Page 104 of Waiting for Friday Night

Quinton sat in his office staring at his cell phone on his desk. He took a long breath and thought about what he was doing. He hadn’t talked any more to his parents about their revelation. They were still at his place; he ate breakfast with them, came home after football practice for dinner, then worked on grading tests and homework before going to bed and starting over. They didn’t push him to talk either. That was how they were in his family. Nosey and intrusive as hell until it was something heavy. Even his sister was giving him space to process, which he appreciated. He needed to process everything they’d said.

That and he needed answers. Answers to something that bothered him almost more than discovering the truth about his dad.

With a sigh, he picked up his cell phone with one hand and the business card with Khris’s number with the other. He dialed the number before he would change his mind again.

He answered on the third ring. “Khris speaking.”

“It’s Quinton.”

There was a moment of silence before Khris spoke. “You got the entire story?”

“My mom told me that you’re my half brother.” He didn’t bother beating around the bush. He wanted to get to the point of this discussion as soon as possible.

“I am.”

“And you knew that when we were in school?”

“I found out in middle school.”

“How? Did your dad tell you?”

“Our dad—”

“Your dad,” Quinton cut in. He didn’t care what DNA said; that man was not his father.

Khris hesitated a second before continuing. “My dad got drunk one night. I was telling him that you were trying out for the middle school team. That you were good. He got mad. Told me I was better. Then told me that I had to always be better than my bastard of a brother. I didn’t really believe you were my brother. But the more he pushed me to be better than you, and he said it a few more times, the more I realized you really were his kid.”

“He made you hate me?” Quinton asked. Confused and frustrated to know that a grown man was ultimately responsible for Quinton’s teenage trauma.

“He made me resent everything about you. You didn’t have what I had. Your family struggled. But you thrived. People liked me because my dad paid for their respect. People liked you because they respected you. The resentment he put in me turned into something else. It turned into my own hate.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Quinton asked.

“Because, when the Best Small Town application came by, and I saw that you were the football coach, I finally asked my dad if it was true. He said it was. Then he laughed about you falling from glory to become a coach of some rural football program. I wanted to see you. You’re nothing like what he said. You’re still getting respect. You’ve turned that damn team around. Hell, you even have a daughter who’s kicking ass on the football field. I remembered how much I hated you just for existing. How he wanted me to hate you.”

“Hate me enough to break my leg.”

“Yeah...that was really fucked up on my part.” Regret filled Khris’s voice.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because he beat up on me the night before,” Khris answered bluntly. “You were going to get recruited, I wasn’t. I took it out on you. I was wrong for that.”

“Yes, you were.”

A pause before Khris answered. “I know we won’t ever be brothers. Not for real, but I also didn’t want to continue pretending like I didn’t know. I wanted you to know.”

“Why? So I’ll second-guess my upbringing and my dad?”

“Nah, your dad loves you.” Khris answered as if that thought never crossed his mind. “You don’t know it, but he came to my dad after I broke your leg. I don’t know what happened in that room, but I’ve never seen my dad that shaken before. He didn’t say a word about you for the rest of the year or through college.”

“My dad came to your dad?”

“He did. You got the better dad, Quinton. Never forget that.”

When Quinton got home that night, he was surprised to find Willie sitting in the kitchen eating a piece of cake. He’d deliberately stayed out later than normal, hoping to avoid his parents and any awkward conversation.

“What are you doing up?” Quinton asked.

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