Page 19 of Laugh

He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me and shuts off the game, tossing the remote on his chair. “What were you two talking about in there?”

I know that if I act like I’m concerned about the trouble with their grades, my father will go off the deep end. Inevitably, it’ll be my fault. My fuck up. I don’t have the energy or patience to deal with his endless disappointment tonight. So, instead, I wave him off.

“Nothing crazy. A few of my guys didn’t do so well in their classes over the spring semester. Just getting them back up to par so we don’t have any issues this fall. How you been this week?”

My attempt to redirect falls flat. I hold back a groan when he pulls his spine straight, standing at full height, and narrows his eyes at me. “How bad is it? How many are a ‘few of my guys’, Beau?”

“Dad,” I groan, rubbing my hand across my face. “It’s four of them. Three of them aren’t too bad. Just need to do some extra credit work. One of them is in deeper shit and close to losing his scholarship. But I don’t need you worrying about this. I’ve got it handled.”

“What?How the hell do you have it handled iffourof your defensive line are about to be benched? What kind of lazy habits are you teaching them that they think this is acceptable?”

I’m instantly defensive. My job as the head defensive line coach is fucking tough, and I work my ass off. “Knock it off. I don’t know why you’re so worked up about it. It’s notyourteam.”

He opens his mouth to argue because hedidplay for the school a few decades ago, so his loyalty runs deep. I stop him before he blows a gasket.

“I’m not saying you don’t or shouldn’t care. I’m saying that I’ve got it handled. This happens to all of them at some point or another. They get comfortable and forget what they’re working for. We came out of an incredible season, and they went into the spring semester on a high, wanting to relax. Now they’re dealing with the consequences.”

“When I played, our coaches would never have allowed us to fall so far behind that we needed to retake classes. Although,mycoaches were able to work with the school to allow a bit of leeway, especially for the boys they knew were going to go pro. Not like they need the degree.”

And here we go… always going with the ‘back in my day’ shit.

“It’s not just this school that has these regulations. Every college has the same requirements for scholarship students to maintain a certain GPA. There’s no way around it. I’ve got it handled.”

“How?” he snaps out.

This fucking man is impossible to please. For as long as I can remember, he’s always been tough on me. Never believing that I can succeed in what I do. If I accomplish something, instead of a ‘good job’ or an ‘I’m proud of you’, I get ‘you could have done this better’. It’s fucking draining and I don’t know why I even bother defending myself.

“I’ve set them up with one of the staff members in the library. Happy has them all on a lecture schedule and is working with them when they’re stuck or have questions about what’s next.”

He pauses and curls his lip at me. “You have them being tutored by someone named Happy? What kind of new generational shit is that? Who names their kid Happy?”

Christ. I’ve gotten used to calling her that atherinsistence. Wincing slightly, I correct myself. “Sorry, not Happy. I meant Haddie. Her name is Haddie Byer.”

With one eyebrow lifted, he practically sneers at me. “So, you’ve got your guys walking the fine line of either being benched or kicked off the team, paired up with some woman you’ve nicknamed? You’ve got to take this shit serious and not throw your current flavor of the month in the mix, doingyourjob.”

“George!” Mom cuts in, scolding him for his attitude. Normally, she’ll let us run our course, but when he gets really heated, that’s when she steps in. “That’s not fair, and you know it. He just said that she works at the library.”

Shoving a finger at me, he defends himself while shouting at her. “He’s fucking calling her Happy. Relying on someoneelseto take care ofhisteam!”

I’ve had enough of this. Stepping in front of my mom, I square my shoulders and stare my father down, who’s a few inches shorter than me. “Watch your fucking tone, old man.”

George has never raised his hand to either me or my mom, but he’s also never tempered his words. When he gets angry, he easily escalates into a rage and says things he can’t take back. Less with my mother than with me, but I refuse to be the reason he directs his ire at her.

“Don’t you talk to me like that in my house,boy.” He’s fuming, spittle flying out over something as ridiculous as a few players needing some tutoring.

Mom moves around me and steps between us. She’s taller than average for a woman, so it doesn’t take much for her to tilt her head back and glare up at my father. “George Hudson! You need to go take a walk until you calm down. This is nothing for either of you two to be arguing about. Let Beau do his job as he sees fit. I won’t have it tonight. I want a nice dinner withnofootball talk for the rest of the evening.”

“But Rosie, he’s gotta–”

“Now, George.” For being a quiet woman, she has never been afraid to stand up to him when he’s throwing a tantrum.

Shooting me a glare, he sniffs in irritation, then turns his back to me to walk outside.

I don’t take my eyes off him until he disappears, then I stay frozen in my spot as I battle with myself to calm down. Mom’s gentle pat to my shoulder pulls me out of my darker thoughts. Thoughts of never being good enough. Never making him proud. Never being the man he obviously expected me to become.

“Beau, honey. Ignore him. I’d say his blood sugar is probably low, but he’s just an ass. Come, tell me about this woman you’ve got working with you.”

My shoulders are tight as hell, and I just want to leave. I don’t have the energy to deal with him tonight. “Can I just head out? Maybe we can have dinner another night.”

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