Page 14 of Everywhere You Look

It isn’t until I’m in the room, kneeling in front of him, that I notice the picture of Luke, front and center on the iPad. It’s a shot of Luke on the sidelines from last season. He’s dressed in his Redwoods uniform, but it was only a formality. He didn’t play for a singleminute last year, his knee injury wouldn’t allow it. In the picture, Luke is nose to nose with one of the coaches. He’s pointing an accusatory finger, red-faced and clearly in the middle of one of those coach/player tiffs that happen more often than football fans realize. This one just happened to be caught on camera and is accompanied by the headline:

“Down By Contact: Luke Cannon, the NFL’s most dangerous liability.”

“What the hell is this?” I ask, snagging the iPad and scrolling. Immediately, I hate everything I see. The article—if you can even call it that—is a total hit piece. There’s photo after photo of Luke snarling and yelling—all while on the field and totally appropriate in the context of a professional football game. But accompanied by the “inside sources” who say Luke’s temper is out of control and the listicle of “Luke Cannon’s Top Ten Angriest Outbursts”, the whole thing is set up to make Luke look like some sort of out of control, hot-headed psychopath, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

“It was them, Dean. My parents. The author, Jeremey Saunders? He’s from Salem, Idaho. He’s never had a feature in any major publication before and now this exposé is front page news? I have no doubt that my dad paid him to write this.”

“Luke, this is ridiculous. This Saunders shithead’s only named-source to all your supposed misconduct is Coach Elliot, and he lost his head coach position for being an angry homophobic piece of shit when Lawson and Griffith came clean about their relationship last season, remember? No one is going to believe this shit.”

“Look at the comments, Dean. They already do, and why shouldn’t they? I was an asshole after my injury. I did treat the coaches and my teammates like shit. I did mouth off to reporters. I disappointed the fans, I disappointed my sister. Everything that article says is true, and now…” his voice breaks, and before I can even think about what I’m doing, I scramble onto the bed next to him and pull him into my arms. “And now I’m going to fuck up the one thing that Gigi asked me to do. I’m going to lose these kids, Dean. After everything Gigi did for me. After she sacrificed her entire livelihood to pull me out of that house and raise me on her own, those fucking people are going to take her girls away from me and they’re going to ruin their lives and everything my sister did with her life will have been for nothing.”

I let Luke cry into my chest, because there’s nothing I can say that will make him feel better right now. All I can do is hold him through this and try my best to put him back together after he’s torn himself apart.

Once Luke’s sobs have faded into quiet tears, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial the number I’ve been itching to call since earlier this afternoon.

“Hello?”

“IronDad…” I say, my voice wobbling.

“Dean, honey, what is it? What do you need? Hold on, let me put you on speaker. Pops is right here.”

I close my eyes, blinking back a sudden rush of tears. My dads are unflinchingly supportive. I know that whatever I need, Pops and IronDad will do everything in their power to get it done. I’m incredibly lucky to have them.

And hopefully, Luke and the girls will feel some of that luck, too.

I might be a grown, taxpaying citizen with a proven track record of handling big adult problems on my own, but I’m not too proud to admit when I’m in over my head and need my parents.

“I need help. Luke and I need a good lawyer, fast.”

7

FOGGED IN

Luke

Homos, in our town. Homosexuals in Salem, Idaho. They want to teach in our schools, sit next to us in these very pews. They want to instill their lifestyle on our young people. It’s an abomination, what these perverts want to do with our children. Their existence goes against the teachings of our Lord and Savior and they should be treated like the criminals they are. They should be convicted—no. They should be lined up against a wall and shot! That’s what God teaches, and that’s what I say to you today!

Bang. Bang. Bang.

It isn’tuntil I feel Dean’s hand lightly squeezing my thigh that I realize the sound of a torn and tattered bible hitting a pulpit is in my mind. In reality, the only noise in this unfamiliar office is the dullbuzz of the harsh white light overhead, casting the office and all its rich, mahogany glory in an artificial, offensive glow.

“You okay?” Dean asks, and I nod even though I’m not. He knows it, I know it. The only reason he keeps asking me that question is because there is nothing else to ask. Just like right after the accident, no one knows what to say to me.

The door swings open, and a tall, slender woman sashays in. She’s got an iPad and a briefcase in one hand and the largest iced coffee I’ve ever seen in my life in the other. Her long red hair swishes in a tightly pulled ponytail as she crosses the room and rounds the oversized desk with her name—Lori S. Mason, Esq.—sprawled on a black and gold plaque.

“Thanks for waiting. My last call ran long and my assistant was no help in getting me the hell out of there and…you don’t care,” Lori says, waving a hand in front of her face as she settles into her chair.

When Dean first went to his parents for help in finding a lawyer for my custody case, I was annoyed. I have my own lawyers, and even if I mightfeellike a scared, caged animal at the moment, I am a competent adult who can do things on my own.

However, when I looked up Lori Mason on Google and found that she is a Harvard Law alum who comes from a long line of sharks who fight toothand nail for their clients with a nearly perfect record, I was ready to concede. When Dean told me that Lori’s father back in Tennessee was the family lawyer who helped his dads and Camila through their unconventional journey of starting their family over thirty years ago, I all but waved a white flag in his face.

It’s difficult for me to accept help from anyone except my sister. Now that she’s gone, I need to keep shoving down my urge to fight and let my people take care of me. So that’s what I’m doing here today. I’m letting Dean take care of me, the same way he’s been taking care of my girls.

“It’s fine Ms. Mason. We haven’t been waiting long,” Dean says, and Lori waves a hand again.

“Please, call me Lori. We’re about to get really familiar with each other, so we might as well skip the formalities. Now, Levi?—”

“Luke,” I say, probably a bit more sternly than I need to.

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