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Maybe he too is thinking of my dad, whose pro career was snatched away by a college injury. My dad wasn’t a bitter man, but the loss haunted him. I’d seen it in his eyes, in the way he’d grow distant sometimes when we talked about me going to the NFL. My dad was the best man I’ve ever known. But I don’t want to become him, not that way.
Coach had to understand this. He’d been friendly with my dad. The silence between us stretches tight, and I want so badly to look away that I grind my teeth.
“Drew.” Coach pauses, and I know it’s going to get worse. “Maybe it’d be good if you saw a counselor—”
“No,” I shout despite my desire to keep calm. “I’m not fuckin—” I take a sharp breath and hold up a hand. “I’m not going to a counselor, all right? So just get that off the table now.”
“There’s no shame in talking to someone.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I hobble over to the kitchen island with enough force to make my leg ache. “I was there enough when my parents died. I’m fine.” I glare at him. “Fine.”
Coach sighs. “Just think about it, son.”
“I’m not your son.” Great, I sound petulant now. I grip my hair to keep from shouting again.
“I know that,” he says quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t care about you and what you’re going through.” His gaze pins me. “And I promised your parents that I’d look out for you. I don’t go back on my promises. Neither do you.”
A low blow. Because, when I’d agreed to play under Coach’s program after he’d vowed to do right by me, I’d promised my parents that I’d respect the man’s rules. Now there’s nothing I can say that won’t come across as defensive. I pinch the bridge of my nose, pushing against my aching eyes. I just want to sleep.
Coach’s heavy hand lands on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Just think about it, okay?”
Duly, I nod, but it’s an empty promise and we both know it.
It might have helped if Anna came home. She can distract me better than anyone. In truth, she’s the only one I want around me these days. Something I know should worry me.
The only distraction I can find is doing some upper bodywork on the weight bench. When I hear the phone ring, I set the weights down with a clang. Unfortunately, it isn’t Anna but Gray.
“Hey, man. I’m coming over and making lasagna tonight. And before you say no, Anna says you’re free. Shocking, isn’t it?”
I frown down at my cast. “You talked to Anna first?”
“Uh, yeah. How else am I going to get an invite anymore?” The annoyance in his voice is thick, and it irks me.
“Then why bother telling me? Why not just show up?”
“Because I’m not a dick?”
“You sure about that?”
The silence on the other end of the line is total.
Okay, that was shitty. But I can’t help it. The little fucker is plotting behind my back. With Anna. My chest clenches tight. Fuck it, did they know Coach was coming over too? Heat crawls up my neck. I’m pretty fuck-all sure they did.
When Gray finally speaks, his voice is sharp with anger. “What’s your problem, Drew?”
I have a long list right now. “Forget it.”
“Right,” Gray snaps. “I’ll do that.”
Which means he’ll glare at me when he gets here and make me feel like shit. I rake my hand through my hair, pushing down on my scalp. My head is a steady throb of pain now. “You need a ride?”
Because it occurs to me, with a sinking feeling, that not only has the punk offered to cook for me again, he’s also lent me his truck, which has an automatic drive, so I’m not stuck in the house. Guilt sucks.
“Naw,” Gray says, lighter now. “Anna said she’d bring me.”
My teeth meet with a loud clack. Right. Because they’re communicating. My grip on the phone goes knuckle white. “Gotta go. See you later.”
There’s another awkward pause, then Gray speaks. “See you.” He hangs up.
