Page 61 of Hot Receiver

“My dad is a gambling addict. Back when I was younger, he had a really successful auto body. But then things went to shit after a break-in left him bankrupt. My mom was pregnant with my sisters, and things at home were rough. They never really got better. Football was my escape.”

I pause to take a gulp of the water, then trace my finger down the side of the glass, hating like hell to relive thesetoxic memories. But I need to tell someone, and Zak is the only one I give a damn about.

He always has been, and now he’s about to find out why I wasn’t strong enough to make him a priority.

“I wasn’t really much of a student, so my time after school was spent on earning whatever money I could to help out at home and playing football. Things got real bad when he started drinking and gambling. I tried to stay away from the house as much as possible.”

I sit back and scrub a hand down the front of my face, my eyes meeting Zak’s concerned ones. “He gambled away our mortgage. We lost the house, had to live in a shelter for a while. With two babies.” A dry laugh escapes my lips. “Not exactly the ideal role model parent, you know?”

Zak leans forward and grazes my arm with his fingers. “I’m so sorry, Matt. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for you and your family.”

I stare at his hand. “He tried to clean up, but it never worked long term. It was always a few months here and there, and then he’d fall into his old patterns again. I figured if I left, got a college scholarship for football, and maybe got noticed by scouts, that I could help. I’d make more money that could help them. I knew I had to get the hell out of there, but I felt so goddamn guilty every day I was gone.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Standing up, I heave another sigh. I walk over to the large window in the corner of the kitchen and stare down at the city below. Zak’s building is nestled in a quiet, upscale neighborhood. Tree-lined streets, park views, and people walking their fancy show dogs.

My place is nice, but it’s not like this one. Even though I make a lot of money, there’s always a voice inside my headwarning me that it might not be that way forever. I didn’t grow up with it like Zak did. He’s got more security than the fucking Federal Reserve.

My life growing up was chaos because of my dad. And I’ve never fooled myself into thinking that I’m beyond that now. Shit can change in a heartbeat, so I always try to be prepared.

How the hell can someone like Zak understand that?

“I didn’t want your pity. I worked my ass off to get where I am. Always have. And now…” I let out a slow breath and turn to look at Zak. “I’m never gonna be in that situation again. I will make sure my family has what it needs. I won’t let them scrounge for food or rent. That’s why I couldn’t come out in college. Why I’m scared shitless to do it now. For years, I’ve done everything I can to be relevant. It’s how I live because I’m afraid the second I fall out of the spotlight, everything’ll go to hell.”

Zak just stares. It’s a little unnerving. After a few seconds, I start pacing again. Every inch of my skin crawls like it’s covered with leeches at the thought of Rusty anywhere near my sisters or Mom.

I clear my throat because the silence is deafening. “A few weeks ago, right after that fundraiser Jase and Lucas held, I got a call from home. My dad and sister were taken by a low-life scumbag from our town. Guy’s bad news. Real derelict. He’s into all sorts of illegal shit…guns, drugs, Christ only knows what else…and my dad got tangled up with him because of the gambling. He beat the hell out of my dad and tied up my sister. I went straight there, paid off the debt, and got my dad and sister home safely.”

“Wait, after you dropped me off?” Zak’s voice is incredulous. “You drove all the way down to West Virginia, went to some shithole with drugs and thugs in the middle of the night, and took on some scumbag to save your family?”

“Scumbags, actually. His whole crew was there.”

I can still hear the beer bottles smash against the walls, still smell the stench of stale whiskey on Rusty’s breath, still see the tears streaming down my sister’s face. Rage consumes me. All because my father made shit choices for his life. Now, everyone else has to pay.

“Jesus,” Zak mutters, stroking his chin. “Did you go to the cops?”

“Not that night. I couldn’t bring the cops in if I wasn’t gonna be around to keep things safe. God only knows how much Rusty greases palms down there. I didn’t want to risk it. Figured I’d pay the debt, and we’d be cleared.”

“Except you’re not.”

I shake my head, my pulse punching a hole in my throat. “Not even close. I spoke to my mom earlier. She said Rusty’d been hanging around my sisters’ school. I got pissed that she wouldn’t send them up here. She got all defensive. It was bad. And then she hung up like we were all good even though I definitely wasn’t.”

A sigh shudders my shoulders. “But that’s not the worst of it. Rusty showed up after the game today. Cornered me by my truck when nobody was around. I have no fucking idea how he managed that,” I grumble.

“Did he do something?” Zak’s jaw tenses. His voice is tight, fists clenching and unclenching.

“Made some threats. Keyed my truck. Didn’t do anything to me, though. I went right to the police department to figure out if we have any options. Basically, we’re fucked. He didn’t do anything to me, and they have no jurisdiction in West Virginia.”

Zak walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “What do you need? How can I help?”

I shake my head, my throat tight. “Nothing. I called mymom. She said she took the girls to her sister’s. My aunt lives about an hour north, so they’re away from Rusty. But my dad… he’s just gonna keep fucking up, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t…”

I fall into Zak’s arms and bury my face in his neck. I breathe him in. Makes me feel like comfort and safety and…home.

Wrapping my arms tight around him, I melt against his chest. He traces his fingers up and down my back, his beard tickling the side of my face. This is the place I’m missing, that I’ve been missing, the one I stupidly thought football could replace.

I didn’t know until right now that it never could, never would.

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