10
My dad calls twice this morning.
I’ve avoided him long enough, so when I get out of my meeting with Coach, I pull up his contact.
“Riggs, about time you called me back.” His voice booms through the phone.
“Been busy, Dad.”
“’Course,” he grunts. “Talked to Coach Neal. He says you’ve been keeping up with your training.”
“You doubted I would?”
“Certainly not,” he scoffs. “But what kind of father would I be if I wasn’t checking up on you now and then. Pitchers are made in the off-season, you know. Your team follows your lead, and you can’t afford to slack if you’re going to enter the draft this year. Your attention should be on baseball, first and foremost. Jason says you’ve been in the gym five days a week. That’s good, Riggs. Bet Jason wished his own son had your dedication.”
My dad and Dylan’s dad are old college buddies. Both of them played baseball for BU back when they attended here, so I can’t do shit without Coach Neal reporting back. It’s why I have to be careful in what I let the guys see—never know what will get spilled when, and then it all will flow right back to my dad. It’s exhausting.
Dad was also a pitcher, so he thinks he knows everything I should and shouldn’t be doing to train. He’d preorder my meals and handwrite my workouts if he could. Thankfully, Coach Elbin, my pitching coach, isn’t in my dad’s ear. A small mercy. My dad missed out on his chance to play pro when he tore his rotator cuff. He’s done fine for himself, though, if owning several luxury hotels in the Chicagoland area is any indicator. Antony Stanton is a great businessman, but he can be an overbearing dick, too.
“I know, Dad.”
“I still think you should have entered last year as soon as you were eligible. You know you had several gre—”
“I know, Dad.” I’m so sick of this conversation.
“You know I think it was a mistake,” he doubles-down.
“And you know why I did it.” I squeeze the bridge of my nose between my finger and thumb. I’m getting a fucking migraine.
“Have you been being careful with your extra-curriculars?” he changes the subject. By extra-curriculars, he means partying and hooking up. Doesn’t matter to him that I’ve basically been with Talia since high school. He’s of the opinion that now is the time to sow my wild oats. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve got to wear my Douchebag Hat so often. Dad, the team—hell, half the fucking campus—all expect me to behave a certain way.
Asshole Jock. Playboy Pitcher. Cocky, confident, and horny as hell.
“Yep,” I answer, monotone.
“You know it’s okay to party with the team, keeps up morale and builds trust. That’s why I got you the townhouse, you know. So, you don’t have to always do it at the baseball house. Hosting the party shows leadership.”
“I know, Dad.”
“You don’t have to abstain from everything. Off-season is the time to indulge a little, you just gotta be smart about it. As long as your team knows that they’re your priority—”
“I know, Dad,” I say again. “A bunch of us are going out tonight, actually.”
“That’s my boy. The whole team?”
“Most of us.”
“Good boy. Remind that school who runs it.”
“How’s Mom?” I ask before he can wax poetic about the times when he was the big man on campus.
“She’s fine, son.” There’s that word again. Fine. “Didn’t you just see her last weekend?”
I grunt. A lot can change in a week, and a lot can be hidden from me from a distance of 170 miles. He wants me to focus on baseball and “getting the most out of the college experience,” and Mom wants me to focus on school and Talia.
No one gives a shit what I want to focus on.
“I gotta go, Dad. Gotta get ready to go out.”
“Have fun tonight. Maybe leave Talia at home.”
I hang up on him before I say something I’ll regret.
Walking down the stairs, I shout into the house, “Who wants to get fucked up tonight?”
Dylan whoops, Zay shrugs from his position on the couch, and I send a text out to some of the other guys. Dad wants me to partake in extra-curriculars? Fine. But I’m gonna make a pitstop first.
“Bar 31 for a quick pregame shot, on me, and then we’ll head to Keggers.”
We getto Bar 31 around eleven, and the place is packed. I scan the bar and find exactly what I came here for. Taking Back Sunday shirt tied up on her waist, black skinny jeans, and her long hair is up in a ponytail, but the ends are pink now. I catch myself staring, and quickly tell the guys to head to the back.