A Prince King

Before dawn, in a house just like any other, along a street where the people you see every day live, there was a boy who was both a king and a prince.

Denzel never knew why anyone needed an alarm clock. He'd never used one, because he had his father. And every morning, his father woke him at five in the morning without fail.

'RISE AND SHINE, ZEL!'

Denzel jolted awake, flinging his covers off. Even though this was a daily occurrence, he hadn't gotten used to it, and after years of experience, he wasn't sure he ever would.

He hopped out of bed, wearing a thin singlet and a pair of boxers, and stood at attention. His father loomed in the doorway.

Jameis Kingston Jr was an imposing man. He wore a form-fitting t-shirt, basketball shorts, and tightly laced Adidas running shoes. A pair of dog tags hung from his wide neck. He still had his buzz cut, which he maintained carefully, but he'd allowed himself a full, trimmed beard now that he was back home.

Even though he was an inch or two shorter than Denzel—the gap growing each year—he still LOOMED over Denzel. Maybe it was because he was so large, despite the slight discrepancy in stature. His arms were enormous, legs as hard and thick as telephone poles. He had a bit of a belly, but it wasn't beer that caused it, it was a barrel of muscle instead.

'Good morning, Sir!' Denzel shouted.

'Did you have sweet dreams, Zel?'

'Sir, yes, Sir. Dreaming of championships, Sir!'

'That's the only place you can win championships, isn't it, Zel?'

Jameis's words cut Denzel deeper than anything, but his face was as impassive as stone. 'No, Sir!'

'No?' Jameis's lips curved down, further down than they naturally were. He turned and walked out of the room. Denzel knew to march after him.

Jameis led Denzel to the guest room, which they'd transformed into a trophy room. Cabinets were full of past achievements from them both. Jameis's side of the room was fuller, though he had nineteen extra years to fill it.

Jameis had trophies and medals of his excellence from childhood across basketball, football, and baseball. Up to middle school this continued, then Denzel's grandfather had told Jameis to make a choice in high school. From there, only basketball continued.

They went up to college, where the only missing spaces were for the player of the year in his conference and NCAA, and a National Championship.

Opposite the door, with a wall all to itself, hung in a display case, was a silver star medal from the marines. Jameis's most prized possession, sometimes Denzel thought it was more important to his father than he was.

Over in Denzel's display case, there were plenty of medallions and trophies from his earlier years, a couple of races—only first place was worth keeping and putting on display—but mainly they were baseball and football-related, a few basketball trophies but that had stopped before middle school. Most recently there was another Divisional trophy, small, inconsequential, expected. Biggest of all was last year's Regional championship. But there was a space missing for the State championship.

'Where's your State championship, Denzel?' Jameis asked. 'Or did you forget you failed last year?'

'I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again. Five weeks, Sir.'

'Five weeks?'

'That's when you'll get your State championship.' Denzel stared at him with conviction.

Jameis nodded. 'Five more weeks. You've been training every moment for nearly a year. I hope you don't make the same mistake, Denzel.'

Denzel's conviction hardened. 'I won't.'

He wouldn't.

Breakfast—at least their first—comprised five raw eggs and nothing else. Nothing to mask the taste. Nothing more filling. That was all the protein they needed to start the day, Jameis said.

After Denzel gulped it down and forced it to stay in his stomach—another thing he'd never get used to was the taste and consistency of raw eggs—he went and got dressed in a comfortable pair of shorts and a thicker t-shirt.

He met his father outside the front door. Jameis was looking at his watch when Denzel stepped out, but he didn't say if the time it took for Denzel to get dressed was unsatisfactory or not.

'Do your stretches,' Jameis said.

Denzel breathed deeply, warming up with his stretches. Most of the world outside their door had yet to wake up, the sun one of those still sleeping.

When Jameis told Denzel he was done warming up, he clicked a button on his watch, and took off running. Denzel followed, pushing to catch up and fall in line beside his father.

