tight smile and hope I don’t come across half as pissed off as I feel.
She whistles. “You sure are a handsome one.” Her gaze slides approvingly to my father before she winks at him. “Just like your daddy.”
It takes everything I have inside not to throw up in my mouth.
“Yup.” The man across from me grins like he’s the reason for my success. “You mark my words,” he jabs a finger at her, “he’s gonna make millions next year.”
“Gracious.” Her hand flies to her narrow chest as if she had no idea something like that was even possible.
He puffs up, clearly pleased by her reaction. “His mama and I couldn’t be any more proud.”
“Well, then, I should get your autograph.” She shifts, searching her pockets for a pen before grabbing it from where it’s tucked in her hair. “Once you turn pro, we can hang it on our wall of fame.”
Wall of fame?
I don’t even want to know.
“We should probably charge you for it,” my father chuckles, sounding lofty. When her wide gaze cuts to him in question, he waves a hand and sits back like he’s the Grand Poobah or something like that. “But we’ll let it slide this once.”
Embarrassment stings my cheeks. If only it were possible to sink into the floorboards and escape from this nightmare.
With that declaration, the waitress shoves a small pad of paper in front of me. I scribble out my name, hoping it’s somewhat illegible. Like I want anyone to know I ever stepped foot in this dump that masquerades as a no-tell motel?
It’s a relief when another customer flags down the waitress, and she reluctantly takes off in his direction.
“Well,” Dad leans against the booth before settling one arm along the torn-up top, “I think it’s safe to say you made her day.”
Fucker.
I drag a hand over my face and decide to pull the plug rather than allow this to continue a moment longer. “How much do you want?”
He takes a sip of his fresh coffee. It’s still steaming. “That’s much better.” Instead of answering, he inspects the dirt caked under his fingernails. “How much can you spare?”
“Not much,” I grunt out bitterly. “Football is my job during the year so I’m not able to work. I live off savings from the summer.”
“What? They don’t pay you to play ball?” His brows snap together as if he’s personally offended on my behalf. “You’re practically a professional.”
“That’s not how college athletics work. I have a scholarship that pays for my tuition.”
He shakes his head as if I was stupid enough to get screwed over. I’ll tell you who I got fucked over by...
“See? If I’d been around, I would have negotiated better terms for you. Get you paid under the table or something.”
Jesus Christ.
“That’s illegal. There are strict NCAA rules surrounding that kind of thing.”
He waves a hand. “They’re all corrupt—”
“How much, Dad?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. There is so much pressure building in my head. Any moment it’s going to explode, and then none of this will matter because I’ll be dead. “How much do you need?” How much will it take to make you go away and never come back? Drop a number.
“A grand.”
Well, fuck.
Does he really think I have that kind of money laying around?
I earn a couple thousand during the summer working for a friend’s landscaping company. I give Mom some and sock the rest away to carefully dole out through the year. A number of my teammates have beaucoup bucks. Money isn’t a concern for them. They’re able to go on epic spring break trips to the Bahamas, Mexico, and Costa Rica.
But I can’t afford that. If I’m lucky and the weather is nice in March, I can work for the week.
“I need a little something to tide me over until I can find a gig that pays well.” When I fail to react, he adds, “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. Although, after this year, you won’t need me to. You’ll be rolling around in the Benjamins.”
“If I give you this money,” I pause, carefully contemplating my response, “you need to consider it a parting gift. I don’t want to see you again.” Surprise flares in his eyes before they narrow. “And I want you to leave Mom alone. She doesn’t need you messing up her life again.”
“Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Maybe you’ve forgotten that I’m your pops.” He stabs a finger at me