Dire. Yeah.
They are fucking dire.
My only response is to drink another gulp of whiskey.
He sighs and sips his beer. “So have you thought about it?”
“About sparing your life another day? Yeah.” I glance at him. “I think I’ll let you live.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. Then, “How long are you going to keep avoiding it?”
My fingers tighten around the bottle because I knew he’d bring it up. He always does.
“I’m not avoiding it,” I reply. “I’m saying no. You just don’t know how to take it.”
“Con, seriously,” Stellan says gravely. “You can at least come up and check out the facilities. They’re fucking top of the line, all right? You know that. And FC wants you. They really fucking want you.”
I know.
New York City FC wants me as their coach.
They’ve wanted me for a long time now. And they’ve tried everything to get me. Up until a couple of years ago, they’d call me every other month. They’d show up at Bardstown High. Once or twice, they’ve even showed up at this house. And every single time I’ve turned them down.
I thought they got the message when they stopped trying.
But now that Stellan works for them, they’ve started up again. Not that I’ve budged from my position, but they’ve recruited Stellan in their crusade to hire me.
“I know they want me,” I tell him. “And they know that I’m not interested. I’ve never been interested. So why don’t you stop doing their dirty work for them and tell them, yet again, that I’m not taking the job.”
Stellan’s jaw clenches, much like mine, and I realize that he’s not going to let this go.
He’s my brother.
“I’m not doing their dirty work for them. Fuck them. I’m trying to convince you that this is the right move for you. So I’m basically trying to do your job here: thinking. Coaching a pro team is where you belong.”
Irritation seeps into my voice as I reply, “I don’t care about the pros, all right? I haven’t in fourteen years and I’ve got no desire to go back. And besides, Callie is here. She’s fucking pregnant. I need to be there for her.”
At the mention of Callie’s pregnancy, his jaw clenches again and I completely agree with that display of emotion.
We’re all worried about her.
For her future, for the baby.
“Yes, and we’re all here for her,” he says. “And when she does have her baby, we’ll be there for her then as well. And then she’ll go to college, Con. She’ll probably end up at her dream school. She’ll live her life. And we’ll be there for her through all of that. But it doesn’t mean that you don’t get to live your life. There’s no reason for you not to even consider their offer.”
Our sister is a ballerina, a fucking fantastic one at that, and her dream school is Juilliard. When she got pregnant and decided to keep the baby that was my major concern. That she might have to give up her dream, but as it turns out, through none other than Reed’s support, she’s still trying to reach for it.
And I know, I know it in my heart, that she’ll get it.
She’s talented. She’s hard-working. She’s phenomenal.
Like her best friend.
My entire body jolts at the thought.
My heartbeat jacks up too.
Like it somehow, for some reason, always does.
But I ignore it, such an irrational, severe reaction at the mere thought of her. “The reason is that I’m not interested.”
“So what, are you going to be a high school coach for the rest of your life?”
Pain attacks the base of my skull at his words.
Viciously, brutally.
Bitingly.
It’s never far away, the pain.
But sometimes it grows teeth. It scratches me with its claws.
“Why, is it not good enough for you now?” I snap out, my fingers squeezing and squeezing the bottle. “That I’m a high school soccer coach? Now that you’ve all got your places in the pros?”
As soon as I say it, I know I shouldn’t have.
I know my brother didn’t mean it that way.
And I know that he knows that I didn’t mean what I just said in a wrong way either.
If I’m sure of anything in this world, it’s my bond with my siblings.
We’ve been through a lot together.
An alcoholic father, his abandonment, an overworked and tired mother, her illness, her death. The uncertainty of what was going to happen when Mom died. Although I’ve always made sure that I banished those worries for them, but still.
They know that I love them. Not only that, they know that I’m proud of them.
I’m fucking proud of them for dreaming and achieving those dreams.
For going out there and living their lives. Making their lives.
They also know that if they hadn’t, I would’ve pushed them even harder than I did. I would’ve moved heaven and earth, mountains and valleys to give them their dreams.