Page 106 of Nothing Less Than Everything

More, if sex counted as cardio. For me and Wren, it did. The woman was insatiable.

“How’s your home life?” he asked, flipping the script. Coach Tyson leaned back in his desk chair. “Your dad been giving you hell this season with you being back on this side of the country?”

I thought about all the calls and emails I’d ignored over bye week, and the four text messages that had shown up while I was on the practice field today. “No more than usual.”

“You’ve got a girlfriend, don’t you?”

I flinched. I wasn’t sure if Coach caught it or not, but I quickly steeled my spine. I could tell a white lie here and there, but Coach Tyson was a notorious bullshit detector. “Yeah.”

“How’s it going?”

I looked at the clock. If he had a point, he was going to need to make it before my stomach started eating the rest of my organs. “Good.”

“Y’all serious?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.” It had to be serious when so much was on the line.

Coach clasped his hands together, his thumbs tapping an erratic pattern. His gaze was scrutinizing, as if he were waiting for me to crack. Finally, he sighed, swiped through his tablet, and pulled up a photo. “This was brought to my attention.”

He turned the tablet around and tilted it up. “Other photos have shown up in my inbox, but this one is public.”

One of Heidi Carmichael’s social media pages was front and center. On it, a photo of her outside a restaurant in Antigua, posing next to a blonde who was aware enough of the camera to keep her face out of the photo. It looked natural—like two friends out for a bite, laughing and having a good time.

Because it had been.

Gideon was the one who took that photo. The girls were a little wine-drunk and Heidi had insisted.

“I’m hearing rumors,” Coach said. “Rumors of you breaking team rules.”

Anger flared through my veins, but I kept it tamped down. If I jumped down his throat, I’d look guilty.

“Who’s the woman?” he clipped.

“Heidi’s friend.” Bile rose in my throat.

“Were you there?”

“Yes.”

He pointed to the screen. “Is this a fine waiting to happen?” It wasn’t lost on me that Coach didn’t say her name. Didn’t ask if she was the cheerleader from the preseason game. Coach Tyson knew damn well who Wren was. He had been in the room when we had been told to smile for the cameras and play up the chemistry. If anything, the team was as culpable as we were.

Coach knew.

I stood and hunched over, bracing my hands on the edge of the desk. If I wasn’t careful, I’d snap the trim off. “If you want to know who I’m seeing, you’ll just have to camp outside my condo like the fucking vultures who’ve been sitting out there all goddamn season.”

Coach didn’t flinch. “Mike wants you back next season. I want you back next season. I believe Ms. Fuller received the initial numbers for a two-year guaranteed contract, but you’ll have to check with her on that.” He pointed a finger in my face. “A fine is a slap on the wrist for a guy like you. Think of the legacy you want to leave when you hang up your jersey for the last time. Do you want to be a legend—knock your old man out of the history books—or do you want to be remembered as the guy who hooked up with a cheerleader?”

The urge to explode into a ball of fury was snuffed by a singular thought. “If my legacy is loving her, then it’s a life well lived.” I turned to storm out of his office.

“Tatum,” Coach snapped, rising from his chair. “Like I said. It’s a rumor. I have no reason to investigate petty gossip or unsolicited photos that get emailed to me.” He cut his eyes at the door as a clump of interns scurried by. His voice lowered, and all traces of frustration vanished. “This is me watching your blindside. Got it?”

Wren’s standing on the squad floated to mind. It wasn’t just her spot she’d lose, it was her reputation. And unlike me, she didn’t have stats to make it up. She was a blip on the screen. To some extent, we all were. Replaceable. Disposable.

If someone was injured, there was a deep bench waiting for some action.

But Wren’s place with the Ladies in Red was one of the last connections she had with her mom. It kept her father tuning into games rather than sinking into grief. He had told me as much when we visited him on our way back to Providence.

Ralph said that going to the stadium brought up too many memories, but watching the games and getting a glimpse of his daughter on TV gave him a chance to reminisce from the safety of his home.

---