Dirty Curve

His head snaps up from his notebook and he slowly sets his pen down. “Tobias.”

“I, uh” —I lick my lips, rubbing at the back of my head— “I went by your house. Your car wasn’t out front, so I came here.”

Creases form along his face. “Couldn’t sleep with the big game coming so soon.”

I nod, jerking around so I’m facing away from him, and let my eyes roam across the photos on the wall, not one featuring a beautiful brown-headed girl. They’re all coaches and athletes and MLB stars. His life’s work; his life’s focus.

“What’d you give me?”

“What are we talking about exactly?”

“That night after the Cal Poly game.” I don’t turn, but my eyes cut to his. “What’d you give me, Coach?”

Slowly, he eases back in his leather chair. “Son—”

“Neo told me what those pills were, the ones you gave him. The ones you put in my hand that next morning when I couldn’t remember shit, not even drinking a second bottle of beer.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay.” I nod, tossing Meyer’s ID on the desktop. “What do you know about that?”

The man visibly stiffens, and I know his mind’s whirling, trying to figure out the best thing to say, but he delays by licking his lips.

Finally, he meets my eye, the truth written within them. “Tobias—”

“I don’t get it.” I shake my head. “You’ve spent the last three fucking years building me up at every turn. Bailing me out around every fucking corner. You lit the fucking path and drug me through it. I thought that meant you trusted me. Respected me. That I was worth something in your eyes.”

He cocks his head. “And you thought right. I’ve done nothing to make you assume otherwise.”

I grip the edge of his desk, leaning forward so my face is aligned with his.

“If that’s true, look me in my eye and tell me you’re not the reason Meyer’s been doing everything she can to push me away.”

The vein in his jaw flexes. “My relationship with her has nothing to do with my relationship with you.”

“So long as her and I don’t have one, right? Because I’m good enough to lead your team, but I’m not good enough to love your daughter?”

“Watch yourself,” he says slowly.

“Why? Because it’s the truth?”

Coach Reid licks his lips again.

“Tobias,” he speaks with caution. “You’ve been my priority for years, you know this. She’s—”

“Don’t.” I shake my head and push off the desk, now staring down at him. “Whatever you’re going to say, just don’t. I don’t want to hear how I’m more important than your flesh and fucking blood, because that’s bullshit.”

“It wasn’t bullshit when you benefited from it, now was it?”

“I didn’t know!” I shout. “If I had, I would have turned around and given everything I’ve ever gotten from you to her. No question. It’s no wonder she didn’t tell me about you, nobody wants to claim what they’re ashamed of.”

“Don’t stand here and act like you’re an honorable man, Tobias.”

“It’s not about being honorable, Coach. It’s about human decency, something we give to strangers on the street, but what decency have you shown her?”

“More than you realize, it seems.”

“Just like with me and her, right?”

His eyes narrow.

“Come on, Coach, you know what I mean. How, after you convinced her to walk away from me, you realized she meant more to me than it seemed?”

“There was no convincing, Tobias. You were taking all her time.” He watches me closely. “Which meant she had less for others. She needed to drop you to make back her normal income.”

“You told me to take all her time!” I shout. “You said she made more when she was with me!”

His eyes narrow and he yanks his head back as he realizes, “You started failing on purpose ...”

“No fucking duh!” I whip around, running my hands down my face.

I stole her time, which stole part of her livelihood, which took from Bailey.

Fuck, man.

I took from Bailey.

“Son ...”

A scoffing laugh leaves me, and my chin falls to my chest. “I’m not your son.”

Slowly, I face the man I’ve looked up to for the last three years, the man I hoped to one day become, someone who gives you hope when you have none, who holds your fucking head up when the weight of the world is dragging it down, and suddenly, I don’t even recognize him.

He has no photos on his wall of Meyer.

Has never spoken of her.

Never even hinted about having a family.

All he cares about is his job, his career.

Baseball isn’t just all he has, it’s all he is.

I wanted to be him.

I will never be a damn thing like him.

“I’m not your son,” I repeat. “And I don’t want to be treated like one by a coward of a man who looks after his team more than he does his own family.” Shame settles over me. “She’s struggling, has little to nothing, and she doesn’t even complain. You could do so much more for her and instead you waste it on me? Give me a house and truck and leave her to fend for herself and her daughter?”