The flash photographs blinded me with their lights but I didn't care. I worked my ass for ten years to achieve this overnight success. Waving to the crowd, the girls fainted, some screamed their love for me while others threw flowers at me. 

"Mr Nightingale, tell us. How do you feel winning the championship for the second time in a row?" A blonde-haired reporter asked. She pushed up her boobs until her exposed cleavage spilled more than necessary. I winked at her and she turned red.

"I feel awesome and I'm going for the next championship, making jt three in a row," I answered, intentionally trying to sound corny. A guy like me loved the attention, from the media, from fellow players and especially the ladies. 

The reporter rallied more questions to me which I answered with pride. Flaunting my success to whoever cared to listen. I did it. I got here. Despite the bullies who made me feel like crap or my father who deserted me and even my mother's lack of support.

I whirled to enter my white limousine when the reporter slipped a paper into my hands. Her phone number. I smiled at her and licked her lower lip. Motioning her to come over to my car window, I whispered, "I'll send a car to pick you up. You'll warm my bed tonight, sweet blonde."

"I'm all yours, Mr Nightingale." She giggled.

Getting to my mansion, I found my mother in the living room, yelling at someone over the phone. "No, Stroud. We don't want to ever see you," my mother snapped. 

My heart stopped when I heard my father's name. I halted and strode toward her. She spun to see me and jerked. "Goodness, Blaze. You scared me."

"Who's on the phone?" I barked.

"It's no one." 

I sniffed it from her quick response. She was hiding him from me, probably afraid of my response to the situation. "Is it the Stroud, I know?" A smirk was drawn on my face. My mother's breath hitched. She knew. I only smirked when I was ready to do something mischievous.

She stepped back. "What are you going to do with him?"

"First, what does he want?"

My brain replayed images of him tossing my mother and I in the streets because he married a younger woman. It was the biggest news in my school then. Bullies surrounded me like prey and my mother added pressure to me to excel in my studies. Unfortunately, I had dyslexia and disappointed her. All because of one man. I growled. 

"He is still your father, Blaze," my mother spat.

"Give me the phone, mom," I requested with an outstretched hand.

"Blaze?"

"Just give me the phone." My grin grew wider. "You said he's my father. Let me say hi."

Her hand trembled as she gave me her phone. I cleared my throat and answered. "Long time, old man."

"Blaze," my father called, his voice low. 

Good. He should fear me. "What do we owe this sudden call? I suppose you've seen the news about me. Now, you remembered you have a child. A family, right?" I snarled.

"Child. I don't know what came over me."

"Oh save that fucking lie. I am no child."

"Blaze. People make mistakes."

"Of course. But do you know what your mistake almost costed me?" I paced the room, as my temper was on the verge of being lost. I tightened my grip on the phone, controlling my urge to slam it on the wall.

"Forgive me. I am only human," he begged.

"Fuck that and fuck you." My breath came as short pants. I shoved the nostalgia flooding my mind behind. "Never call this number again. Or I'll fucking find you and you'll regret ever being my father. We've moved on and I suggest you do the same."

I hung the line, handed the phone to my mother and strode upstairs to my room. My mother called out to me but I ignored her. Unable to hear her or understand the words she said. 

Inside my room, I leaned on my door and slipped on the floor. My head was spinning and I couldn't control my fast breaths. I hated him. I hated all I went through because he wasn't present. I don't need him. And I never will. 

Taking out my phone, I called the hot news reporter and asked her to meet up with me at the elite club in the city. I needed to relax and the only way to do so was to get drunk and smash some cheeks.

She agreed as I knew she would. Women never resisted me. Whether she came for my looks, talent or money, it didn't matter to me. I didn't care about falling in love, that was far-fetched for me. Sex and lust were enough. 

Quickly, I changed into more comfortable clothes and headed for the club. The fast rap songs boomed from the speakers and it could be heard from a distance.

A chandelier of different colors rotated, giving the perfect ambience for sensual feelings. I took a seat at the bar and waited for my lady of the night. I sent my black Maserati to pick her up.

Before I could make an order to the bartender, my phone rang. It was my manager, Nate. "Blaze, a new coach has been found for you," Nate said.

"Do I need one?" I inquired, in sarcasm. As I signalled to the bartender for a bottle of Whisky.

"Pipe down on your ego."

"My coach had a stroke and yet I bagged another championship."

"You still need to learn new skills. Your opponents are constantly improving. This lady, is an amazing coach."

"A Lady?" I snickered. "I'm interested."

"Come on. Cause she's a woman now you want the coach."

"I mean, if she doesn't teach me on the court, my room is open always."

"What's that loud music? No, wait. Never mind. Just called to inform you about the new coach. Talk to you later." He hung up.

I took a sip of my scotch and wrinkled my face. That's the stuff. I didn't pay one-thousand dollars for a drink for nothing. I grunted. Where the fuck is the news lady? I was getting wasted already. My glance surveyed the room for her blonde hair when a body shoved into me. I spilled my drink.

"Asshole. You ruined my dress," a female voice yelled.

I opened my mouth to hail insults on her when our eyes met. I was blown away by her breathtaking beauty. An epitome of beauty. My night was about to be made but I was wrong. Dead wrong.