clinics—anything he could do to push me to be the best … because that was his dream. He’d just accepted a full-ride to San Diego State playing football when he tore his ACL. Never made a full recovery. Lost his scholarship, lost his dream of a career playing pro football.”
“So you were his surrogate.”
“Exactly. And when I told him I was tired of the game, tired of eating, sleeping, and breathing football, he lost his fucking mind,” I say. “He knew how much I loved my mom and he knew I’d never do anything to hurt her. She was crazy about him. Still is. The man deserves an Oscar because he can play that husband-of-the-year role better than anyone. You know, once I walked in on him fucking his secretary in his office. Mom sent me to drop off some dinner since he claimed he was working late.”
Irie pulls a breath between her teeth.
“I never told her,” I say. “And I don’t know that I will. But only because it doesn’t take much to set her over the edge. She’s fragile like that. It’s why she’s always self-medicating.”
“Has she always been like that?”
“I don’t think so. From what I’ve been told, losing my dad was pretty traumatic for her.” I gaze up at the starry sky that blankets us. “She was never the same after she lost him. He was the love of her life.”
Silence settles between us as we lose ourselves in our own thoughts for a while. The conversation tonight is heavy, but opening up to her floods me with a lightness I’ve never known before.
“Did you mean it when you said you hated football?” she asks. “The other week … at your house …”
“I don’t know. I used to love it. And a part of me still does. But when something is forced on you for years and years and you don’t have a say in the matter, sometimes that love turns into resentment.”
“Don’t let him steal that from you,” she says, hoisting herself up on her elbow to look me in the eyes. “You’re insanely gifted. Don’t throw that away because of him. If you loved football once, you can love it again.”
“Yeah, but it’s stolen everything from me,” I say, my mind going to the contract I still have yet to sign. “And now it’s going to steal you.”
Irie buries her head against my shoulder. There isn’t anything she can say that hasn’t already been said, any thought she could share that hasn’t already passed through both of our minds.
“Sometimes I wish I didn’t get that Richmond offer,” I confess. “I kept holding out and holding out last fall after the first several offers, thinking they’d eventually stop coming as the rosters filled. But then Richmond dropped this in my lap. Literally an offer too good to pass up. But all I can think about is how easy it would be to walk away.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Now you sound like Mark …”
“That’s not what I mean,” she says. “You’ve been giving this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Talon. You have these gifts, these talents. Use them for good. The world is exceeding capacity on assholes and you have a chance to be one less asshole in the world. Imagine all the wonderful things you could do with that money, with your fame and your image. You could be someone’s hero. Lord knows the world doesn’t have enough of those. I mean … kids will be wearing your jersey, hanging posters of you on their walls and saying they want to be like you someday. And they should be. Because you’re so much more amazing than anyone realizes—and I’d hate to see the world miss out on that.”
“You make it sound so nice,” I say. “But there’s still a missing piece to all of that.”
“You don’t have to love football now. You can learn to love it again.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Irie,” I say. “You’re the missing piece in that beautiful picture you just painted.” I pull her over top of me, her long legs straddling my sides, and I sit up. “I want those things, Irie. I want to be that man. But I want you too.” She tries to respond, but I silence her with a kiss, my fingers slipping through her caramel strands. My cock throbs, straining against the inside of my jeans. I’ve never felt this close to anyone in my life and yet it’s not enough. I want more of her.
Deeper, harder,