My father was a professional. Wasn’t he? Maybe not. I remembered every clip from a game where my dad had lost his cool and gone apeshit on the sidelines. Hell, there was probably a video montage on YouTube of all those stellar moments spliced together.
My father was not a professional. He was an emotional child fairly often, especially if the stakes were high. And right now, the stakes were high. The Riggers were on the cusp of losing their playoff spot and not even getting the chance to defend their Super Bowl title. I knew the pressure was intense on the team and its coaches.
But I was his son. That had to count for something, right?
In the end, it didn’t even matter. Because he found out in the stupidest, most unexpected way.
19
Tiller
I wore the wrong damned shirt. The stupidest thing I could have done and I didn’t even know it was a thing.
“What the fuck do you have on?” Coach V. barked at me when I walked into the locker room on Thursday. I looked down at the old Rigger shirt I wore.
“A T-shirt?”
He walked up and got in my face. The scary vein popped in his neck, reminding me of the game against Arizona last year when I’d truly thought he was going to have to be taken out on a stretcher. “And do you know whose T-shirt that is?”
I thought back to this morning when I’d tried swallowing his son’s load while doing sixty-nine on the kitchen floor. Some had dribbled onto my shirt. I was already late because of the sixty-nine, so I’d grabbed a clean tee from Mikey’s room instead of heading back to mine.
“Is it Mikey’s?” I asked carefully. “Maybe he got his mixed up with mine in the laundry.”
“It’s mine, actually.” His voice was scary low. “We will continue this conversation in my office.”
I followed him dutifully, wishing I could quickly text Mikey to ask him what was up with the shirt. He and I both had a million Rigger T-shirts. How could Coach possibly know this one wasn’t mine?
When he closed the door behind me and grunted at me to take a seat, I started to sweat. His eyes were like lasers of death, looking deep into my soul and finding a wasteland of immorality.
“Before you ask, that shirt is from Coach Warren’s retirement party. That’s how I know it’s not yours. It was before your time. Explain to me why my son is doing your laundry.”
Was that all? I could handle that. “Because he likes to. Because he fired my housekeeper and the three other people I tried hiring to replace her.”
I wanted to ask him how it was any of his damned business, but I wasn’t that stupid. Until he asked the next question.
“Are you sleeping with my son?”
I almost swallowed my tongue. “Wh-what?” I spluttered. I tried letting my shock that he had the balls to ask that question masquerade as surprise at the very suggestion I would do something so inappropriate and unprofessional as to sleep with Michael Vining.
“Answer the question,” he growled.
I wanted to ask for a time-out, a recess, a stay of execution, anything that might buy me a little time to contact Mikey in a complete panic. Regardless of how inappropriate the question was, I could not lie to my coach’s face.
The laser eyes started cutting into my soul. “If you lie to me, Raine, I will know it and we will be done here. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I managed. “But I also feel like you’re crossing a line.”
I didn’t die. Instead, I simply sat there while the eyes carved more of my soul away. “And do you not feel that sleeping with your coach’s son is crossing a line? Do you not feel that sleeping with an employee is crossing a line? In fact, some consider that crossing a legal line.”
“I care about your son,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster. It was the truth. I cared about Mikey way more than I ever expected to when I first saw his little supposedly quiet self in Bruce’s office five years ago. “Very much,” I added softly.
His nostrils flared as he finally moved his laser stare onto something else across the room. It could have been the family photo from Eddie’s wedding, but I wasn’t sure.
“You’re dismissed.”
I opened my mouth to ask if he meant I was dismissed from the team or simply his office, but he beat me to it.
“Get your gear on and give me a reason not to send your ass to Buffalo right this fucking minute.”
I lit out of there like my feet were on fire. After changing out and meeting with the PTs for a special warm-up and stretching, I met up with Mopellei and Brent out on the practice turf. Of course, it was the worst practice day yet. I felt like I dropped damned near every pass and even tripped over my own feet at least twice.
I wasn’t sure how much it mattered, though, since Coach never showed up to watch.
When I got home, I was tired, sore, and grumpy, not to mention scared as hell of admitting my mistake to Mikey. But he wasn’t home. I knew he was probably out delivering the meal he’d agreed to make for his parents’ next-door neighbor, but I’d hoped he’d be home by now.
I wanted to hold him and ask his advice about his dad. Maybe try to find out if he was ready to put a label on our new relationship and approach his family as… family instead of their son and his boss.
I’d never felt like Mikey’s boss. To be honest, if anything, I’d felt like his employee. Mikey had always been the boss in our house. I did what he said because I knew he always had my best interest at heart. He always had, even when it was simply a working relationship.
After pulling out some leftover salad and spying a dinner plate he’d left for me in the fridge, I shoveled food down until I’d cleaned the bowl and plate of every morsel. The house was too quiet without Mikey there. I changed into pajama pants and wandered into the movie room to watch SportsCenter. When I’d caught up on all the news and was in the process of trying to decide whether I wanted to watch an action movie or put on one of Mikey’s cooking shows, the man himself appeared and walked right over to climb on top of me.
“Hey,” he mumbled into my chest.
He smelled faintly of the garlic bread he always made to go along with chicken parm. He’d most likely cleaned the kitchen after stashing the meals in his car so I wouldn’t smell the delicious food he’d made and get envious. I’d enjoyed the salmon, sweet potato, and asparagus he’d left me, but I would have much rather dug into the hearty Italian food. One day I’d get to enjoy his food without having to worry so much about my performance, but that day was not today, especially in the run-up to the playoffs.
I wrapped my arms around him and held on tightly. “Hey. Thanks for leaving me dinner. I was starved when I came in.”
He lifted his head up and frowned at me. “Of course I left dinner for you. It’s my job.”
My stomach dropped like a rock at the reminder of our tenuous working relationship. I didn’t want him to cook for me because he was getting paid, and I often forgot he was getting paid since he was the one who did the paying. Mikey handled all of my bills, including his own payroll. It meant it had been easy for me to stop thinking of him as my employee. The reminder didn’t sit easy on my gut.