Page 106 of Sweeper
I won’t have it.
“You can’t possibly know what’s good for me.” I point back to the pitch and jut my face into Vaughn’s. “Being out there was good for me. I only had two damn minutes left.”
“And with an attitude like this, you’ll be lucky to play two minutes in next week’s game if you don’t watch yourself,” Vaughn thunders, the rage in his tone clear as day.
I growl and throw my hands out to the side to argue when an arm wraps tightly around my waist. “Chill out, Zander. Just chill out. It’s not worth it.”
I whirl around on my heel to see it’s Booker. “Get back on the fucking pitch,” I bite, yanking my arm out of his grasp.
“You played brilliantly,” Booker says, turning me around to face him. He dips his eyes and clutches my arms tightly as he pins me with a look. “Don’t let your headspace ruin this moment.”
“Get out of my fucking life!” I shout and yank my arms free to shove him away from me.
Booker stumbles backward, looking stunned as he nearly falls on his ass. Suddenly, I’m swarmed by Tanner and a couple of sideline players. They hold me back like I’m a murderer about to rip Booker’s fucking head off. Maybe I am.
The crowd audibly gasps behind us at the scene I’m causing. I glance back to see the entire Harris crew gaping at me like I’m a rabid dog in need of being shot.
Indie walks over, her voice gentle as she says, “Zander, let me look at that ankle.”
“My ankle is fine,” I roar because she’s another fucking Harris.
I can’t get away from them. They’re all here looking at me, watching me like I’m a freak show, and it’s too much. I walk over to the sidelines and kick a caddy of water bottles, launching them every which way before storming down the sidelines to the tunnel that gets me the fuck out of here.
I don’t care if I just ruined my career. At least now my outsides match my insides.
My cleats clack along the concrete tunnel ground when the voice of Vaughn Harris calls out to me. “Give me one good reason not to suspend you right now, Zander Williams,” he shouts, his voice uncharacteristically venomous.
I turn on my heel, my eyes slits as I stare at his silhouette walking toward me in the dark tunnel. “It must be nice,” I growl, my tone lethal.
“What?” he asks, stopping in front of me and standing beneath a dim light that casts ominous shadows over his face. He looks like the villain right now. But the reality is, I’m the villain of this story.
“Oblivion must be nice,” I retort and spit on the ground between us.
Vaughn looks at it as though I spit in his face. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you guys don’t have a fucking clue,” I exclaim, my voice echoing down the long, empty tunnel.
“Who?” Vaughn barks, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Me and Coach Zion?”
“No, not you and Coach Zion,” I snap. “You…the Harrises. All of you. You live in your perfect fucking bubble with no idea whose lives you’ve completely fucked.”
“Zander, you’re not making any sense,” Vaughn says, shaking his head. He pins me with a grave look when he adds, “You’re being completely unprofessional. This isn’t college football. This is Premier League. We took a chance on you. We trusted that you could rise to this challenge, and now you’re blowing it over a girl. What would your father think if he saw you walk off the pitch just now?”
It’s like a cold slap to the face that I didn’t expect and the sting of it takes a few seconds before it explodes over my entire body.
“Why don’t you ask my mom?” I say back, my tone low and deadly. “You two know each other very well, I hear.”
Vaughn’s face falls. “Your mum?”
I nod slowly. “Jane Woods was her name back when you two met.”
Vaughn shakes his head, blinking rapidly as he processes this new bit of information. “Jane Woods was Vilma’s friend.”
“And your fuck buddy for one night about twenty-five years ago,” I add, wincing at that thought. “Must have been some night if it resulted in me.” I hold my hands out wide, like a sacrificial lamb, begging for slaughter.
Vaughn’s face morphs into horror as realization sets in. “Zander, what are you saying?”
I huff out a noise, my body radiating with disgust. “I’m saying that even though my dad never shared my blood, somehow I still know he was twice the father you ever could have been to me.”
