Page 106 of The Hearts We Fumble
Pushing to my feet, I shake his hand, then do the same with Coach Ferentz before heading for the door. I barely make it two steps before my father’s voice cuts through the air.
“Zane.” It’s an order, not a request. “Wait for me.”
Every instinct tells me to keep walking, to get in my car and drive straight home. But I know him. If I leave now, he’ll follow. The last thing I want is for this conversation to bleed into my home—into Wyatt, into my already wrecked night.
So I stop. I take a slow breath, and I brace myself for whatever bullshit he’s about to feed me next.
With the last game of the season being the conference championship in less than two weeks, fall break and Thanksgiving are right around the corner. The game is scheduled for the first weekend of December.
Even if we lose, there’s still a chance we’ll make it to the playoffs, which works in my favor when it comes to rest and recovery. While there’s no doubt the media will run with the news of my suspension, at least I’ll still be on the road with the guys, keeping them focused and in the game.
They have a tough road ahead if we want any shot at making it to the playoffs come January.
I stand in the hallway, leaning against the wall across from Coach’s office, waiting for my father. Through the door, I hear bits and pieces of his conversation before he thanks them and steps into the hallway. His eyes cut to mine.
“Let’s go.” His voice is tight, laced with barely restrained anger.
To anyone else, he might just seem pissed off or impatient, but I know James Kinnick. This is what he sounds like right before he explodes.
His hand claps against my back—hard, more of a warning than anything—as he grips my shoulder and leads me down the hall and out into the parking lot. The moment we’re outside and away from any prying eyes, he shoves me against the side of my car.
“What the hell do you want?” I snap, shoving him off. “Go ahead, say whatever you came here to say so you can get back to Charlotte and as far away from us as possible.”
He steps forward, crowding me, jaw tight with barely concealed rage.
“You watch your fucking mouth,” he growls. “Do you have any idea the shitstorm I’ve been dealing with, trying to clean up your mess? Are you intentionally trying to throw your future away?”
I shake my head, scoffing. “Wouldn’t know. You haven’t been home in weeks. But I’m not surprised. Wouldn’t want to do anything that might taint the great James Kinnick’s reputation, right?”
His nostrils flare. “You keep running your mouth, and I’ll give you a real reason to.”
I clench my jaw, already over this conversation before it’s even really begun.
“What do you want?”
“Have you spoken to that boy since the fight?”
I narrow my eyes. So that’s what this is about. He wants to know what I know.
Not giving him the satisfaction, I shake my head. “Why would I?”
His shoulders drop ever so slightly like my answer relieved him.
“Keep your head on straight,” he says, “and I’ll do what I can to make sure this all blows over before the draft.”
As much as I want to tell him to go to hell, I know if he can pull some strings to lessen the fallout, I need to let him. When I threw that punch, I wasn’t thinking about the consequences. I wasn’t thinking about the scouts or my future in the NFL.
But I am now.
Turning, I reach for my car door handle, but his voice stops me again.
“I’m flying back to Charlotte in an hour. I’ll be home for Thanksgiving, but until then, I better not hear about you at any more parties or getting into any more trouble. And I mean it.”
I exhale sharply and turn to face him, my lips pulling into a smirk. “Or what?” I challenge. “What exactly are you gonna do about it? We both know you’ll do anything to keep your name clean, so tell me—what’s your move here?”
His expression darkens. “Don’t fucking taunt me, Zane. Not unless you’re ready for the consequences.”
I let out a humorless laugh before stepping closer, meeting him head-on. We’re nearly nose to nose. “Consequences?” I repeat. “What consequences? It’s not like you’re gonna disown me. I mean… I am your son. Right?”
