“You’re going to need to do something for an office. They give you one in the fieldhouse, you know. Mom might want to come to bed at some point.”
My dad draws in a deep breath through his nose then pulls his glasses from his face and squeezes the bridge of his nose before flipping his laptop around for me to view.
“It’s kind of hard to scout your son’s personal competition in a place where anyone can walk up behind you and see what you’re doing,” he says.
My brow furrows and I take his laptop into my hands, resting it on my thighs and playing through a few of the videos he’s pulled up. The one he just paused is from the final game last season. I can tell by where my dad has it paused that he’s focusing on Toby’s footwork. He’s slow getting out of the pocket and as I let the clips play on, the more obvious his desire becomes to remain there, protected by his linemen. The next one is Toby’s scout video. It’s average, and I only think that to be nice. Deep down, I can’t fathom a college recruiting coach at any level flagging him as a prospect. Of course, his dad owns several golf resorts along the coast, so I’m sure that will help get him some looks.
His dad.
Kirk Sullivan.
That’s why my dad is researching Toby.
“It’s gonna be a problem, isn’t it?” I lean forward and slide the laptop along my dad’s mattress next to where he sits. He pushes it shut, still pinching the bridge of his nose as he nods.
“There’s already a lot of grumbling. And I have a meeting with Mr. Sullivan tomorrow. Can’t imagine he’s not going to put some pressure on me.” My dad’s hand falls to his lap, and he lifts his chin, leveling me with that honest look he wears.
“What can I do?” I lean back into the seat and slump down.
“Keep throwing the ball like you did today. When we scrimmage, make him look foolish. Make it impossible for anyone in their right mind to argue against you starting over him. We’ve been here before. I don’t put up with pressure; you know that.”
My dad stacks his papers and pulls his mess together while I let the pit of my stomach drop through the bottom of the chair and glue me to the floor.
“I’m a senior now. It’s not like we can pack up and find another prep school looking for a coach and willing to give his kid a tuition break.” My pulse hammers in my gut. This is why I hate getting my hopes up. There is always a barrier, always another hill to climb. I don’t mind climbing them, but damn, man. When am I going to plateau?
My dad shovels his work and the laptop into his leather bag and moves it to the top of his dresser before reaching out a hand to help me up. I take his grip and stand square with him. He puts his other hand on my shoulder, holding firm—solid—and our eyes lock.
“You want this?” Like he has to ask.
I’ve watched my parents work so hard to do things that matter to them. My dad loves coaching, but he’s never been able to break through that ceiling that keeps him out of the conversation for high-profile high school jobs. He’d give anything to coach at the college level one day too, but he’s got to get out of the basement first. And mom—she’s a decent accountant. But she should be doing her own books, for her family’s legacy. As for me, I simply don’t want to work for anyone other than myself. I know at first I will have to. But I want that time of my life to be as short as possible. I’ve watched too many dreams by people I love get stuck under the boots of bad bosses.
“I want this,” I reply. We both nod, sealing the same agreement we make every time adversity rears its head.
I turn to leave my parents’ room, but before I pass through the door and head down the hallway to my own room, my dad stops me.
“On that note, son, I like that you are making friends. And it’s good to see you bonding with some of the guys on the team.” He pauses and I quirk a brow, waiting for thebutpart of this statement.
“But maybe let’s stay focused and keep those relationships tight, and to the team.”
And there it is. My girlfriend last year was what some might classify as toxic. Neveah was a bit into drama—starting it, spreading it, prolonging it. She was hot, which was my small-minded side’s weakness. She wanted more from me than I could give, though. More time. More commitment. More compromise. Our fights were epic, and constantly found their way into my father’s business. Of course, so did her drama.
“I’m older now, Dad,” I reassure him. “More mature.”
“James, you’re literally four months older than you were when we had to file a family restraining order against her. Please take me seriously.”
My chest falls and my mouth forms a straight line.
“What if I already got a tutor for something and she’s a girl?” Lily’s cute, and I know my dad is going to take one look at her and make a boatload of assumptions about my intentions. As beautiful as she is, though, that’s honestly not why I connected with her. Her story is at the top of everyone’s mind at Welles, the girl who saved her friends from drowning in the river. I admire her for sure. I also found her to be encouraging, and this school is going to be tough for me. I barely made the academic cut at Public. I have a gap to close here, and Lily is willing to help me. She seems smart, but also patient. I simply want to be her friend.
My dad holds my stare for a few seconds before letting out a punch of a breath.
“I’m going to trust that you will make smart decisions. And if this tutor will help you find success, of course. But you need to stay focused on books and not—”
“Breasts, yeah . . . I got it.” I roll my eyes at my dad’s favorite quip. He chuckles behind me as I walk away, and I can picture his finger pointing at me.
“You laugh, but it’s about as basic as it gets.”
“Good night,” I hum, my voice tinged with sarcasm as I push my door closed behind me.