The Friend Zone (Game On, #2)(95)

Drew gives a tight shake of his head. “Ivy.”

That’s all he says, but it’s enough. Fear surges once more. I sway, dizzy and sick to my stomach. We’re surrounded now, reporters moving in. Maybe they smell blood in the water, or maybe they just want a sound bite.

Rolondo puts his hand on my shoulder. “Go to your girl. We got this.” He turns, cutting the crowd off from me. “Who’s got a question?”

I take off running, cutting through the crowd like a hot blade. My head is pounding by the time I reach the locker room. My gear falls where I toss it. I’m hauling up my jeans when my dad walks in. I’ve managed to avoid him all day, and now he shows.

Time and hard living have left my dad wrinkled and paunchy. I don’t really look anything like him. He’s wiry and dark-haired, his frame a good four inches shorter than mine. I look a lot like my mom—something I know pisses him off. The only feature we share is the color of our eyes. Doesn’t matter that he’s responsible for giving me life; every time we’re in the same room, I instantly want out.

“Gray—”

“I don’t have time for this,” I grind out, jamming on my sneakers. My fingers shake as I try to tie them.

Dad takes a hard step forward, his face red. “You’re going to talk to me, goddammit.”

“No,” I snap. “I’m really not.”

“Listen up, young man—”

“My girl needs me.” I head past him.

He grabs my arm. “You’re walking out to see a piece of—”

I wrench free. “She is the woman I love. So show her some respect. She’s pregnant.” An ugly, raw sound breaks free. “Or was. She lost it. While I was on that field—”

Cursing, I turn away, head for the door. It takes me a second to see that my dad is following me. “I’ll drive you,” he says grimly.

“I don’t need you to drive.” But it hits me that I don’t have a ride.

Something my dad knows, as well. Even so, he can’t help but get a dig in. “Don’t give a shit what you think you need, son. I’m doing it.” He sighs, as he holds the exit door open. “I’m going to see that you get to your girl safely. Now let’s go.”





Thirty-Four





Gray


Stuck in the passenger seat of Dad’s cushy rental sedan, I can barely sit still. My knee bounces, and I’m rocking back and forth as if the motion can somehow make the damn car go faster. I should stop, but I can’t. This traffic to get clear of the Super Dome is killing me. Not being with Ivy is killing me. Is she okay?

In my haste, I’d left my phone behind. I’m cursing myself now.

Pressing my fingers against my aching eyes, I try to focus on breathing. I need to calm before I totally lose it and end up kicking a hole through the floorboards.

“So it’s true?” My father’s gravelly voice cuts through the silence. “You’re with Sean Mackenzie’s oldest?”

“Ivy,” I croak out. “Yeah.” I don’t ask how he knows. Gossip is a disease in football.

“Nice kid.”

I glance at him, incredulous. But then shake my head. Of course Dad has met Ivy. She seems to know everyone in professional sports. He catches my look and shrugs. “Haven’t seen her since she was a teenager. But she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Pretty too, in a subtle way.”

I snort and grind my clenched fist against my mouth.

“And you love her?”

“I want to marry her.” Not that he needs to know. But it feels good to say. Because nothing will change that truth.

Finally, traffic breaks, and he turns the car onto the main road. For some reason, I find myself looking at his hands. Those big hands that always felt like a hammer crashing into my skull when he’d cuff my head for some minor infraction. They look old now, the knuckles swollen, the skin spotted with age. A sick lurch goes through me.

I lean back, stare out the windows.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been home,” Dad says in a low voice.

“I am home,” I say. When he doesn’t answer me, I glare at him. “Did you really think I’d ever come back?”

His profile is like granite. “Why wouldn’t you?”

My laugh is bitter and short. “Here’s a tip. You want your child to visit? You don’t f*cking beat his ass when he’s a defenseless kid. You don’t let his older f*ckhead brothers beat his ass.” I’m yelling now, my voice ringing in the space between us. “And you don’t f*cking leave him alone to take care of his dying mother.”

Dad had been stoic until the mention of my mom. But his gaze slices to mine. Red flushes over his weathered cheeks. “First off, I never beat you. I pushed you to excel.” At my ripe curse, he glares. “And look at you now. The best in your position. Hell if you won’t be the number-one pick. That discipline helped forge you into a champion.”

“I excelled due to innate talent and hard work. Not because you and Jonas and Leif whaled on me when I did something wrong.”

His lips press together. For a long moment, he doesn’t say a word. Which is fine by me.

“I didn’t know how bad they’d gotten,” he says finally, quietly. “I was just trying to do right by you. Make you tough.”