Blind Side(58)

Something about his words stung, not because they were an insult, but because there was truth in them — truth I didn’t want to see or admit to.

“At least Maliyah has a father who actively participates in her life,” I spat back. “In my life. You know, he flew across the country to watch me play. He was here for the last home game. And guess who can’t say the same?”

My nose flared, and I ignored the part of my brain that reminded me that he hadn’t technically come for me. He’d come for Maliyah, and I was just there.

But Dad didn’t need to know that.

“I wish you were more like Cory,” I said, voice low.

Dad almost laughed. “I don’t want to be anything like that man.”

“Yeah. I can tell.”

There was a frustrated breath on the other end, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, shaking my head.

“Mom is broke,” I ground through my teeth, getting back to the reason I called. “I have sent all that I can. Dad, please. I’m begging you. Please help her. Just until she can get back on her feet.”

“She never will if she gets a handout from me or you or anyone else, Clay.”

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Unbelievable.”

“Look, you can call me an asshole and think I’m evil if that’s the picture you want to paint. But let me tell you the truth, son — she is an addict. She has been for years. She finds a man who can take care of her and give her all the drugs she wants and she’s happy. The second he’s gone, she’s destructive. She doesn’t have it in her to work for herself.”

“Like hell she doesn’t!” I screamed. “She raised me! She raised me — not you. She was there, every night, cooking dinner for me using whatever we had in the pantry even when it wasn’t much, all after working all day — sometimes double shifts.”

“And how do you think she had the energy to do that, hmm? Why do you think there was barely any food in the house, yet she always had money for what she needed to get by?”

I ignored the insinuation, even though my throat stung with the possibility that he was right. “You’re a monster,” I breathed. “You’re selfish and you can’t think of anyone but yourself. You never have.”

“I used to be just like you,” he shouted over me. “I used to bend over backward for her and everyone else in my life. But one day, it was too much. I didn’t want to be the fucking rug everyone stepped on anymore. And trust me, you’ll get there, too. Or, at least, I hope you do. Because living a life where what you put in isn’t reciprocated is no life at all.”

I shook my head, tuning out most of his lecture. “So, you won’t help.” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact, one I knew before I made the call.

“It wouldn’t be help. It would be enabling. And no, I won’t do that.”

I swallowed the knives in my throat, nose flaring. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“You are supposed to play football,” he said, his voice calmer now. “And get your degree. Date pretty girls and get into trouble with your friends. Be a kid, for Christ’s sake. Your mom is a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”

“Clearly.”

He paused, a long sigh meeting me on the other end. “Life is hard, Clay. I know you already understand that, but you’re only beginning to peel back the layers of just how hard it can be. Your mom will figure it out. She will. And if she doesn’t? She only has herself to blame.”

It baffled me, how he could find relief in that, how he could say those words and believe them wholeheartedly.

“I don’t know how you came to be so self-centered, but I hope I can never stomach turning my back on my family the way you have.”

I hung up as soon as the words were off my lips, fisting my phone so hard the screen cracked in my hands before I shoved it into my pocket.

The rest of my walk across campus was fast-paced, a sheen of sweat on my forehead when I blew through the stadium doors. I was still seeing red, still fuming from the conversation, and I debated ducking into the weight room to hammer out a quick set just to burn off the steam.

But as soon as I rounded the corner and slipped into the hallway, I saw her.

The entryway to what was usually a club for our most influential benefactors had been transformed, lights and music thumping from inside while a giant banner hung over the double glass doors. Giana stood in front of them, a photo booth background with the team’s logo behind her and a dozen cameras in her face as she spoke into the microphone at the podium.

She was a vision, draped in a floor-length dress that glittered like starlight against her pale skin. The dress was sleeveless on one arm but wrapped all the way down to her wrist on the other, the neckline elegant and refined where it slanted her chest. I knew even without her turning around that it was a low back, the slivers of her ribcage visible from my viewpoint giving it away.

Her curls were tamed, brushed back into a high, sleek bun that transformed her from a young woman into a timeless movie star. She smiled with her rose-painted lips, gray-blue eyes sparkling under the lights of the cameras as she spoke with confidence, her chin lifted, shoulders squared.

I was speechless.

I was mesmerized.

And I was rooted to the spot until the moment her eyes flashed behind the cameraman in front of her and landed on me.