Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(79)
“Okay…” I couldn’t figure out why the hell it would matter to me.
“Rome, your momma and daddy are hosting it. Prince Oil is funding the whole party and the dinner is at your folks’ place… the Prince Plantation.”
I just stared. I have no idea for how long, but it was long enough to encourage Coach to ask, “Son, you okay?”
“She’s pregnant,” I whispered.
Coach leaned forward, asking, “What?”
“Mol, my girl… she’s pregnant.”
My eyes fixed on Coach as he sat back and blew out a long breath. “Hell, son! You sure know how to do things the hard way. Ain’t you a bit young to be a daddy?”
“It wasn’t planned.” I ran my hands through my hair. “But we’re keeping it. It’s our child. We’re going to make it work.”
Coach seemed to accept that. “I take it your folks don’t know?”
“I haven’t spoken to them in months. The last time I saw them, they attacked me and Mol. It was a f*ckin’ nightmare.” Panic swelled in my stomach, that sinking, empty feeling that almost makes you puke. My hands began to shake and I blurted, “We need to change it, Coach, the venue. We need to have it somewhere else where they can’t run the show.”
“I tried, Rome, I really did, but the director of sport already approved it. The damn governor’s going to be there for goodness sake. Apparently your momma and daddy were real insistent, and hell, but folks don’t argue with them ’round here. You know this.”
Unable to sit still any longer, I jumped to my feet and began to pace. “It’s a setup! You and I both know they’ve never given a shit about football. They’ve never even seen me play for the Tide once. Hell, they even tried to bribe you into revoking my scholarship four years ago!”
“I know, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Fine.” I met Coach’s worried face and announced, “I just won’t go.”
“Rome!” Coach said tiredly and moved to stand before me. “You have to be there. We have the sponsors coming, the TV stations, journalists—they expect you to be there. I expect you to be there! You’re the QB for the Tide. You are football in Bama!”
“I won’t go and risk my girl getting hurt!”
“Then maybe leave her at home, son. Think of a plan B. Turn up, wear a smile, do your duty, and leave.”
Do your duty. Where had I heard that before?
“Change it,” I said through clenched teeth. “Change it… I’m begging you.”
Coach reached out to lay a hand on my shoulder, but I jumped at the action and his face fell as he held up his palms. “Rome, I’m so sorry. I don’t know the history with you and your parents, but I know it’s bad. I hate to ask this of you, but you need to be there, and the venue choice is way out of my hands.”
Coach checked his watch and cussed. “The coaching staff have a meeting now with the director about the travel plans to Georgia, and I can’t get out of it. I’ve got to go.” Stepping forward, he said, “Finish up your weights. Hell, go pass some balls, get out your anger, then go home and try to relax. Speak to Miss Shakespeare. And if needs be, we’ll work out a way to protect you both.” Laying a hand on my shoulder, he assured, “You’re our priority, son. We’re a team. We look out for each other.”
I couldn’t speak so I stood there silently as he left the room without another word.
I tried to keep calm, but I was too far gone, too enraged.
When I reentered the gym, Austin and Jimmy-Don signaled for me to go over to them, but I was rooted to the spot, lost, not knowing what to do. I couldn’t let my folks get to me this way, but I needed football to leave their clutches once and for all. I was in total catch twenty-two. I needed a plan, but Christ, I couldn’t think straight.
“Rome!” Austin shouted and, frowning at my weird mood, waved me over.
Breathing deep, I headed in his direction, when I heard Porter say, “Yeah, apparently she’s a real slut. Shelly said she lets him do anything to her, and I mean anything. I see the attraction now. I could get past all that ugly if she’d let me f*ck her up the ass too.”
I could feel the wave of the blood rushing to my face and my teeth were clenched together so hard I was sure I felt them crack. I saw Austin glaring at Porter in disgust and tried my damnedest to gain my composure, but when the f*cker added, “I mean, just hearing that English accent scream my name would almost have me shooting my load… and from what I hear, she swallows that down like a good little whore!”
I completely lost it.
Using the years and years of sprint training to my advantage, I flew at Porter, tackled his ass to the floor, and instantly began to wale on him. He didn’t even get a chance to react properly, only getting in a few shit jabs before a right hook to his jaw knocked him the f*ck out. His body went limp below me, but I couldn’t stop. I needed to get out all the anger. It was tearing me the hell up—and the f*cker deserved to pay for the shit he was spitting about Mol.
Two arms grabbed me from behind, yanking me off Porter, and scrambling to my feet, I saw Austin and Jimmy-Don were before me. On instinct, I swung out my fist, Austin ducking, showing he too wasn’t unused to violence.