“Yeah, I know. Shitty of me, right?” Coach glares. “Figured I’d let you sleep it off first.” He jabs a finger toward his shiny red Range Rover. “Get in.”
Balko drove last night, but my guess is Coach already knows that since he’s headed in the direction of my home. That asshole was probably the one who ratted me out. Annoyance stirs through me. Payback will be a bitch.
I try to ignore Coach’s cool silent treatment as he drives us through the city streets toward the 520 bridge. I know the man well enough to understand just how serious his silence is. This isn’t an after-the-game-we-lost kind of fury where he rips us a new one in the locker room. This isn’t a screaming match on the football field when we run a drill that fails to match his expectations. This could mean something much, much worse.
I shift away as if the physical movement will erase my thoughts. Facing the outdoors, I roll down the window to feel the wind smack my face, providing alertness I should have felt last night before it all went sideways. I seem to always find myself in this dark place. Not here, physically, not even with Coach. He rarely interferes with his players’ behavior off the field. But that doesn’t erase my list of bad decisions. They’re stacking up so high that I can’t even see over the top anymore. Something tells me this last stunt might just be the one that makes the whole stack topple over.
Guilt isn’t something I feel often, but I feel a pang of it now. Why should I feel guilty when I’ve only ever been trying to survive? I came from nothing and was practically raised by wolves, and I overcame it all to lead a life most others would die to have. Sure, I go off the rails sometimes, but that has nothing to do with my game. I shake my head, clearing the guilt and replacing it with my most lethal weapon. Determination.
“Tell me something, Kingston. Why do you want to play ball?”
I’m so focused on my own thoughts that I almost miss Coach’s question. When I register what he asked, I turn to face him, my brows knitting in the center. “Same as everyone on the team. I love the game. And I’m the best at what I do. I’ve worked damn hard to get here.”
Coach nods. “No one can argue any of those things. But why did you work so hard to get here? I want to know what drives you.”
For some reason, his question throws me off guard. I stumble over my thoughts for a few seconds, coming up empty by the time Coach speaks again.
“C’mon, King. It’s not a hard question. Is it the money? Is it the celebrity status? Is it the women? Pick one.”
My gut reaction is to tell Coach that none of those answers are my reason, but any answer I spit out will be a lie. The truth is, I’ve never had to think that hard about it before. I just know I love football. Isn’t that enough?
“I don’t know what to tell you, Coach. You’re asking me this for a reason, and I’m not sure I can give you the answer you want to hear. I play ball because I’m good at it. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. The adrenaline rush is a great feeling, the money is spectacular, and the women are a sweet bonus, but I’m not sure any of that is what drove me to start playing the game.”
Coach nods again. “Figured as much.”
That’s all he says until he parks in the driveway of my Lake Washington home. An awkward silence follows as my hand slowly reaches for the door handle. I’ve never been one for formalities, and the tension billowing through the air only makes me want to exit the vehicle as fast as possible. Before I can make a move to exit, the engine shuts off completely.
Shit.
Coach shifts, turning to face me. “I think it’s time you figured out why you want to play ball.”
After getting my drunk ass kicked and getting thrown in jail, I thought the last thing Coach would be concerned about was my desire to play football. “Um, sure. Okay.” I don’t know what else to say.
Coach rolls his eyes and settles his stern gaze back on me. “Let me say it this way. I will never again do what I did for you today. Do you understand me? It’s not my job to bail you out of jail. Nor is it my job to take advantage of my connections to clear you of your misdemeanor. While the crime may be minor, the publicity you managed to avoid should be considered yet another blessing in your life. If you’re not careful, you’re going to run out of those blessings, Kingston. No one will be there to clean up after your messes, and you won’t have a home on the field to come back to.”
Something twists inside me as anger and fear swarm my mind. “It will never happen again, Coach. I swear to you.” I shake my head, feeling suddenly desperate to forget the events of last night.
Coach nods. “I believe that you mean that. I also expect that you can understand that I’ll need to take some steps into ensuring the reputation of our team. We start practices in a little over a month, and I hope you can be there with us.”
I hope you can be there with us. Never have words haunted me so much. Heat blasts my chest while I temper my tone. “What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?” he fires back.
There’s a fiery ball in my chest that threatens to explode. The only way I know how to diffuse it is to walk away, but I can’t walk away from this. This is my life. My livelihood. The only fucking thing in my life that has ever felt right. Still, I want to do anything but continue this conversation. Suddenly, the only thing I love in this life feels threatened, and no amount of confidence I have in my career can help me. I’ve never felt the weight of my future so heavy on my shoulders.
“I don’t know, Coach. I fucked up last night. What’s new? But what does it matter? Last night has nothing to do with football.”
“Last night has everything to do with football, King. That’s where you seem to be lost, and it’s time we set things straight.”
Coach doesn’t have to yell for me to feel his wrath. It’s a smack in the face, and I hear him loud and clear. “What do you want from me? Some kind of agreement that I won’t fuck up again? I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”
Coach tilts his head. “I had a different idea. Well, it’s Zach’s idea, actually.”
I frown as confusion makes its way through me. Zachary Ryan is Seattle’s team captain, and he’s extremely close with Coach. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that they talked, but the question slips past my lips anyway. “Zach knows about this?”
“He does, and I’m going to leave you in his hands with what comes next.”
“Huh?” My eyes dart between his. “What comes next?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow at five a.m. when Zach picks you up. Just have a duffel packed with some stuff to hold you over for a while. Workout gear, mostly.”
“A while? How long is that, exactly?”
“Not sure yet. Let’s start with one month and see how it goes from there.”
My jaw drops with so much force, I can feel the stretch that comes with my shock. “One month? But, Coach—”
“I trust you’ll make it work without complaint. Just be ready to go.”
My mouth snaps shut as I try to make sense of what’s happening, but I can’t for the life of me come to any positive conclusions. “Okay.” I draw the word out slowly before Coach nods for me to exit his vehicle.