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“So you had lots of fights?”
“Not really, actually. More often than not, the threat of me was enough to shut down whatever bullshit was going on, so I rarely had to deliver on it. I was more of a deterrent than anything.”
“Was that something you were glad about, or would you rather have fought?”
“I was neither glad, nor sad. It was what it was. And I thought this was supposed to be an interview not therapy.” He shot me a look that screamed “back off.” I took the hint.
“Sorry, I wasn’t meaning to overstep. This is all pretty standard stuff for me with interviews. Just trying to establish some background.
“So talk to me about how you got into football.” I figured it was time to change my approach a little, before he got too hostile.
“There’s nothing to tell, really. I’d always played in the yard, and enjoyed it as part of gym class. Then in middle school, the coach at the time approached me for the team, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Okay, so all these years later and here you are. I’ve heard lots of positive things about your future as a player. What are your ambitions with regards to the game, or anything, actually?”
“Are you asking if I want to go pro?”
“I guess so. Or not. The question is yours to make of what you want, and answer as you see fit.”
“Honestly, despite the talk, and interest in me from certain quarters, I don’t see football playing a bigger role in my life at any point in the future than it does now.”
“So if not playing ball, what do you want to do ‘when you grow up’?” Even though I was trying to be ironic, I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. Bear leaned back, smirking and putting his arms behind his head and stretching out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles.
“Oh, I don’t know, but I’d say that I’m plenty grown already, wouldn’t you?”
Jesus. I knew he was trying to intimidate me. To remind me that he was doing the whole interview thing under duress, and he wasn’t just about to roll over and play Mr. Nice Guy. Message received. Loud. And. Clear.
“That’s not for me to say.” I leveled him with a cool, detached stare. “But in terms of career paths, what are your thoughts for your future?”
“My thoughts are that the future is not guaranteed. It’s an artificial construct that’s an offshoot or by-product of our overall concept of time. In reality, the fact is the future is here today, gone tomorrow.”
“Very profound, Mr. Hamilton, and I don’t altogether disagree with the idea of the fragility of the future, and the fact that it can turn on a dime without notice. Lord knows, I’ve been reminded of that fact enough times in my life.” Jesus. I felt like I was losing my goddamned mind. Why had I just revealed something so intimate and personal to a stranger? And that stranger of all fucking people?
“What do you mean?” He looked genuinely interested.
“Nothing. Sorry. I just meant to ask what you see yourself doing for work after you graduate.”
“I got what you meant. Honestly, I don’t have a firm idea, apart from that it’s not football, and is likely to be working for myself. I don’t like doing what I’m told.”
“Is that so?” He nodded slowly, keeping his gaze trained on mine. “So how does that work with playing ball. Surely there’s a lot of being told what to do?”
“There is, but there’s a reason I’m team captain—apart from my skill. Let’s just say that I’m a better leader than a follower.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He’d spoken so clearly and deliberately that I assumed he was trying to tell me something other than the message conveyed by the words themselves, but before he could answer, his phone rang on the table between us, cutting me off.
We both looked toward the offending device, seeming to register the name flashing on the screen at the same time. Xavier. Cross.
What?
I did my best to maintain a neutral facial expression, though wasn’t sure how successful I was. “Hey.” He was silent for a few long moments, but judging by the heavy frown that suddenly clouded his face, whatever was being said on the other end of the phone wasn’t good news.
He turned to me, balancing the phone between his jaw and shoulder, while he used his hands to grab his coffee as he stood up. “I have to go.” It wasn’t a question, and it certainly wasn’t an apology.
“Um... okay. Rain check?”
“Whatever.” He shrugged and moved away from the table. I watched in shock as he crossed the cafe and hurried out into the street, not even giving me a backward glance.
