Page 24 of Single Dad Dilemma
“Thanks, Coach.”
Bridget tapped her watch before she left the room, and I nodded, folding my arms over my chest before turning to face Archer, who was still watching Wren as she hustled down the hallway.
“She hates me.”
“Well, you did just about give her a concussion, so I’m not sure I can blame her.”
He crossed his arms, too, mimicking me, and I took the measure of his facial expression.
“You were supposed to come see me this morning,” I said.
Archer’s jaw was tight, his mouth firm, and his stance prepped for a lashing. “Got busy in the weight room. Saw you in here and thought I’d see if you can talk now.”
“I can’t,” I told him. “I always take a call from my kids at three thirty, and I never miss it.”
“Look, I know you’re pissed at me about the game,” he said, dropping his arms and setting his hands on his hips, a defensive gesture that wasn’t lost on me.
“I’m not pissed, Archer.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You looked pissed.”
“I was disappointed,” I amended.
His eyes flickered, face closing off immediately. “I was standing up for my team.”
“And I need you to be a leader. Not an instigator.” I dropped my arms, too, hoping that instead of defensiveness, he saw it as a softening. “We can’t always do whatever we want out there. Your teammates require a level head for game management. Preparation during the week so that you can override the impulses and rely on your training.”
“Aren’t my instincts what got me here?” he asked with a slight tilt to his head. “No one’s questioned them untilyougot here.”
“Yes. And as we get older, we hone those instincts until they’re a weapon. If we don’t, it’s just unrealized potential.”
He let out a short scoff, frustration weighing down the sound until it dropped like a lead weight between us.
“You’re the last player in every morning. You spend half the time in the film room that you should. You’ve missed meetings,” I told him. “We’ve had to fine you multiple times for other offenses too.”
“And last season, the team had three wins.” His chin jutted out. “We’ll finish over five hundred this year if we win out, and we have a shot at the playoffs.”
I held his gaze. “And that’s great progress, Archer, but I’m not satisfied with just over five hundred—orrelying on other teams to lose in order togetthat playoff shot. I want championships, and I think you do too. You and I have to work together if we expect that to happen, and you cannot keep skating by on your arm alone.”
“And my legs,” he said lightly. “They’re not bad.”
Irritation flared, and I had a memory of a conversation like this with my brother in college. He never seemed to take things seriously, and I’d never been able to wrap my brain around that.
“I need you to do better, Archer,” I told him, voice low and serious. “Not because they’re paying you an unholy amount of money, but because you are smart and fast, and were born with the kind of talent most guys can only dream of. And because you don’t want your legacy in this league to be a guy who peaked in college and couldn’t put in the work once things got serious. It’s never going to be easy. It shouldn’t be, not if you want to be the best. But right now, I can’t tell that you want much of anything except a paycheck. And you get that whether you’re on the field or not.”
The arrow hit its mark, color creeping up his cheeks and his mouth flattening.
“I’m still the starter,” he said. “As long as you’re here, your wagon is hitched to mine, Coach.”
My eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re the starter ... for now.”
He exhaled in a short burst. “You wouldn’t bench me.”
“Wouldn’t I?” I crossed my arms and held his gaze.
Archer let out a quiet laugh. “No, you won’t. Because everyone would question your sanity if you did. You wouldn’t risk your job—or your reputation—to prove that point. You want everyone to think you’re perfect.”
The sharp thwack of his comment caught me somewhere between my ribs, dead center bull’s-eye, but I kept my face impassive.
