Page 80 of The Frathole
“Yeah, and I’ve been thinking maybe a ten-year-old shouldn’t be the one determining how I spend my life.”
His lips twist into a frown. He’s dedicated so much time to helping me get to practice and games, helping me train to make it through high school, then kept dogging me to be sure I’d make it onto a college team. Always with pride in his voice when telling hisfriends about his linebacker son.
“Do you need to talk to someone?” he asks. “Sometimes guys get burned out. It’s a lot of stress, and I know I’ve put a lot on you, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Ry. You walk away now, there’s no redo.”
I can see why this is confusing for him. In all the time I’ve been working toward this goal, I’ve never expressed discontent. Never questioned whether I should be doing it.
Not to him, at least.
“I didn’t wake up this morning and start thinking about this,” I confess. “Truth is, it’s been about a year, especially after draft eligibility and signing with Rachel. I knew after the Combine, and I was gonna tell you sooner—the day you and Mom talked to me about…” I trail off. I don’t want to say the word. “As much as I love playing, I don’t want that to be my life for the next ten years, if I’m lucky.”
“What would you do instead?”
“I enjoy working at the shop. I wouldn’t mind being a mechanic. I like the way I can focus. The guys are cool. Money can be good enough to have a decent life, and if I need a backup, then I have my degree.”
He sighs. “I just think you were born for something bigger.”
There’s a bite to it. I doubt he meant it that way, but I have to state the obvious. “Do you really think my not playing would make me smaller?”
His brow creases, and he immediately shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I know he didn’t, and I can understand why it isn’t easy for him, so I assure him, “This wasn’t an easy decision, but I know it’s the right one. You have to trust that I know what’s best for me.”
He wears a solemn expression, tucking his head close to his chest. I viscerally feel his disappointment in my chest—a sinkingfeeling, as though my soul’s about to slip under the table.
Again, he’s quiet for a few moments. “Here I was hoping this would keep my mind off everything else that’s going on.” He runs his fingers through his bangs. “That’s not putting that on you, but it’s just been a rough year. And I can accept that—if this isn’t something you want anymore, I’ll understand, though it might damn near kill me.” He chuckles, though I hear the pain in it too, reminding me why I’ve had to wait this long before telling him. “It’s gonna take me some time to wrap my head around it all, but like you said, you wouldn’t have done this if you hadn’t thought about it already.” He sighs. “Okay. Come on. Give your old man a hug.”
We scoot out of the booth to hug it out, and it’s a firm, full-on hug, the sort I can tell he needs more than I do. I feel for him, but I know I did the right thing. That isn’t the life I want for myself, and as much as it might have helped him to go along on this journey with me, I know he would prefer for me to be happy.
We work out the details. I tell him I’ll call Rachel and sort all that out, and then we get on to more mundane topics, fortunately avoiding the big D-word I don’t want to discuss today.
After we finish up, I head back to Alpha Theta Mu, where I find Lance, Ty, Ash, Dax, Angie, and Marty hanging out in the living area. I notice right away that Marty’s standing beside the sofa, where Angie is twisted toward him, laughing at something he said.
I didn’t realize how relieved I was after talking to Dad until seeing her with Mart makes my shoulders tense up.
Why’s she looking at him like that?
What am I talking about? It’s Angie. They’re friends. And even if they weren’t, that’s totally fine. More than fine. None of my goddamn business. It’s what hereallywants.
Although, that doesn’t magically take away the sting in mychest as I approach.
“Hey, guys,” I say, frustrated that I can’t go right to Mart and tell him about my conversation with Dad.
He turns to me, curiosity in his expression since he knew where I was off to and what I was hoping to get off my chest. I get a faint hint of that citrus-cedar scent, unbinding some of the tension that still lingers in me.
“How was lunch?” he asks.
“It went really well.” I grin, and I can tell by the way he smiles he knows what I mean.
“That’s great. I’m glad.”
“You heading somewhere?” I ask Marty. “Why aren’t you sitting down?”
“Oh,” Angie says. “Apparently, he pulled a muscle.”
Now I’m really smiling, since last night was pretty intense, and I love knowing I put that ass through it.
“Did you take up squats all of a sudden?” I tease, since I can’t say what I really want about working out those glutes.
