Campus Player

“And yet, here you are.” A glint of satisfaction enters his eyes. It’s as if he’s playing a game of cat and mouse. Little does he know I’ll never be the mouse again. “I’ve been away for ten long years. Is it so much to ask that we spend a little time together? I’ll be honest, kid, it hurts my feelings that you won’t even call me dad like the good old days.”

It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes.

Give me a damn break.

“How about you get to the point, Dad,” I grit between clenched teeth. Acknowledging the piece of shit sitting across from me as anything more than a sperm donor feels like a slap in the face to any man who took the role seriously and helped shape their children into productive human beings.

You know who had that kind of impact on me?

Coach. Without him, I don’t know who I would be or what I would be doing. He gave me hope and showed me that life could be different. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to repay him for giving me a future to believe in.

“See?” If not for the hardening of his eyes, I’d think the sarcasm had gone completely over his head. “Was that so hard?”

Yeah, it was. The man has no idea how sick inside it makes me to know that I’m a biological product of him.

He doesn’t bother to wait for a response. “Your mother tells me football is going well, and you’ll get drafted this spring.”

My belly heaves, twisting painfully. Now it all makes sense. He heard I should be coming into money and wants his slice of the pie, whether he deserves it or not. If there’s a potential payday without having to lift a finger, my father will sniff it out. It might be his only true talent.

I jerk my shoulders, wanting to downplay my prospects. Not that it’ll do me any good. He’s like a bloodhound who has picked up the scent. “Don’t know,” I mutter, wanting to shut down this line of questioning, “nothing is for certain.”

His lips lift into a yellowed smile as if he knows exactly what I’m up to and isn’t fooled by my modesty. “Ever since I got home, that’s all your ma squawks about. How many teams are looking at you and the kind of money you’ll be raking in by next year.” He licks his lips as if he can already taste it.

Fuck.

Why hadn’t I kept my big trap shut?

I’ll tell you why—I’d wanted my mother to be proud of me. She’s worked so damn hard to put food on the table, keep a roof over our heads, and pay for football. For the first time in her life, I’d wanted her to know someone would be taking care of her. She could finally stop stressing over the bills. Once I signed that contract, everything would get easier for the both of us. She wouldn’t have to work another day. I’d buy the damn restaurant where she’s been waitressing if that’s what she wanted.

I press my lips together and shift uncomfortably before glancing out the window at my truck in the gravel parking lot. I want to wrap up this little reunion and take off.

He tilts his head and digs for info. “You got an agent?”

“Yup,” I say in a clipped tone, offering up nothing further. Where the hell is he going with this?

It doesn’t take long to figure out.

“Cause that’s something I could do for you.” When I stare blankly, he shifts on the bench and continues impatiently. “Negotiate your deal.”

My eyes widen, and a gurgle of laughter rises in my throat before I choke it down. He’s not joking. The man is as serious as a ninety-nine percent blockage of the arteries.

An image of Greg Abbot, my sports agent, pops into my head. I’ve never seen him dressed in anything less formal than a pricey suit with a flashy tie. There’s never one damn hair out of place. It’s pomaded into submission. When he smiles, the whiteness of his teeth almost blinds me. He reminds me of a glossy cardboard cutout.

He’s not the type of guy I’d want to hang out with on a Saturday night or grab a beer with while watching a game, but he’s the best in the business and has promised to get me a six-figure signing bonus. I have zero doubts that he’ll deliver. He’s one tenacious motherfucker who knows the ins and outs of the sports world. I’m damn lucky Coach has a relationship with him. That’s the only reason a nobody like me ended up with such a well-known agent.

I blink reluctantly back to the conversation. Dollar signs are practically dancing in my father’s beady eyes.

He leans toward me, closing as much distance as the Formica table that separates us will allow. “Now that I’m back, I can manage your career. It’ll work out perfectly. I’ll have a job, and my probation officer will get off my ass.”