Their pace was quick but steady. The good thing about getting out so early was that there was no one else to get in their way.

They didn't adjust their pace until they had reached the end of their route. The last stretch was a sprint up a set of steps along a hillside that were over two-hundred long.

Jameis breathed steadily and deeply as he stopped his watch and checked the time. He nodded, satisfied.

Denzel mimicked his father's breathing pattern. In between breaths he found the time and air to ask: 'Time, Sir?'

'Thirty-five twelve, getting better. You'll be sub-thirty-five soon.'

Denzel nodded.

Jameis watched him. He didn't look at the view their vantage point offered atop this snake-like stairway. 'Are you tired, Zel?' he asked.

Denzel shook his head emphatically. 'Sir, no, Sir!'

'Are you ready?' Jameis shifted down into what was almost a D-Lineman's stance.

Denzel lowered, hands on his knees. If he had his pads on, you would've thought he was in the backfield ready to break through a defence for a touchdown.

No one said "go" or anything like that. Jameis simply lunged forward and Denzel met him with a powerful burst.

The two slammed into each other like a couple of grizzly bears. Both of their feet skidded in the dirt as they leaned against one another, grabbing hold wherever they could as they dug their feet in and kept pushing.

They were a couple of sumo wrestlers, only without the layer of fat on top of their muscles, and with much more clothes.

'Push, Denzel, push! I'm holding you back from your dreams. You gotta get through me to get to that State Championship, so PUSH GOD DAMMIT!'

Denzel grit his teeth. He would've imposed a face over his father's, maybe Ty's, JJ's, or one of the many bastards that stopped him in the State championship last year, but none of them would've motivated him more than beating his father.

Veins bulged along his body. Their skin became steel. Neither of them budged an inch, though they trembled from their efforts. But Jameis had better leverage, and Denzel started to tip over.

Denzel slipped towards the stairs, tilting further. Jameis roared and pushed harder. 'DO YOU THINK BEING A FAILURE WILL BRING YOUR MOTHER BACK!'

Jameis threw his son to the ground, almost throwing him down the stairs. He would've if Denzel hadn't clawed the ground, holding himself at the top of the stairs. He'd only slipped down a few of them, but he'd seen himself plummeting down all two-hundred plus.

Denzel panted harder than he had after their run. His heart raced faster too, pounding at his ribcage like it was trying to break free.

Jameis panted too, his mighty chest heaving. Father and son locked eyes. Jameis caught his breath, wiped some sweat from his brow, then offered a hand to his son.

Denzel took it after the slightest hesitation, then Jameis pulled him to his feet. He dusted Denzel off, then put a hand on his watch.

He clicked the button in and they started back down the stairs, jogging this time.

They were silent as they ran. They had been during the first run too, but this was different, like they weren't silent simply because there wasn't anything they had to say, but that they were avoiding saying anything.

When they reached home, Jameis told Denzel to get in the shower while he fried up some more eggs. After Denzel was clean, they had a proper breakfast with some reheated chicken, rice, and an egg on top.

They ate in the same silence they'd ran home in. Denzel was thankful when his father flicked the TV on and found an EuroLeague basketball game to watch. Even if Denzel didn't pay attention, the background noise was better than the silence.

Not much longer after they'd finished eating, it was time for school. Jameis watched from the doorstep as Denzel wheeled his bicycle out into the street. Denzel glanced at his Impala sitting in the garage, it was never used much when his father was around. No, instead he had to bike everywhere. "MJ biked everywhere and look where it got him," his father would say.

'You better pay attention today,' Jameis said.

Denzel paused and looked at him. He wanted to say "I always do", but what he ended up saying was: 'Sir, yes, Sir.'

He always paid attention in class. Jameis expected nothing less than Straight A's, so that's what Denzel got. He's sure his friends would've clowned him for it, or at least thought about doing so before he shut them down, but he never told them.

