibly difficult to prove. Moreover, they have the financial resources to endure a lengthy court case if necessary. After Nathan's three-year battle with cancer, I certainly did not. No locally owned dealership had lasted more than three years against them, and it didn't seem like we would be the exception to that rule.

******

I shook my head and tried to refocus as I pulled into the dealership and parked. Lance was riding shotgun, but he had his headphones on and was lost in a podcast. We usually didn't open until 10 AM on Saturday mornings, but I'd spent the night in the hospital with Nathan and had a particularly unpleasant meeting to get through before I could start the day.

Mr. James and his daughter, Becky, were arriving at 9:30 to discuss her role in the unfortunate events of the previous weekend--if you could call vandalizing half a dozen cars on my lot 'unfortunate'. I would have used words like senseless and infuriating, but then I wasn't a big-time lawyer like Becky's father.

In better times, vandalism like that would have been difficult for us financially, but it wouldn't have been the end of the world. With our sales tanking because of the Used Car Megaplex coming to town, it was devastating. Fortunately, the jewelry store across the street captured the entire incident on camera. Unfortunately, the perpetrators were members of the undefeated Cedar Rapids Central High football team and some of the cheerleaders, including Becky.

The police weren't planning to press charges because they didn't want to derail the players' promising football careers before they even started. Then, a few of the team's biggest boosters offered to pay for the damages to make the whole thing disappear. They strongly suggested that a business owner who pursued unnecessary charges when 'kids were just being kids' might be viewed very poorly by local car buyers. It didn't seem like accountability was high on anyone's list of priorities.

Despite the cold weather and early hour, I heard a friendly, "Morning, Mr. Bossman," as I entered the office. Margaret "Margie" O'Keefe was the silver lining for all the storm clouds in my life. Besides her starring role as my not-so-faithful wife, Sandra had also been our office manager. I hired Margie to replace Sandra soon after she fled to Florida.

Margie was as kind as she was competent. She took charge of the mess that Sandra left behind without missing a beat and soon became the heart and soul of the dealership. She was the kind of person whose presence alone made your life 10% better and your day 10% happier. She was also as cute as a button and had a world-class smile.

I'll admit, I had the teensiest of crushes on Margie, but I think I hid it well. She'd been my rock almost from the day she started working here, and she helped keep my hopes from flagging when I might otherwise have slipped into despair. Unfortunately, I knew we could never be together. She was nearly a decade younger than I was, and I didn't have much to offer her other than my failing dealership and my impending soul-crushing loss. However, when things got bad, it was certainly nice to daydream about her smile.

"How's Nathan doing this morning?"

Margie knew I'd gone to work straight from the hospital after picking Lance up from home.

"Oh, you know. Another day, another heart-wrenchingly painful treatment. But we're hearing good things about this latest round."

Honestly, I wasn't hopeful that this round of treatments would be any different than the last. But my job as a father was to stay positive as I watched Nathan's little body get ravaged by the poisons that would hopefully save his life. Margie looked up at me, her eyes filled with sympathy and kindness, as she reached over and squeezed my hand.

"I'm praying for you both."

I felt my back stiffen, and I didn't know what to say.

"I... thank you, Margie."

She squeezed my hand once more before letting go.

******

As I walked into my office, which was just a glorified closet, I noticed Mr. James and his daughter Becky were already seated in the chairs opposite my desk. Despite the weather and the early hour, Mr. James wore a light-gray, tailored three-piece suit with a starched white shirt. His only concession to practicality was the Sorel boots on his feet.

Becky, in contrast, wore a long black Canada Goose parka and sleek leather Chelsea boots that likely cost more than everything in my office--myself included. Mr. James seemed annoyed, while Becky looked as if she would rather be anywhere else in the world. After a moment, I kicked off the festivities.

"How can I help you both on this fine January morning?"

Mr. James leaned forward in his chair and made eye contact with me.

"Thank you for meeting with us this morning, Mr. Peterson. Becky would like to apologize for her role in what happened here last weekend and offer to make amends."

That sounded ominous, and I was merely the intended recipient of the apology. Becky crossed her arms and blushed as she gazed down at the floor before beginning to speak.

"I'm sorry that we damaged your vehicles and for the distress that must have caused you and your family. My actions don't reflect my values or upbringing."

Becky paused for a moment and looked at her father, who nodded sternly before she resumed.

"Although money might be able to compensate for the damage caused to your vehicles, it can't compensate for your time and inconvenience. To show that I understand the seriousness of what I did and to take accountability for my actions," she paused again and looked over at her father before continuing, "I'm offering to work for you, for free, two nights a week after school and on the weekends, until you feel that I have paid off my debt."

Maybe she was just a good actress, but Becky looked genuinely contrite. I'd never been very good at dealing with crying women, even when I was married to one, and I didn't know what to say, so I handed Becky a box of tissues before I replied.

"First, I want to say how impressed I am to see you taking accountability for your actions. I hope you can learn from this and avoid repeating the same mistakes in the future. And your offer is commendable, but it seems like a significant time commitment for..."

Before I could finish, Mr. James interrupted.

"Becky's original punishment was no phone or socials for the rest of the term. And no spring formal or prom. I'm sure she would appreciate it if you accepted her proposal, if you have work for her to do, that is."

