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“Before you both start in on me, I wanted to say that I’m sorry I was awful at practice today. I’m just—”
Exhausted after the sex in my truck last night?
It’s not like I can say that.
Coach Dixon holds up a hand before I can continue, thankfully.
“Did you have a bit of an off day today? Yes. You also had some good catches. And your footwork drills were phenomenal. It’s to be expected after what Terry put you through yesterday, and Andy is talking with him today,” he says, referring to thedefensive coordinator. “I called you both in because I wanted to talk about what’s been going on in the locker room. Hopefully the Terry situation will fix itself, but I wanted to talk to you about Xavier Thomas mouthing off to Jaxon Bryant."
“To me?” I ask, pointing at my own chest.
He nods. “We have a rookie fullback acting superior to a veteran running back, and you fall somewhere right in the middle. In terms of leadership, I think you might be the right person to tackle this…no pun intended. And I wanted Bruce in here so he’s aware of what’s going on.”
My brows crinkle. “What do you want me to do?”
“I talked with Coach Nash, and we decided to institute a more formal mentoring program. And Bruce, I’d like you to keep an eye out for other pairs that might be able to take advantage of this new resource.”
Coach Bruce nods.
“What exactly will this entail?” I ask.
“I’m so glad you asked. I want it to be whatever you want it to be. I want the focus to be guidance on events taking place off the field. I want you to build this program.”
“Me?” I ask, pointing to my own chest.
He nods. “You want a leadership role? Prove that you’re a leader. Get a basic outline for what you’re thinking on my desk by next Wednesday.”
My jaw slackens. “You…you trust me with that?”
He nods. “I do. Your brother does. Coach Andy does, too. Don’t let us down.”
“I promise I won’t,” I say.
This feels big, and it feels good.
Coach Bruce stays behind to talk with Coach Dixon, and I head home, already brainstorming some ideas on the way.
And when I get home, my dad is at the kitchen table playing poker with that same group of friends. I bypass them and headupstairs to my bedroom to get some more work done, but when the smell of cigars wafts up from downstairs, I’ve had more than enough.
I pack a suitcase with the essentials plus clothes for the next few days, and I sneak out the front door before my dad can stop me.
I drive to Grayson’s place, and I call him on the way.
“Brochacho!” he answers.
“Hey. Can I stay with you for a few days?”
“Of course, but may I ask why?”
“I have some work to do, and Dad’s in the kitchen playing poker and smoking cigars.”
“Did you tell him about the place we found?” he asks, not sounding surprised in the least by our dad’s actions.
“I did, and it went over like a lead balloon. So new plan. We findmea place to live, and we let him stay.”
“Jesus, man,” he mutters. “Why are we so dedicated to appeasing him?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, and the truth is, I hate it. But I do have an inkling as to why we do it. “Because he’s our dad, and he instilled this forced sense of loyalty to family.”
