The Jock by J.L. Beck Page 0,65
closer to me. “I thought you were just messing around with Blair, that she was a bet? Being a couple sounds like a lot more than that.”
Like a bucket of ice water raining down on me, I freeze. The bet. I had forgotten all about it until this very moment.
“I called it off a while ago, didn’t Murphy tell you?”
His steely gaze shifts to Murphy and then back to me. “He didn’t tell me shit. Too bad you didn’t keep that bet, could’ve won, now we get to make fun of you forever.”
“That’s fine. It’s worth it.” I grin.
I’m feeling like a million fucking bucks. Nothing can bring me down. As soon as I think the words, my phone starts to go off. I tug it out of my pocket and sigh when I see the name flashing across the screen.
“Gotta go. See you at the house, Murphy,” I tell them, grab my bag, and walk out the locker room door.
I hit the green answer key on my way out to my truck. I’ve been dreading having this conversation since I found out I was going to be suspended from the game this weekend.
“Dad–”
“You got balls of steel, either that or you’re dumb? Which is it, boy?” I grit my teeth.
All my life he’s done this. Told me I was stupid, belittled me, said I would never amount to anything. Even when I first started playing pee wee football, he reminded me that I could always do better. Nothing was good enough for him, and to this day, still isn’t.
“What’s up?” I decide to play dumb.
“What’s up? Are you fucking kidding me? You got suspended from the game this weekend. What the fuck is going on with you? Do you even care? I’m going to assume not, and fighting? I should come down there and kick your ass. You’re ruining your chances at going pro.”
“Ruining my chances?” I scoff. More like ruining his. I’m past fed up with my father. I’m in uncharted territory now. Descending into dangerous waters.
“Don’t act like you don’t care. Football is your one chance at stardom. The only thing you have going for you.”
I almost choke on my saliva. “Did you really just call to lecture me?”
“You’ve been ignoring my phone calls. I think I should come pay you a visit and show you what happens when you disobey me. How do you think you got all the nice shit you have? The truck and condo? Who do you think pays for your classes?”
My dead mother. I don’t say the words, but I really want to. If it wasn’t for my mother dying and her insurance policy, we’d have none of these things. I’d give it all back in a heartbeat if I could—if it meant that she was alive and healthy. If she was still here.
“I’m not going to fight with you. I’m tired and just got done with practice.” I start the truck up and throw her into reverse, slowly backing out of the parking spot.
“At least you’re still going to practice. Who did you punch? And why? You need to explain yourself.” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “It was a girl, wasn’t it? Fighting over pussy. It’s that, isn’t it?”
My father and Blair, in the same sentence, doesn’t sit well with me.
Furious, I growl into the phone. “I don’t have to explain shit. I’m an adult, and I don’t answer to you. Next time you call, maybe you can pretend like you give a shit about me and not just call to bitch about football.”
Hanging up the phone, I drop it into the cup holder. I squeeze the steering wheel, picturing it as my father’s throat. My blood is boiling, and I want to punch something, make someone bleed. Forcing myself to think about anything but the man who is supposed to be my father, my thoughts shift to Blair. In my mind, I see her brown hair, button nose, her heart-shaped face, and pink lips tipped up in a smile. The mere thought of her calms me.
The drive to the condo is a short one, and I’m calmer when I arrive. I don’t want my father’s asshole ways to ruin my night with Blair, so I shove that shit down, lock it up, and throw away the key.
She is the only thing that matters to me right now. If I didn’t have practice, I would’ve been at the house earlier, but just because I can’t play in this weekend’s