massive oak tree and a creature with the body of a man and the head of a goat was ramming a big horn into the captive. The captive’s face was twisted in pleasure.
I cannot fucking unsee this. He tore his gaze away before he could decipher what was going on in the other paintings, though he had the impression they were even more violent and disturbing. Lawd, am I in a murder room? Was he about to get fucked up by Bubba? There was no plastic tarp on the floor under his feet, though, and the freaky old man was sitting down on the other side of his massive desk. Derek moved to the edge of his seat, just in case, ready to spring up and ninja his way out, if need be.
He had to get it together. Refocusing on the unblemished nature outside the window, the player took a breath and centered himself. Calmly, in a civilized tone, he asked, “How did your place do with the flooding?”
“The river is right up to the back patios, but supposedly it will be receding in the next twenty-four hours. The gardens are under half a foot of water, so I’m sure they’ve been destroyed. The buildings have all been built up but if the water continues to rise, we’re going to have to deal with damp and mold in the substructures for years. Very disheartening, to say the least.”
“It sounds like you’ve been lucky so far. No real damage. I saw some pretty terrible destruction in certain neighborhoods last night.”
“This is a beautifully maintained historical site. Some of those places could stand to be refurbished or even demolished. But this place, well, if something happens here, it will be a travesty.”
How was it that he and Derek’s father weren’t best friends? The only difference between them was skin color. Though his father didn’t spend too much time embracing his cultural heritage. Gobs of money had made him blind to his own skin, not to mention to the black community, and he definitely turned up his nose at those in poverty. His mother was the same way, though less aggressive, simply floating along in her little bubble made of Waterford crystal, never dealing with real-world problems. Or people.
O’Donnell picked up an unlit pipe from his desk and put the stem in his mouth, sucking on it. He said to Derek, “You know, Charles is worried about you.”
Derek coughed, caught by surprise.
“Me!”
“He says you’re struggling in your role as a support player. That you are taking a lot of unnecessary chances on the court, trying to assert your dominance. We just don’t need that, Mr. Darcy. We need a team player.”
“Charles told you I’m not a team player?” The blood had left Derek’s head, leaving him fuzzy-headed and bone cold.
“Not in those words, no. But that you are trying too hard to make a name for yourself.”
His lips were numb, tingling, from the loss of blood. “No, he didn’t.”
O’Donnell didn’t answer, just tipped his head to the side, eyes half shut, and sucked on his pipe.
The phallic nature of his boss’s oral fixation did not elude Derek. He stifled a disgusted shiver and said, “Sir, you’ve seen me play. You brought me on, and you kept me on last year when I couldn’t play. I’m not a ball hog, but I do take the shot if I’ve got it. I don’t know what this is about, but I am a team player. Ask the coach. I always have been.”
“Boy, the coach and I have talked about it. I need you to just back down a bit, stop pressing so hard. Get the ball to Charles.”
“I—”
“Exactly. I, I, I. Play for your team. Not yourself. Now, be a good boy and do as I say. Share the ball. That is what is best for the Fishers.”
Derek put his head in his hands, a pickax tapping on his center lobe. After a second, he pushed up from the chair. “Is that all? May I go?”
“You are acting like I have stolen your favorite toy.” His boss put down his pipe and came out from behind his desk. “I’m not punishing you, Mr. Darcy. I’m just, you know, guiding you. I only want what is best for the team and for you.” The old man clapped Derek on the shoulder, suddenly jovial. “So. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.”
Seeing himself out, Derek could not clear the buzzing fog that had filled his brain. This didn’t