“Good call. I probably need a night in more than I need a night out,” I tell her. “I’ll check that Mom is going to be away this weekend, and if there’s a problem I’ll let you know.”
“Okay.” She giggles down the phone, and I can hear the deep voice of my brother in the background.
“Annnd that’s my cue to go.” I chuckle.
“Bye, Caden.”
“Bye, Button.” I hang up laughing.
My head wasn’t in the game tonight, and I know coach is pissed.
When I arrived to get changed, Den and Tim kept their backs to me. The locker room was unusually quiet for game night. It stayed like that until Solomon arrived. Immediately noticing the atmosphere, he shouted a few curses, a couple of limericks and a chant, and suddenly everyone was alive and kicking. But even with the vibe picking up, I couldn’t shake my mood. I’ve been stuck in my own head, and there are more than a few reasons why.
When I finally took notice of the homophobes on my team, I realized both their faces were busted up and they wouldn’t look me in the eye. They kept their heads down, and their gazes averted as they jogged out of the locker room.
I had one thought. Tarrant.
I know it isn’t a coincidence. He mentioned them when we had ice cream yesterday. I love that my brother has my back, but he can’t always do this. He can’t save me. I have to speak to him.
“Reigns… a word,” Coach orders as we head toward the locker rooms after the game.
I watch the team filter inside. “Coach?” I pant, jogging over to him. He stares at me as the cold grips my limbs and feeds the brittleness inside.
“Your game was off tonight. Where’s your head at?” he asks softly. Coach is a rough, tough guy. Never have I heard him talk to any of the team with tenderness, until now.
“I…I…” I stutter to a stop, running a hand through my damp hair. “I’m okay, coach.”
“Bullshit,” he retorts with more force. “The guys…” His eyes dart to the locker room entrance then back to me. Anger simmers under the surface. “They giving you shit?”
“No. No, coach,” I answer with a sharp shake of my head.
“Something’s wrong,” he grumbles.
I stare at the worn, world-weary man in front of me and allow myself to wish, for just a second, that this man was my dad. Instead of knowing the narcissistic, cruel and genuinely callous man who gave me and Tarrant life is, unfortunately, the real deal.
“I don’t know if this is where I want to be anymore, coach,” I tell him honestly, giving him a piece of the heavy weight I feel pushing me down.
A number of emotions skitter across his face, each owning him for less than a second before he settles on one—compassion. “What is it you want, son?”
His last word catches me out, son. I’ve never really felt like a son. Dad never cared. To him, I was a trophy, the star football player, someone he could band about to his friends and work colleagues. Especially, when his other son stopped listening to his whispered manipulation.
Mum wasn’t much better. I love her, but I was her shield. Not physically, but emotionally, because she was always so weak where Dad was concerned. Whenever Tarrant wasn’t about, I tried to divert my dad’s anger and spitefulness from her, to me. That thought only makes me take stock, and recognize when Tarrant was home he was the shield for the both of us. He took the hits, so we didn’t have to. He’s always been the tough one, just like with Den and Tim. He fought for us because no one else would. He was our hero, our protector, our savior. I don’t know why I never really took stock of his role before. I think I allowed myself to be blinded by Dad for too long, and jealousy played a big part in that. I’m only now grateful for what he did for me. Tarrant gave me the freedom, he so obviously didn’t have by bearing most of the pain.
“I don’t know what I want,” I answer honestly. “But I know whatever it is, I can finally make that choice free from fear.”
Shaking his head, he drops his chin and stares at the ground. “I want to convince you to stay, God knows you belong on that field, son.” Coach flings his arm out, pointing toward to empty football field. “But my heart says you need to take a stride out on your own. You need to be your own man, Caden.” He pulls off his ball cap and shakes it out a couple of times. “I’m thinking you’ve been stifled for too long, pinned into the space of an uncomfortable shape, one you just don’t belong in. You need to find out where you do belong, where you want to belong.”
My stomach turns and twists my insides causing a queasy feeling. I press my palm against it, putting pressure on the pain. It’s what I’m used to. Covering the hurt, letting the problem fester. It’s what I know. Maybe it’s who I thought I was? Now, though, now I get to choose who I want to be.
I nod.
“I don’t want football anymore, coach. I’m sorry.”
Coach Stanford places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. “Nothing to apologize for, son.”
We stand there for a moment before the rain starts. Coach looks up at the sky then back to me. “You better get out of the rain, hit the showers.”
I glance back at the bleachers knowing I need some time. “I’ll be there soon.”
He smiles softly, and it’s a look I’ve rarely seen on his face, if ever. Another moment passes,
