Page 21 of Who's Saving You
Nik
It’s cold, and I don’t have a jacket—just my Zeiders University hoodie and a bad feeling that’s creeping up my spine.
The stadium looms behind me, empty and silent, with only a few floodlights still burning like spotlights on me. I check the time. Rhett’s late. I thought this guy was decent. He’s just the statistician of our team, but when I was told he’s the one to contact, it all made sense. He knows the stats, plays, and percentages of everyone on the team; of course, he’d use it for his benefit. All I thought I knew about this guy is thrown out the window, and for all I know, he’ll sneak up behind me and take me out. For what we’re doing tonight, I already know his character. And I can’t believe I’m sitting here taking part in it.
My stomach turns. I haven’t eaten since lunch. Can’t afford to, really. I’ve been rationing my meal plan so I don’t have to ask my parents for money.
Not that a few bucks would make a difference anyway.
$250k is a shit ton of money.
That number’s carved into my brain. On top of gambling away my tuition to Dante, my father didn’t learn from his mistakes. He got in deep with another crew after Dante cut him off.
“Come up with the money or your mother will pay it back herself.”
Those words are my nightmares, and with nowhere to turn, I went to Dante. Despite never meeting the guy, Dante was able to work out a deal with this second crew, but I became the bait. I kept it from my sister. I didn’t want her to suffer, losing everything she's worked so hard for. As a woman in her field, it’s hard to be seen. Tonight made up my mind that I won’t ever sign with her and jeopardize her career. I also know if I don’t handle it, no one else will.
So here I am.
Waiting.
Rhett finally shows up. He’s in a leather jacket, and the smug grin he wears makes him way too casual for what we're about to do. He’s too casual for being a no-name I’m about to trust with my life… and my family's life. He’s holding a manila folder like we’re about to swap term papers.
“You look like hell,” he says.
I don’t answer.
He tosses the folder onto the bench beside me. “Inside’s a name and a burner phone. Keep it close, answer the call and the money gets wired after Saturday's game, pending the right outcome.”
I swallow. “And after that?”
“Dad walks, and so do you,” Rhett says, lighting a cigarette. “No one asks questions. You finish your college career squeaky clean. The NFL eats that shit up.”
I don’t move. My legs feel like they’re cemented to the concrete. “How’d you end up here?”
“Everyone's gotta eat, Saint.” He winks. “Listen, it’s just one game. You drop two passes. Miss a route. Let your bestie QB take the sack. You know, nothing obvious.” He’s got a dirty grin because he knows my entire career has been protecting my QB, working toward something the three of us have been dreaming for, and the league hasn’t ever seen. Letting someone through is not something I’ve ever done.
“It’s a rivalry game.”
Rhett shrugs. “And your dad’s got a gun to his ribs, metaphorically speaking, or maybe not. You want your mom to bury him before Christmas?”
I flinch.
He takes a drag of his cigarette, then narrows his eyes at me. “No one’s making you do this. But let’s be honest. If it gets out that a kingpin paid your tuition, you’re done. You’re not going pro with a blown-out history behind you. You need clean PR and a league-friendly face. It’s what they’ve built here for you, what your sister has been growing for years now.” His leering grin after mentioning her makes me uneasy, but his eyes continue to bore into me, like I should be sorry I’m a good athlete. “You were born on the right side of the field, Papas. If I were in your shoes, I’d do the same. Make your way, star. We can’t all be as good as you.”
I swallow hard, not liking his tone.
“You need this cleaned up, and you need to do it now. Before your good ol’ dad takes you down another road you can’t afford to be on.”
I look down at my hands, hands that can catch anything.
Except a break.
I nod once.
Rhett drops the cigarette, crushes it under his boot, and begins to walk away like nothing happened.
“Hey,” I call out. He turns, but doesn’t say anything. “How do I know you won’t rat on me?”
