Chapter Three: The Secret My Father Left Behind

By sunrise, I had convinced myself that the photograph had to be fake, because accepting the alternative meant admitting that the last six years of my life had been built on a lie. I had spent six years believing my father was dead. I had stood beside his grave with tears running down my face while relatives told me that he was in a better place. I had watched my mother break down when she thought nobody was looking, and I had learned to hide my own pain because I believed I had no choice. I remembered the night we received the news. I remembered the police officer standing at our door. I remembered the way my father’s favorite chair remained untouched for months because nobody had the courage to move it. I remembered hating myself for surviving when he hadn’t. And now Rhett had shown me a photograph of the man I had mourned standing alive beside a black SUV. Older. Scarred. Different. But still my father. I wanted to believe it was fake. I needed it to be fake. Yet deep down, something inside me had already accepted the truth. My father was alive, and if he was alive, then someone had spent six years making sure I believed he was dead.

I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, memories came rushing back, memories I had buried so deeply that I had almost forgotten them. My father teaching me how to shoot a basketball in our driveway. My father yelling from the stands whenever I played. The way he would always tell me that talent meant nothing without discipline. The way he used to squeeze my shoulder whenever I was nervous before an important game. I remembered the last morning I saw him. He had stood by the front door, holding his car keys, promising he would be back soon. I had been too young to understand the seriousness in his eyes. I had complained that he was leaving before my game, and he had smiled before telling me he would never miss one of my games if he could help it. Then he disappeared. For six years, I believed death had stolen him from me. Now I couldn’t stop wondering whether he had been forced to leave me instead. The thought hurt in a completely different way. If he had been alive all this time, why hadn’t he come home? Why had he allowed me to grieve him? Why had he watched me grow up from a distance instead of walking through the front door and telling me the truth?

By six in the morning, I was standing outside the administration building with Rhett beside me, the small key marked 317 clenched inside my fist. I had barely spoken to him since leaving the arena, partly because I was angry and partly because I was terrified that if I asked too many questions, I would hear answers I wasn’t ready for. Rhett seemed to understand because he didn’t push me. We walked through the quiet hallway toward the basement without saying much. Eventually, the silence became unbearable. You know too much, I muttered. Rhett glanced at me and told me he had been trying to tell me that. I shook my head, telling him that wasn’t comforting. He replied that it wasn’t meant to be. I stopped walking and turned toward him. If we find something in that box proving you lied to me, I’m done trusting you. His expression hardened as he looked directly into my eyes and told me that if we found something proving he had lied, then I should stop trusting him. His answer should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. It only reminded me that I had no idea who Rhett Calloway really was anymore. For years, I had known him as my greatest rival, the guy who could get under my skin with one look and turn every basketball game into a personal war. Now I was beginning to realize that while I had been studying his moves on the court, he had been watching my life from the shadows.

The safety deposit room was hidden beneath the old administration building, behind a heavy security door that required two separate keys and an employee badge. Rhett had somehow arranged access through a contact his father knew, and that was another detail I didn’t understand. Everything about this situation seemed to lead to another secret. We finally reached the row of metal boxes, and my eyes immediately found number 317. I stood in front of it longer than I intended. My heart was beating so hard that my chest hurt. I had spent the entire morning wanting answers, but now that the moment had arrived, fear began crawling through me. What if the box was empty? What if my father hadn’t left anything? What if the photograph was fake and this was all some elaborate trap? What if opening that box gave me a truth that I could never escape? I looked at Rhett, but he didn’t say anything. He simply watched me, as if he understood that this was something I had to do myself. I inserted the key into the lock. My fingers were shaking so badly that it took two attempts before the key turned. The click sounded impossibly loud in the quiet room.

I pulled the door open and stared inside. There was no money, no stack of documents, no weapon, no evidence that immediately explained the mystery. There was only a black envelope. My name was written across it in my father’s handwriting. My entire body went cold. I knew that handwriting. I had seen it on birthday cards, school notes, grocery lists, and little reminders stuck to the refrigerator when I was younger. I had spent six years believing I would never see it again. Yet there it was, right in front of me. My father’s handwriting. My vision blurred almost immediately, and I had to blink several times before I could see clearly. Rhett noticed the change in my expression and stepped toward me, but I raised a hand to stop him. You knew about this, I whispered. He shook his head and told me no. I looked at him suspiciously and told him not to lie to me. He swore that he didn’t know what was inside. I wanted to believe him, but trust was becoming harder with every passing minute. I opened the envelope with trembling fingers, and the first thing that slipped out was a photograph.

