He made it sound so easy, but I knew his words for the tempting lie they were. He wouldn’t feel any differently in February than he did now.
He continued pounding more nails into the coffin. “His contract isn’t worth shit right now as long as he’s carrying that injury, and you know it. If I cut him loose now or trade him, he won’t be in a position to get nearly as much money as before. We’re talking millions of dollars, Mike. Is that what you want?”
He obviously didn’t know Tiller very well if he thought Tiller cared about the money. Hell, the man already had more money than he could ever spend in a lifetime.
But Tiller cared about football. He cared about his stats and his reputation. The man beat himself up to be the best, and being traded away while down with an injury would gut him. He’d feel like he let the team down.
He’d feel like he let his family down.
I steeled myself and met my father’s eyes, mentally begging Tiller’s forgiveness for not protecting his career over my own heart. “I can’t let you manipulate me like this, and I’m disgusted that you’re even trying. It’s clear where your priorities lie. Do what you have to do.”
“Don’t be rash. Take a day to think it through.”
I’d done all the thinking I needed to do, and maybe it was overly sentimental and idealistic of me to think my feelings for Tiller were worth fighting for, but I at least knew I wanted to tackle this problem together. As a team.
I strode out of my father’s office without looking back, and when I found Tiller pacing restlessly in the outer office, I walked right into his arms.
Everything would be okay. It had to be.
21
Tiller
When I was fourteen, I’d snowboarded right into a tree, breaking my leg so badly the bone had pierced through my skin.
Seeing Mikey Vining crying hurt ten times worse.
When the door to Coach’s office opened and a bedraggled Mikey came out sniffing, I thought my heart would fly right out of my chest and land at his feet.
“Are you okay?” Before I could get the words out, he smacked into me, tightening his arms around me and holding on for dear life. “Baby? Is it bad? Is it Mr. Nibert?”
He shook his head against my chest, and I heart a soft sigh from Noreen’s desk. When I glanced at her, she looked away quickly but not before I saw the affectionate look in her eyes. She’d always had a soft spot for Mikey.
I ran a hand through Mikey’s hair before leaning down to press a kiss on his head. The familiar smell of his shampoo reminded me of home and sleeping in his bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He pulled back and wiped at his cheeks. The poor guy looked miserable. “No. Not really. Not right now. But will you be home for dinner?”
“Of course. I saw the ingredients for apricot chicken in the fridge. I’m not missing that for love or money,” I said with a grin, trying to cheer him up.
It didn’t work. He looked even more miserable.
“What did the doctor say?” he asked.
My stomach dropped. I’d forgotten why I’d come to Coach’s office in the first place. To plead my case.
“The specialist says I absolutely should not be playing yet. A dislocated shoulder should result in six weeks of rest regardless, but the bigger concern is this: if I get hit again before it’s completely healed, the nerve damage could be permanent. That means permanent numbness and tingling in addition to loss of grip strength. The problem is, the team doctors are of the opinion none of this matters since it’s my nondominant hand. Which makes no sense to me since I catch with both arms and hands. They’re clearly more concerned about my ability to do my job than the risk of permanent injury. Not gonna lie. I’m scared of getting hit again, and I’m worried it’s going to make me play too conservatively. If that’s the case, they might as well have Brent out there anyway.”
As I spoke, Mikey’s face dropped in disappointment and worry. “Oh. Shit.”
I ran a thumb at the dampness remaining under one of his eyes. “It’s fine. I’m going to talk to Coach, try to plead my case. Are you really okay? Do you need me to bail on practice and come home with you?”
The question made his chin wobble a bit, but he gave me a smile. “No. I’ll be fine. But… can you…” He swallowed and firmed his jaw. “Can you wait here for a minute? There’s something I forgot to tell my dad.”
I nodded and waited while he went back into the office for a minute. When he came out, he wouldn’t meet my eye.
“Mikey,” I said, lunging out to grab his arm before he raced past me. He winced and stopped in his tracks. Whatever it was going on with his family friend must have been bad. I hadn’t seen him this upset in a while. “You sure there’s nothing I can do?”
He shook his head and kept his eyes on the floor. “I’m sure,” he whispered. “Go easy on your arm, okay?”
I nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. He melted against me a little bit and kissed me longer than I expected. When he finally pulled back, he looked dazed.
“I… I’ll see you later,” he said.
I grinned at him. “If Sam gets there before I do, tell him to keep his hands off my apricot chicken.”
This time his smile was genuine and unforced. It made it easier to say goodbye to him and watch him walk away. My relief only lasted thirty seconds until I got into Coach’s office and prepared to be disappointed.
But Coach surprised me. Before I even had a chance to tell him what the specialist said, he told me, “I’m going to play Brent, after all,” he said with a big smile. “Give you another little while to get that arm back to full speed. No need risking permanent nerve damage. I still want you on the bench and focused, but I expect you to keep your flailing hands and strong opinions to yourself. Got me?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
I wanted desperately to ask him what had changed his mind, but I wasn’t inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Was there anything else?” he asked, reaching for the tablet he usually brought to meetings.
Only the teeny tiny issue of my sleeping with his son. But I wasn’t stupid enough to upset the apple cart right now, especially if they were dealing with a family issue.
“No, sir.”
“Then get out of here. I need to meet with the college scouting team, and I’m late.”
I hustled out of there and down to the locker room where I got an odd smile from Colin Saris.
“That Mikey I saw in the parking lot?” he asked. My stomach curdled. I didn’t like the look on his face, especially if the topic at hand was my… Mikey.
I nodded and reached into my locker for my turf cleats. “He was here to see Coach.”
“Yo, listen… can I get his number from you? It’s just that my, ah, ma wants to order some of his casserole shit for Christmas.”
The man was lying through his teeth. “I thought you already had his number,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. These cleat laces were a bitch, so I yanked on them. Hard.
When he didn’t respond, I glanced up and noticed him studying me. “Why you ask me that like that?”