How about a second chance ?

01

Arden Scott

You know that feeling when you hate someone so much it makes your stomach twist, like you might actually throw up just from seeing their face? Like your fists clench before your brain can even catch up, and all you can think about is how satisfying it would be to just hit them?

Yeah. That feeling?

I live with it.

And his name is Xavier Rhodes.

I hate him. Not the casual kind of hate people throw around like it's nothing I mean the kind that sits in your chest and burns. The kind that makes your jaw lock every time he walks into a room. There's just something about him. His stupid face, the way he walks around like he owns everything, like the world owes him something. He's always loud, always yelling, always shoving people in the halls like they're just obstacles instead of actual human beings.

And the worst part?

Nobody does anything about it.

Teachers let him slide when he's late again. People laugh at his dumb jokes. Girls practically line up for him like he's some kind of prize. And he is good at everything. Sports, grades, charm like the universe just handed him everything and said, "Here, go be perfect."

It makes me sick.

I swear, sometimes I think I'd give up everything everything just to watch my fist connect with his face. To finally see that arrogant smirk disappear. To hear the crack of something breaking so I know, just for a second, he's not untouchable.

i know he isn't.

But the thing is... it's not just about him.

It never was.

This whatever this is between us it started long before either of us even existed.

Way before me. Before him. Before any of this.

Our families have been at each other's throats for decades. Maybe longer. It's like we were born into something we didn't ask for, something already set in motion. And yeah, I could sit here and say it's all the Rhodes' fault, but that wouldn't be the truth.

My family? We're just as bad.

We don't forgive. We don't forget. We hold onto things until they rot and turn into something worse.

And all of it traces back to one stupid, beautiful, life-ruining moment.

My grandfather used to tell the story like it was something out of a romance movie.

It was 1979, a blazing summer day in Central Park. The kind of day where the air feels thick and everything glows a little too bright. He was just a kid back then, barely twenty, walking along one of the crowded paths with a tin bucket full of crushed, stale bread, feeding the birds like it was the most important thing in the world.

That's when she ran into him.

Literally.

He always said he didn't even see her coming just felt the impact, the bucket slipping from his hands as bread scattered everywhere, crumbs littering the ground as pigeons swarmed like it was a feast. And then there she was.

A flash of red hair. Freckles dusted across her cheeks. Eyes wide with panic as she dropped to her knees, apologizing over and over while helping him pick everything up.

He couldn't even focus on the mess.

He said the sunlight hit her just right, like she was glowing, like everything around her faded into nothing. He didn't care about the crumbs stuck to his clothes or the people brushing past them. All he saw was her.

And just like that, he fell.

Hard.

They walked together after that, deeper into the park, talking like they'd known each other their whole lives. Laughing. Sharing things you're not supposed to tell strangers. The kind of connection people spend years searching for and never find.

That's when she told him.

Her parents had already chosen her future for her. She was supposed to marry into one of the most powerful families in New York a name that carried weight, money, and influence.

The Rhodes family.

He said he felt his chest cave in when she told him. Like the universe had just handed him something beautiful only to rip it away seconds later.

So they did the only thing two reckless, desperate people who think there in love could think to do.

They ran.

No plan. No backup. Just the two of them against everything.

They got married in secret, far from New York, far from her family. For a year, it worked. They were happy at least, that's how he told it. Like those months were the best thing that ever happened to him.

Exactly one year later, she gave birth to my father. March 14th, 1980, in Harvey, New Orleans.

He always said that was the moment everything changed.

Because happiness like that? It doesn't last.

Not for people like us.

Three days after my father was born, she disappeared.

No note. No explanation. Just... gone.

My grandfather woke up in a hospital room, holding a newborn baby, completely alone.

Twenty years old, no money, no plan, and a child depending on him.

He didn't have a choice. He went back home to the city he thought he'd escaped. The city that suddenly didn't feel like home anymore.

Because the moment he stepped foot back there, he knew.

Something was wrong.

The streets felt different. Eyes followed him. Whispers trailed behind him. And then came the truth the part he never told without his voice going quiet.

She didn't just leave.

She was taken back.

And they just killed her.

her family.

the Rhodes.

And the man who made sure of it?

Eli Rhodes.

That's when the love story ended.

And the war began.

My grandfather changed after that. Everyone says it. The soft, hopeful guy who fed birds in the park? Gone. Replaced by someone harder. Colder. Someone who learned real quick that love makes you weak and weakness gets things taken from you.

He fought his way up from nothing. Built something out of anger and loss. And somewhere along the way, that pain turned into something else.

Hatred.

The kind that gets passed down like an inheritance.

The kind that doesn't die.

So yeah... maybe I was doomed from the start.

Because now, years later, I'm standing in a crowded school hallway, staring straight at Xavier Rhodes the boy who carries that same last name, that same legacy as the person who made my family go thru so much hell and all I can feel is that same burning, sickening hatred crawling under my skin.

Like it was never mine to begin with.

Like it was always meant to be his.

And maybe the worst part?

I don't even know if I hate him because of what he's done...

Or because of what he is.