I stop the recording and hang my head. He sounded even worse than yesterday. At least yesterday he had a bit of optimism.
“Coach,” I mutter so Kenna doesn’t even have to ask. “He needs to talk with me as soon as possible.”
She runs her hand up and down my arm. “I’m sorry, West. Your dad—”
I immediately stand. I can’t talk to her about my dad right now. He completely humiliated her. Snatching my jeans up from the ground and pulling them on, I say, “I have to go deal with this shit.”
“We don’t even know what happened.”
I zip up my pants. “I don’t want you to worry. I’ll deal with anything that has involved you. I promise.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but I look away, scooping my shirt off the floor so I can tug it on. My whole body is tense. The need to get out of here is overwhelming. I don’t want to be here when Kenna realizes I’ve brought her into this mess. Her association with me probably put her on the news again.
“We don’t know what this is about,” Kenna says, standing. She’s wrapped the sheet around her naked form and holds it in front of her chest.
“They were recording yesterday,” I growl. I find my sweatshirt on her chair. “What else do you think it is?”
She steps back, her face morphing into anger mixed with pain. “Who?”
“Hamilton. They were recording on their phones. You didn’t see it?”
“No, I was too busy getting called ugly,” she snaps.
Her words pull me up straight. Forcing my shoulders back, I will myself to calm down. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, my voice emotionless. I have to keep it even or I’ll erupt, taking out everyone around me. “I’ll message you when I know something.”
“Like yesterday?” she asks, crossing her arms now. She won’t even look at me.
The worst part is, I don’t know what to say. Maybe I won’t text her. I didn’t yesterday. I’m sure I’ll feel the same unworthiness and shame as soon as I find out what this new round of media coverage is about.
I wish I could promise her it’ll be different today, but I haven’t changed since I was a kid, burying all my emotions so deep they never come out.
Reaching out, I squeeze her arm. She peers up at me, unshed tears welling in the corners of her eyes. I lean over to kiss her on the cheek, holding myself there because I wish I was different. I wish I could be the person that relied on her for help, but my past has taught me that’s not the right course.
Stepping away, I yank open the door and walk out. Sydney glances up from the couch, but I keep going. I’m out the front door and to the cab of my truck in no time.
My gaze slides to the cool decal, and my stomach squeezes. Now that it’s daylight, I can fully see it. Someone’s scratched the shit out of the paint right where my name is.
I growl in frustration, throwing my fists down on the hood until I gather myself up and jump into the cab. I don’t even bother dialing Coach first. All the players know where his house is, so I head that way. If his car is in the driveway, good. If not, then he’s on campus.
My mind is a blur as I drive. When I park on the street, I think about weeding through all the posts I’m tagged in to see what I’m in for, but I don’t. Denial, denial, denial. Right now, I’m acting the opposite of how I play football. I don’t want to read the other side to plan out my attack. I just want to go back to a few days ago when none of this was a thing.
Coach’s car sits in the driveway. I maneuver around it to walk up the front steps. My fist bangs on the door, and I grimace a little. His wife opens it, and she immediately gives me a soft smile. “West, so lovely to see you. He’s in his office.”
I follow her down the hall, and then we turn left toward their breakfast nook and down another hall where his office is. She knocks and opens at the same time, moving out of the way to reveal me. Coach focuses on me through a pair of glasses before taking them off.
“I’ll let you two talk. West, you know if there’s anything I can do for you…”
“I know, ma’am.”
Coach’s wife sees her way out and shuts the door behind her. The man who has coached me and set me up to be a man for several years beckons me forward. “Take a seat and tell me how much you’ve seen.”
I sit in one of the chairs facing him and stare at my lap. “I didn’t bother looking.”
His chair creaks. “I’m not going to pull punches, Brooks. It’s bad. ESPN has been showing the first footage during SportsCenter highlights. They’re commenting on your integrity.”
My gaze snaps up. “My integrity?”
Coach drums his fingers over the desk in front of him. “Your dad gave an interview to a local TV station last night saying that he’s practically homeless, helpless, and penniless, and you’ve completely abandoned him and rendered him in such a state, blah, blah, blah. He called out your NIL money.”