It was my father again, but this time he wasn’t alone. My eyes moved to the man standing beside him, and my entire body froze. Coach Danner. I stared at the photograph for several seconds, waiting for my brain to reject what I was seeing. It couldn’t be him. It had to be someone who looked like him. But the longer I stared, the more certain I became. It was Coach Danner. My coach. The man who had been there during the worst period of my life. The man who had helped me return to basketball after my father’s supposed death. The man who had told me that I had a future when I was convinced I had nothing left to fight for. I felt my stomach twist painfully. Why was my father with him? I asked. Rhett looked at the photograph, and something unreadable passed across his face before he admitted that he didn’t know. I almost laughed because those words had become his favorite answer. You always say that, I told him bitterly. But before he could respond, I noticed writing on the back of the photograph. I turned it over and read the words slowly.

The person you trust most is the person they will use against you.

My fingers tightened around the photograph. I immediately thought of Coach Danner. Then I thought of Rhett. Then I thought of my father. Suddenly, I didn’t know which person in my life I could trust. I pulled another item from the envelope, a folded document that looked like an old contract. When I opened it, my eyes immediately landed on three names. My father’s name was at the bottom. Coach Danner’s name was beside it. But the third name made the air leave my lungs.

Rhett Calloway.

I looked at him so quickly that my neck hurt. He was already staring at the document, and the color had drained from his face. You signed this? I asked. He didn’t answer. Rhett, I repeated, louder this time. His eyes finally lifted to mine, and he admitted that he had been seventeen when he signed it. I felt anger rise through my chest. What does that mean? I demanded. He swallowed before explaining that my father had made him sign the agreement before he disappeared. I looked down at the document again, forcing myself to read every word. Beneath the signatures was a clause that made my hands tremble. It stated that if Kade Mercer was ever placed in danger, Rhett Calloway would assume full responsibility for his protection and would reveal the truth when the threat reached Westbridge University.

I read the sentence again, but my mind refused to accept it. Six years ago, when I had been grieving my father, Rhett had already known something. While I was learning how to live without my father, Rhett had been carrying a secret connected to him. While I was blaming fate, Rhett had been keeping a promise. I looked at him with a mixture of anger and hurt that I couldn’t hide. That’s why you came here, I whispered. Rhett nodded. Not for basketball. He shook his head. Not because you wanted to beat me. His eyes stayed on mine as he admitted that he came because my father asked him to. My chest tightened so painfully that I had to look away. For years, I had believed Rhett hated me. I had convinced myself that every argument, every challenge, every insult between us was real. Now I was wondering how many of those moments had been an act. I wanted to be angry with him, but another part of me couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that while I had been alone in my grief, he had apparently been carrying a secret burden my father had trusted him with.

Then Rhett told me something that shattered what little certainty I had left. My father had warned him that once I discovered the truth, the people hunting him would come for me. They would use the person I loved most to get to me. I stared at Rhett, trying to understand what he meant, but before I could ask, my phone vibrated. I pulled it from my pocket and saw a message from the unknown number. You’re looking in the wrong place. Before I could respond, another message appeared. Danner isn’t the traitor. My heart pounded. Then another message appeared. Rhett is. I slowly raised my eyes toward him. He was watching me, and for the first time, I realized something terrifying. I didn’t want the message to be true. That was the part that frightened me most. Somewhere between all our arguments, all our competitions, and all the years I had spent calling him my enemy, Rhett had become someone I depended on. Someone whose presence made me feel safer. Someone whose hand I had allowed to hold mine when the arena went dark. If he had been lying to me all this time, then losing my father a second time might not be the worst thing that happened to me. Losing my trust in Rhett might be.

Before either of us could speak, the security alarm suddenly screamed through the basement. The attendant shouted from the hallway that someone had accessed another safety deposit box. Rhett immediately grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the exit. I followed him, but something made me stop. I looked back at box 317. The door was still open, and something was sticking out from beneath the black envelope. I pulled free from Rhett’s grip and rushed back. He called my name, but I ignored him. I reached inside and pulled out a final photograph. The moment I saw it, my entire body went numb.

It was me.

Standing outside the basketball arena.

And beside me was my father.

Alive.

Watching me.

My knees nearly gave out. I stared at the photograph, unable to understand how it was possible. Then I noticed the date printed in the corner.

Yesterday.

A cold sensation crawled down my spine.

My father hadn’t simply survived.

He had been watching me.

I turned the photograph over with shaking fingers, expecting another message.

Instead, I found a single sentence written in his handwriting.

I have been watching you because I am trying to find out who betrayed me.

My heart pounded violently.

Then I noticed something in the photograph that I hadn’t seen before.

My father wasn’t looking at me.

He was looking directly at Rhett.

And in his hand was a piece of paper.

There was only one name written on it.

Rhett Calloway.