“Damn it!” He licks the scalded skin and I bunch my lips and raise a brow when he looks at me.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m impatient. Sue me. I’m hungry,” he grunts. His mood is unpleasant, and I can’t help but think it has to do with two things—Toby’s family, and finding me in the gym with Morgan.
“I was thinking, maybe I should hit up Theo and run some pass plays with him today, get some extra work in. I think he’s fast enough for me to hit him deep, really show off my arm.”
“Toby’s starting Saturday,” he interjects, giving me side eyes as he passes by and moves to the kitchen table.
“I’m sorry Dad, but what the fuck?”
His fist comes down like a hammer, rattling his fork against the plate and the plate against the tabletop. I don’t respond for a few seconds but eventually utter ‘sorry.’ My dad doesn’t see a reason for me to swear, ever. Though I would bet my left nut he’s dropped plenty of F-bombs when it comes to Toby. He just keeps them away from my ears.Sometimes.
“Only the first set of downs. And if I give him the start, it keeps the illusion of balance. I can’t show favoritism in any way, and you know that. Maybe if yesterday’s game wasn’t such a—”
“A clusterfu—”
He points a finger at me so I stop mid-word. He rolls his eyes, though, knowing I’m right. He pushes his food into an enormous bite then blows on the forkful before shoveling it in his mouth.
“I performed well. We were missing my main target, and that’s not on me. It’s on Theo, and Raskin. We’ve gotta fix this discord on the team, Dad. There has to be a way we can get people to quit working against one another.” I flop down into the chair opposite of him and stare as he devours his lunch in record time.
“Theo’s out for two games. Suspended. And no practice,” my dad adds after his final bite.
“Come on!” I protest.
I lean forward and rub my temples. I’m half tempted to pull the plug on everything. At least if I went back to Public I might be able to petition to keep my full season, and I would be a star there, get a full ride to a state school. Yeah, I’d probably never reopen Delgado’s in the same neighborhood it started in, but we could make something work.
“I’m working on Theo. I have a meeting with the headmaster in . . .” My dad checks his watch then stands quickly and moves his dish to the sink. “Shoot, like thirty minutes.”
“Should I join you? Would it help?” I move into the kitchen behind him to check the status of my lunch. Maybe I should have sacrificed quality for speed. My stomach is continuously rumbling.
“I’ve got this one. And sadly, it will help that I’m starting Toby. There’s this weird kinship thing going on with some of the longtime families here, and I have a feeling me showing some compassion toward the Sullivans will help my case to get Theo back faster,” he says.
“And what aboutmycase?” My ribs vibrate with the steady drum of my heart. It’s pumping with the extraumphof a child about to throw a tantrum. Only, I’m a six-foot-two, eighteen-year-old child. And I’m willing to throw swings.
My dad fills a glass with water and gulps down nearly two thirds before pausing, resting it on the counter and turning his head toward me.
“You’ll get in on Saturday. And when you do, you’ll show what you can do. But if you really want to help your case, I think you need to think long and hard about who you sneak off with in the early morning hours.”
He holds my stare, blinking slowly to accentuate his point, as if I need any help understanding what he means. My raging toddler heart starts to beat wildly, partly because my dad’s accusation is way off target, but more so that he’s insulting a young girl he knows zero about.
“I went to the gym. Early, because I knew that would look good and because I am fully dedicated to this,” I say, my words rigid and clipped.
“Fully dedicated,” my dad echoes through a breathy laugh.
“Yeah, Dad. I am. And I can’t control who else shows up while I’m working my ass off.” My nostrils flare with my heavy breath.
“Indeed, you can’t, son,” he says, emptying his glass of the remaining water and running a towel around the rim before setting it to the side. Gripping the towel in his fist, he smacks it down on the counter then turns to face me. I flinch but stand my ground. My dad and I don’t fight like this. Ever. And the way my senior year is unfolding is making me sick.
My parents went through a lot last year, and I only know part of the story. I’m sure if I sat them down and asked for the details, they would share. We’re that kind of family—open and honest. At least, I thought we were. I was worried about my parents getting a divorce, and I know they went to counselling for an entire year. They never hid that from me. But the abrupt move here has always left me wondering if it was really for me or for them.
“Why do I feel like you’re blaming me?” I know my dad has to get ready for this meeting, but I don’t like leaving things up in the air between us. There’s this fog rolling in and it’s messing up our relationship. I want to clear it.
My dad exhales and looks down before moving closer and squaring his shoulders with mine. He looks up and rests a palm on my shoulder, looking up the two-inch difference into my eyes.
“I’m not blaming you, James. And I’m sorry I made you feel that way.” He draws in a deep breath through his nose as he holds my stare, and I find myself doing the same in preparation for whatever’s coming next.
“I want to give you your dreams. At the very least, your mom and I, we want you to have better than we had. It’s the cycle of life for parents and their kids. It’s only that this place is, well, challenging. I’m not used to this kind of politicking. And I’m sorry that I’m not adept at how to navigate it while maintaining my integrity.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. My dad’s words remind me of the many reasons I’ve always idolized him. I want to live the way he does—by a code. And it’s so hard to stick to that path, especially when you’re young and surrounded by temptations.