your life flashes before your eyes. Judging by the expression on Coach’s face, he might be gearing up to strangle us.
A million things go through my mind as I enter his office.
This can’t be about Knox’s marijuana garden. I watched him till that shit last summer.
Olly stopped writing essays for players last year. I made him swear he wouldn’t start up again.
I told the guys to stop doing beer slip-and-slides across the yard months ago.
This could be about the parties. But with one or two exceptions, my roommates have kept their drink max to two beers.
I cringe. I’ve swapped tickets for babysitting. Each player gets four tickets per home game. Did I violate the terms of my athletic scholarship by doing that? Or, fuck, am I now ineligible because I violated conference rules?
There’s one goddamn game left of the regular season. What the fuck did I do? How did I screw up so close to the playoffs?
“Close the door.” Sully’s voice is ice.
After I shut it, I sit next to Olly and Knox, who look like they’re about to shit their pants. I know the feeling.
Coach grits out, “What did I say at the beginning of the season? Anyone remember?”
Olly clears his throat. “You said—”
“That was a rhetorical question. I don’t need you to open your traps.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
After a long pause, Coach sighs. “I asked y’all to stay out of trouble. To be men of honor. To maybe not give me a stroke before I retire.”
My heart is beating so hard, I can hear it in my ears. Feel it in my throat.
He shakes his head. “Imagine my surprise this morning when I got a phone call from that fancy sports channel asking if there was any truth to this.”
One leathered finger pushes a piece of paper across his desk.
It’s an article from a sports gossip site, Locker-Room Talk.
Top-ranked football team embroiled in paternity scandal.
Poppy. I clench my hand, wishing I could strangle the fucker who dug this up. I skim the article, hoping I don’t spew that energy bar I ate during class.
Last week we heard the Lone Star Broncos sired a baby Bronc. The all-star quarterback recently admitted he’s the proud father of a six-month-old baby girl, but what he didn’t tell us is that when she literally got dropped off on his doorstep, none of the athletes in the house knew who fathered her and everyone had to take paternity tests. Considering how hard they party down in the heart of Texas, it’s no wonder they can’t keep track of their conquests at the “Stallion Station.”
Fuck. My. Life.
The blog entry is accompanied by photos. Mostly of crowds dancing, but there’s one of me holding Gabby over my shoulder the one time she actually came to a party. Thank God no one is named.
“Coach, I can explain.”
He taps his desk. “You’d sure as hell better. My phone’s been blowing up for the last hour. Your roommates gave me their versions. I’d like to hear yours.”
Christ. Please let our stories match up.
I lay it out for him, every detail—from the moment Olly woke me that night, to the girls setting up babysitters for us, and Gabby swabbing everyone for paternity tests.
“So you see, Sully, I came to you almost as soon as I knew I was the father. That day when I asked for your advice.” Fuck, I’m sweating. I wipe my forehead. “Yes, I left out the paternity issues we had, but I was embarrassed. We all were. And we decided if Poppy did, in fact, belong to one of us, we didn’t want to get children’s services involved. I have a friend who was a foster kid, and we didn’t want Poppy to go through anything traumatic like she did. So that’s why we handled things the way we did.” I glare at that piece of paper. I’m surprised it doesn’t burst into flames from the strength of my outrage. “And of course we didn’t want to embarrass you before you retired.”
He rubs his temple. “And what do you know about your baby’s mama? You… do know… who the mother is, right?”
I could kiss that little spitfire Adele for coming over yesterday, even if she wanted to ream my ass out.
“Yes. I know who she is.” Finally. I cough. There’s no fucking way I want to admit to this last detail, but I have a feeling if I don’t and Coach finds out another way, it’ll be worse. “I’ll be honest—I did not know who