Denzel was thankful his friends were in every class with him. Not because they provided relief of any kind, but because Connor, Zee, Mack, and Derrick's antics were always a great test for his focus. You think it's hard enough taking a test? Try doing it with four idiots cracking jokes and giggling around you.

Of course, the teachers did nothing about the four clowns. How could they? Who were they to discipline the stars who were taking the football team to a State championship?

Nothing could break Denzel's focus. Even if there was an alarm, he'd only notice something wrong when the entire class got up.

The day passed quickly, though there was no team practice to look forward to that day. Instead, the group of friends headed straight for Denzel's, complaining that he hadn't brought his car along the way.

Someone mentioned their next opponent on their way back, though the group laughed it off.

'It's just the bum ass Dons, right? Remember how Connor was shitting himself about them?' Zee said.

'Fuck you, Zee,' Connor replied, glaring at him.

'And they were a worthless bunch of bitches like we knew they would be,' Derrick said.

'Didn't they beat the Vikings, though?' Mack asked.

The others went quiet. The Vikings had almost snapped the Bears' winning streak. Worse than that, the Bears had needed to rely on passing to beat them. Their gazes turned to Denzel. If the Dons beat the Vikings, were they stronger now? Or was it simply a bad matchup for the Vikings and had the Dons done them a favour?

'You think they're stronger now?' Connor asked.

'It doesn't matter if they're stronger,' Denzel said. The hum of the wheels turning was the only other sound as Denzel spoke. 'We crushed them before and we'll crush them again.'

An arrogant, annoying stick-figure came to Denzel's mind. He'd have fun crushing that one again. The Dons' MLB on the other hand … that one was annoyingly persistent.

He shook his head. The Dons didn't matter. They were just a distraction from his real goal. The Dons weren't the only ones with revenge on their mind; damn near every football team had a target of revenge. For Denzel and the Bears, it was Sierra Canyon.

He'd make the State championship and crush them too. They were the goal. The Dons and everyone else in his way were just obstacles.

When the boys arrived at Denzel's home gym, Jameis was waiting for them. He nodded to them in greeting. 'Boys.'

'Hey,' Zee said.

Connor nodded back. It was easier. Sometimes Jameis's intense presence made him stumble over his words.

'Hello,' said Derrick.

'Good afternoon, Sir!' Mack saluted. Denzel whacked his gut, making him drop his salute.

'Afternoon, Sir. Here to oversee our training?' Denzel said.

'Damn right. Let's see how strong you've all gotten.'

An awkward smile flickered across each boy's face.

The workout sessions always went from chill times that were more of a hangout, to more intense than anything their coaches put them through when Jameis was around. The other boys thankfully got through it by letting more of the focus fall on Denzel's shoulders.

But today, even that was different. There was a fire in Denzel's eyes, and Jameis was acting more like a drill sergeant than ever.

'C'mon, Zel! Is that all you got?!' He was merely inches away from Denzel's sweat-drenched face, following him up and down as he squatted. The weight almost overburdened the metal bar, sagging and bending it as it lay across Denzel's shoulders.

Jameis slapped Denzel's chest hard enough to knock a normal man over, but Denzel didn't budge. 'Are you a fucking lion or not?! What's the point of this tattoo if this is all you'll give me? You ain't no lion!'

Denzel grit his teeth and pushed harder, springing up faster as the weights rattled and the bar wobbled.

'What's all this gold for, huh?!' Jameis flapped the gold chain around Denzel's neck. 'You can't win real gold, so you have to buy this shit? Does that make you feel better about losing State?!'

'NO, SIR!' Denzel roared, his feet almost coming off the ground as he burst up onto his toes.

The others stared, pinned to the spot by the intensity, by amazement and even a touch of fear. They were glad it wasn't them Jameis was shouting at … but they'd never seen Denzel so mad, never seen him throw such weight around with ease.

It was times like those Denzel's friends were grateful he was on their team. If he was that fired up, nothing could stand in their way without getting destroyed.

Some of them even felt a little sorry for the Dons.