I grin at him and nudge his arm. “They’re soft because you’re soft, Frankie.”
He laughs and pushes me back. “Please, kid. I could bench ten of you.”
“Might be true,” I admit. “But I’m taller and much better looking.”
Frank grins and shrugs. He’s got crooked teeth and talks with a very slight lisp, but he’s a good guy and the closest thing I have to a friend in this damn place.
“So what’s got you worked up, anyway?”
I hesitate and shake my head. “Some bullshit I shouldn’t talk about.”
“Come on. You’re in a safe space.” He gestures around at them. “This is the Tight End Lounge. It’s the finest drinking establishment around.”
“It’s the closest, you mean,” I correct. The Tight End Lounge is a couple blocks from my apartment. It’s packed on weekends with CU students, most of them underage, but the bartender is too blind to notice, or too blinded by money to care.
“Fair enough.” He shrugs a little. “You and Hardy getting along?”
“Mostly,” I say.
“Uh oh.”
“We disagree on how to treat our players,” I say slowly, swirling my beer. The bartender returns with Frank’s whiskey in a small, cloudy glass. He has white hair, pale skin, a wrinkled face, and always has on the same denim shirt, night after night. He must have a closet full of them, that or he always stinks like whiskey and puke.
“Look, I don’t mean to push if you don’t want to talk. I’m just saying, I could help you out. I don’t always agree with Hardy, you know.”
I give him a look and he shrugs, sipping his whiskey. “I appreciate that,” I say. “Truth is, Erik Pacific is the issue.”
Frank lets out a groan. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah.”
“I can pretty much see where this is going, but you walk me there anyway.”
“Broad strokes are Erik’s been harassing a young lady on campus. Coach refuses to do shit about it. I think that’s wrong, Coach thinks Erik will leave if we start treating him like a fucking person instead of an endless ATM.”
“Damn,” Frank says, shaking his head. He takes a longer sip of his whiskey and lets out a sigh. “Shit’s the same everywhere. My last job, we had a kid like that, this really stellar running back. Kid was a fucking asshole, just a real piece of shit, but he got away with it because he scored at least a touchdown every single game. Coach didn’t care and I couldn’t do shit.”
“Yeah, well, I care. And I’m going to do something about it.”
He snorts. “Like what?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Look, man. Hardy will fire your ass before he lets Erik Pacific go. That kid is really good and he doesn’t fucking belong here at CU. We all know it, the kid knows it, too. He just likes being the star, that’s all.”
I clench my jaw as my anger flares up. “So I should just let him get away with it then? Turn my back.”
“Now, I didn’t say that.” Frank leans forward on his elbows and lets out a breath. “Look, is there a way to get the kid in line without sticking your neck out?”
“If you think of something, I’m all ears.”
Frank just shrugs. “I don’t like the boy. I’d love to see him get an ass whooping at practice. Hell, maybe a big hit will knock some sense into him.”
I frown. “Hardy wouldn’t like that, but he couldn’t fire me for it, either.”
“True enough. And you might even walk away, no problem, if the hit looks like an accident.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” Frank grins at me. “You’re a good dude, David. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my boss.”
“Yes, you are,” I say, grinning at him. “But I appreciate it.”
“You need any help with this shit, you come to me. All right?” He hesitates and his smile fades. “The other coaches all owe their loyalty to Hardy. You know that, right?”
“I know it, but I don’t like to hear it.”
“Just speaking the truth. They’ll turn on you in a second.”
I tilt my head. “But you won’t.”
“Not my style. Besides, I like you. And you got me this job.”
“And we’re friends.”
He laughs and finishes his drink. He gestures for another and slides the empty down the bar toward the old bartender. “That too.”
I laugh and sip my beer again. I wipe my face and stare at the half-empty, dusty bottles in the back for a long moment before shaking my head. “Wish I could just let it go.”
“But you can’t, so here we are.”
I reach into my pocket, take out my old brown leather wallet, and toss some cash on the bar. “This one’s on me,” I say.
“Much obliged.”
“I’m going to head back home and try to sort this shit out.”
“Good luck, man.” Frank shakes my hand and I pat him on the shoulder as I head out. I step out into the cool evening air, take a deep breath, smell the salty ocean on the breeze, and let myself smile.