Langley’s the first one to step forward. “How can we trust you to lead us when you’ve been lying to us for weeks?”
There’s a rumble of assent from the group, and my conviction waivers. He’s right. A good leader would’ve been honest from the start and accepted the consequences.
“We could bench him for a week,” Smith says, shaking his head in disappointment. “Or two.”
Two weeks? We’d be out of contention for sure.
“I don’t know. You think that’s punishment enough?” Tate asks. “He should suffer.”
The suggestion is met with cheers.
“There’s always the captaincy,” Johnson offers with a smirk. “It’s not too late to name a new captain.”
My palms are sweating in earnest now. I knew they’d be upset, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad. Even Coach wasn’t this angry.
“Are we seriously talking about stripping Reid of captaincy?” Daniels asks, scanning the room, expression unreadable.
“You know what I think?” Vaughn says, face grim. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
There’s a snicker from the back of the room, and before I can ask what the hell he’s talking about, Smith is up in my personal space, fist raised. I knock it. “You had me at hello,” he croons.
Then Jones is coming at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Losing your kicker, Reid, it was the best thing that ever happened to you. It brought you to Carter.”
There’s something familiar about his words, like I’ve heard them before. Then it hits me. They’re movie quotes. Yeah, it takes me a while to catch on. I’m quick like that. Meanwhile, Kennedy’s bent over laughing in the back of the room, a hysterical fit of giggles shaking her entire body.
Sell out.
I rub the back of my neck, refusing to acknowledge the heat creeping across my skin. “Any other words of wisdom?”
“Yeah,” Coop says, big-ass grin on his face. “Don’t have sex, because you will get pregnant and die!”
Parker approaches, doing a creepy little shimmy with his fists up in the air. “You think she’s gorgeous. You want to kiss her. You want to hug her. You want to—”
“What kind of movies have you guys been watching?” I ask, sidestepping him as he tries to drag me into his godawful dance.
“All right, cut the shit!” Coach bellows, arms crossed over his chest. Someone in the back yells, “As you wish!” and the raucous laughter starts anew. When it finally quiets down, Coach tries again. “Am I to understand we’re moving on?”
“Yes, sir,” Daniels says, clapping me on the back with a hearty grin. “We chose Reid to lead us, and we stand by that decision.” To me he whispers, “You’re not half the sneaky bastard you think. The team’s known about you and Carter for weeks.” My jaw nearly hits the floor. They’ve known, all this time? Daniels turns back to Coach. “Reid’s suffered enough. And if he hasn’t, we figure Carter will see to his punishment.”
I could kiss the fucker.
Kennedy
I watch as Austin’s taillights recede down the circular drive. Part of me wants to chase after him, beg him to stay. Or better yet, whisk me back to the safety of my apartment. I fidget with the waistband of my black skirt and smooth my white blouse. It’s not too late to call Uber.
I sigh. What the hell made me think I could do this alone? Oh, right. The endorphins from our win over Indy.
Stupid endorphins. Should’ve known it wouldn’t last.
And now I’m on the hook for dinner with my dad. After weeks of dodging (read: ignoring) his calls and texts, I caved. I can’t remember the last time I was this freaking nervous. My stomach is tangled in knots.
And the knots? They have knots.
I won’t be able to eat a thing.
I look down at my black ballet flats and then up at the sprawling, white brick hotel where he’s staying. It’s a landmark in College Park, the kind of place Mom and I could never afford to stay. Not even for a night.
Anger punches through me, but I force it down. I don’t have a clue how my dad’s paying for it, and I don’t care. I’m not here to slash open old wounds. I’m here to see if there’s anything salvageable in our relationship. And the prospect scares the crap out of me.
Maybe I can stop at the bar for a drink.
Or not. The biting November wind swirls around me like a twister, raising goose bumps on my legs and destroying my neatly combed hair. Several strands get stuck in my lip gloss. Of course they do. I pull them free and trudge up the steps to the massive double doors. Once inside, I’m greeted with warmth and light and an overly helpful concierge who personally escorts me to the restaurant.
I give the hostess my name and am pleasantly surprised when she moves to seat me immediately. My father’s on time. It’s probably a first.
That has to be a good sign, right?
I smooth my hair, determined to make a good impression. I haven’t seen my father in almost four years. When he told Mom and me he couldn’t afford to help with my college tuition—despite years of not paying child support—and wished me the best of luck.
Like luck would pay the bills.
But a lot’s changed since then. I’ve changed. The fact that we’re about to share a meal is testament to that fact. Spending time with Austin, getting to know him has me questioning everything I thought I knew about football players, about my father. Wondering if maybe I should give my dad a second chance. Wondering if he deserves it, if perhaps he’s changed too.
What would it be like to have my father in my life? I’m not sure. And that scares the hell out of me because I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m a grown woman. One
