Page 19 of Waiting for Friday Night

He checked in with the kids coming in and out of the locker room to make sure they were good and give suggestions to keep them motivated. He kept an eye out for Shania, but didn’t see her. Maybe she’d taken off early. Hopefully, not because Clyde had given her any problems during practice.

He rounded the hall to his office and stopped short. Shania stood outside his office door, arms crossed and a frown on her face.

He walked toward her. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” She shook her head. “No. Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“Come on inside.” He opened his office door and motioned for Shania to sit in the chair across from his desk. He left the door open and sat in his chair. “Is this about playing? I spoke with Coach Tucker and he says you’re doing a good job learning the plays.”

“I am, but he still only wants to focus on Octavius. He doesn’t think I can keep up.” She stated the words as a fact, not like someone who was jealous of the attention Octavius got, but aware that she wasn’t on the radar.

“Did he say that?” If so, Clyde was going to be off the team sooner rather than later.

She shook her head. “He didn’t have to. He shows it in other ways.”

“Like what?”

“Like telling me to keep up all the time. Saying I’m not running fast enough, even when I beat the other kids getting into position. He even says that I have to be faster to avoid taking a hit. Like I haven’t been hit before,” she mumbled, irritation finally entering her voice at the questioning of her abilities.

“I’ll have a talk with him. I know you playing for the high school is something new for everyone, but I meant it when I said that all kids were going to get the same opportunity. If you prove that you can do what we ask, then you’ll get a chance to play.”

The corners of her mouth lifted a little. “That’s cool.”

Quinton relaxed. He felt good about solving her problem. She could go back and tell Halle that he was really doing what he said about giving all kids a fair shot.

“Good.” He moved to stand. “Now, your mom should be here.”

“Are you my dad?”

Quinton froze; his eyes went from Shania to the door and the empty hall beyond, and back to her. “Excuse me?” He couldn’t have heard her right.

She stared back at him, her gaze steady as she watched his reaction closely. “Are you my dad?”

Quinton shook his head and lowered back into his seat. “I’m not your father. Why would you ask that?”

He’d never met Halle before moving to Peachtree Cove. In that time he’d barely had the chance to speak with her before Shania joined his team, much less date or make a baby with her. He knew rumors in this town grew like weeds, but this was one he couldn’t comprehend ever starting.

Shania reached into her gym bag and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She unfolded the paper and slid it across his desk. “This says you are.”

Quinton scowled at the paper on the table. He looked from it to Shania. Was this a prank? A joke the kids on the team wanted to play. “What’s this?”

She held his gaze. No twitch of the lip. No flash of humor in her eye. Just dogged determination and a stubborn set to her jaw. For a second, she reminded him of himself. A thought he quickly swept from his head.

“It’s something that says there’s a 99.9 percent chance you’re my dad.”

Quinton stared at the paper. At the top was the familiar logo for a popular genealogy website. The same website he’d signed up for and used that one Christmas two years ago when he’d been caught up between sentiment and heartbreak.

Quinton’s heart fell to the bottom of his stomach. If he hadn’t been sitting down, he probably would have sunk to the floor. There was no way this could be happening. No way one of his worst fears, and biggest hopes, would come through in this fashion. His hands shook as he took the paper. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice tight.

“I did one of those online DNA things. Mom didn’t want me to, but I did it anyway. I checked the option to find any relatives. It says you’re a match as my dad.”

Quinton lifted the paper. Confirmed it was the same company he’d used. That night came back clearly. When he’d confessed to his sister about what he’d done in college. About being broke, needing books, their parents almost being kicked out of their apartment and not being enough of a superstar in college to get the big money deals or full ride. How he’d listened to a friend.

“They pay big money for our sperm. Women want babies by strong men. I donate all the time.”

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