“Is this Brian Christley?” I asked.
“Who’s asking?”
“Grayson MacDonald. You recruited me from a high school in Stillsville, Illinois a decade ago.”
“I did?” he asked.
“Tall. Scrawny. University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.”
“Uh—”
“Anton Volk?” I asked.
The phone call fell silent and my gut turned to stone. He couldn’t even remember the likes of me, but I knew by his silence he remembered Anton.
“The old Russian,” Brian said.
“That’s the one.”
“That man had been very excited for me to come visit Stillsville.”
“How excited?” I asked.
“Excited enough to pay my way and front me a handsome stipend for my time,” he said.
My heart slammed against my chest as I drew in a deep breath.
“Then I’m going to come out and ask it. Did Anton grease the wheels in order to secure my spot on the college football team I chose?” I asked.
Another pause, and it left me clamoring for air.
“You a reporter looking for some kind of scoop or something?” Brian asked.
“You don’t keep up with the NFL, do you?” I asked.
“I’m well aware of your NFL career, Mr. MacDonald. What I don’t know is what you’re doing now.”
“I own a forty plus acre vineyard in Napa Valley,” I said. “No reporters. No quotes. No gimmicks. Just a man seeking the truth of his life.”
“Fuck it, I’m too old to care now anyway. Yes, Anton Volk paid me for my recommendation. Then, he paid the coach of Urbana-Champaign to take you on once you decided that was where you wanted to go.”
My entire world came crashing down around me.
“Thanks for your time,” I said.
“Uh-huh. Give my best to that old man.”
“He’s dead,” I said flatly.
I hung up the phone as the walls crumbled from around me. I was a fraud. A nothing. Anton had to bribe everyone from here to the damn state of California in order to get me out of here playing football. I sat against the kitchen counter as my eyes locked onto the floor. A mixture of anger and sadness swirled around in my blood. I closed my eyes and conjured the day I got the news.
The day I had been accepted as a college recruit to Urbana-Champaign.
I had been so proud of that scholarship. So proud of my college football team. The second that scholarship was within reach, I knew I was better than the town full of assholes I came from. I had found my way out, and I gloated the entire time I left. But all it really had been was an empty future based on nothing but the deep pockets of a rich patron who felt bad for the poor little son of a drunk.
The last of my confidence eroded as my ass hit the kitchen floor.
I pulled out a bottle of liquor Anton kept stowed away underneath the silverware in his kitchen. I screwed off the top and tossed it back, grimacing at the burn. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to feel the pain. Because that was all my life had been. Pain and destruction and lies. I’d built my entire damn reputation on a lie. I’d built my entire wealth on a talentless lie. I stood to my feet and continued to throw the amber liquid back, opening my throat to its burn. I drank until I couldn’t drink anymore. Until the house tilted and my legs wouldn’t work.