I looked at Becky, who was like a rabbit frozen in a field after seeing the shadow of a hawk passing overhead.

"I'm sure we can find plenty to keep her busy," I said, and I noticed Becky visibly relax.

"Do you know my son Lance? He's in the same grade as you at Cedar Rapids Central High. He can show you the ropes and help you get settled in."

Lance Peterson

You know that old saying, 'Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it?' Becky James was what I had wished for since about the sixth grade, and it turned out that the saying was painfully prescient.

It wasn't that she was pretty... okay, that's a lie... it wasn't JUST that she was pretty; she was also smart, sassy, and took no prisoners. I certainly thought she was the bee's knees. And I didn't even know if bees had knees to begin with. But my grandpa used to say that about my grandma, and I sure miss them both, so yeah... she was the bee's knees.

Or so I believed while admiring her from afar.

After two weeks of working closely with her at the dealership, Little Miss Bee's Knees was a pain in my ass. Dad asked me to keep an eye on her and show her the ropes, but all she seemed to do was complain.

"I had to give up my horseback riding lessons to be here."

"I should be getting ready for Sylvie's party tonight instead of cleaning road salt off these old, crappy cars."

"Isn't that the same t-shirt you wore in gym class in grade 9?"

Okay, that last complaint was fair enough. My wardrobe could probably use a refresh. However, I spent most nights camped out in my brother's hospital room, so fashion wasn't a priority for me. Even though I was impressed that she remembered anything about me from grade 9, it still kind of stung.

"You used to be such a fun guy? What happened to you? The least you could do is crack a smile sometimes."

I probably should have walked away from Becky after she made that last comment. She wasn't any more spoiled than many other kids in my school. But I suppose I'd just reached my breaking point that day, so I let Becky have it.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Becky, but sometimes life just sucks. I wish I had a nice smile for you when you got here this morning, but I had just come from my little brother's room in the hospital, where we had to tell him that he needs another round of chemotherapy because the last one didn't work. He was crying and begging my dad not to let them do it, and my dad was trying so hard not to break down as he held him and told him it was going to be alright."

"I'm his older brother, Becky. My most important job in life is to protect my little brother and keep him safe, and I'm a complete failure at it. All I can do is watch him slowly d..."

I had to pause to catch my breath; I was so worked up I thought I might explode.

"But you know what, Becky? It's not going to be alright. It's never going to be alright again. And that friggin' Used Car Megaplex is going to put us out of business soon, and then Nathan's going to lose his insurance, and our last hope will be crushed. So, yeah, those 'old, crappy cars' are the only thing keeping my brother alive right now.

"And you know what the cherry on top is, Becky? The only thing that Nathan is looking forward to is the next stupid season of the stupid Iowa Skyhammers and the rest of the stupid WFA. But they folded last year, so there isn't going to be a next season. Soon, he's going to figure that out, and I'm not sure he'll survive another heartbreak.

"I'm sorry about your horseback riding, and I'm sorry about your parties, and I'm sorry I have things to worry about other than figuring out what I'm going to wear to work every day. I'm sorry. I'm just sorry, okay?"

I must have gotten loud toward the end of my rant because Becky's eyes were as big as Coke bottles, and her mouth hung open in astonishment. I felt my dad's hand on my shoulder as he pulled me in for a hug. I could hear him speaking to Becky while he comforted me.

"Let me apologize to you on Lance's behalf, Becky. He should never have spoken to you like that. He's just... well, he's got a lot on his plate right now. Why don't you head home now? I'll call your father and make sure that you don't get in trouble for leaving early.

"Thank you for all your help. We appreciate it."

CHAPTER 2

Michael Peterson

Monday morning was rough. I woke up with the emotional hangover from Sunday, knowing it would last well into the following week. I wasn't blind; I could see the toll Nathan's slow decline and my increasing absence to care for him while trying to keep the dealership afloat were taking on Lance. I just didn't know what I could do about it.

A year ago, in desperation, I tried to find Sandra in Florida to see if Lance could live with her and have a chance at something closer to a normal teenage life. I found her, but she'd become some kind of lifestyle influencer on social media, and unfortunately, Lance just didn't fit into her chosen aesthetic.

"I'm too young to have a son Lance's age. This business can be brutal, Michael. I'm sure Lance will understand. Maybe he can come visit once he's in college."

In retrospect, it'd been a piss-poor idea anyway, so I never told Lance about my interactions with his mother. She didn't ask about Nathan.

By the time Lance woke up, I was back from the hospital and had breakfast ready for him, but he said he wasn't hungry. If he'd gotten any sleep the night before, you wouldn't have known it by looking at him.

"Dad, I don't want to go to school this morning."

He sounded exhausted and sad, and I wished there was something I could do for him. But no problem ever got solved by running away from it.

"Are you worried about seeing Becky at school? I know she's not your favorite person right now, but she's a good kid. I don't think she will hold what you said against you."

"I know, Dad. It's just that sometimes I wish things could be different, you know?"

"As Gandalf the White once said, 'So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.' And your brother is starting his next round of chemotherapy today. So, what I'm going to do with the time that is given to me is go and keep him company. You don't have to come with me if you're not up for it this morning. I'm sure he'll understand."

Lance looked at me like I'd lost my mind.