I shrugged. “I doubt it.”
Willa grinned then. “I’d love to see her face when she hears it.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. We walked up the steps to the seats she had reserved, and I was happy to see we weren’t too high up. Brady could easily see me. It was just finding me in this crowd that would take some time.
My stomach was in a nervous knot as the players warmed up on the field. Tonight would be the hardest one yet for Brady.
Get Off My Field
CHAPTER 42
BRADY
Seeing Riley in the stands wasn’t enough to keep my father’s presence on the sidelines from screwing with me. He had moved to stand with the coaches as if he had the right to. Did he think this would make me play better? That seeing him there was the support I needed?
The pass was incomplete again, and we were out of chances. Defense would step in now and try to recover some momentum for us. I jerked my helmet off and walked over to the water. I was avoiding my father at all costs.
“Brady!” Coach called my name. That was the one voice I couldn’t ignore.
I turned to him.
He was stalking toward me. “What the hell is wrong, son? You were off the first part of last week, but that was nothing like this week. You can’t complete shit.”
I saw my father following him and realized he was going to say something too. I couldn’t do this. Not here. He needed to leave.
“At this rate, we won’t be able to come back after halftime with a miracle. Where is your head?”
I pointed toward the man coming toward us. “Why is he on the damn field?”
Coach turned to see my father, then back at me with a frown. “Your dad?”
“He doesn’t play football; he’s not a coach. Do you see anyone else’s dad down here? He needs to get the fuck up in the stands, where he belongs.”
“Brady!” my father’s voice boomed with warning that I rarely heard from him.
“Don’t you dare correct me, you cheating sack of shit. I don’t want you here! I don’t need you here. I can’t stand the fucking sight of you!” I was screaming now, and some of my teammates could hear me. I just didn’t care.
He stilled at my tirade and stared at me in disbelief. Was it because I was yelling at him or because I’d called him a cheater? I wasn’t sure.
“You need to leave the field, Boone. There are obviously family issues here, and y’all can get that shit settled off the field. But tonight I need the boy’s head in the game. You’re affecting it.”
“We need to talk about this. You don’t know everything,” Dad said, his voice lowered.
I took a step toward him and glared at him eye to eye. “I fucking saw you. I. Saw. You. With. Her. Get out of my face. Get off my field. And leave.”
I waited until he blinked and looked away from me. He understood. Without a word he walked past me and toward the exit. I wanted to vomit. Again. Talking to my father like that was hard. Hating him so much was painful. We’d been close my entire life.
This was like ripping off a part of my body and tossing it away. I turned to the stands to see Riley standing up. Her gaze was locked on me, and I could see the concern from here. She looked like she was about to bolt down here. The idea of that actually made me smile. Not a big one, but enough to remind me I wasn’t alone. She was there.
“Can you do this?” Coach asked me, bringing me back to the problem at hand.
“I don’t know,” I told him honestly.
He sighed and ran his hand over his almost-bald head. “I can’t play Hunter yet. He’s not ready for this.”
They all needed me. This was on my shoulders. It wasn’t my dad’s dream. It was mine. No one could take my dream or claim it as their own. Riley had taught me that. She was right. I took a deep breath and looked back up at her one more time. I gave her a small nod to let her know I was okay. Then I looked for my mom. My father hadn’t gone back to sit by her. She was watching me too. I gave her the same nod, then turned back to my coach.
“I’m ready.”
He studied me a moment. “Thank God.”
West was waiting for me. He hadn’t come over to us, but I knew he’d been watching carefully.
“Something is seriously fucked-up. You gonna be okay?” he said as I stood beside him.
I shrugged. “I can play now. But no, I doubt I’ll be okay for a long time.”
“This has to do with your dad?”
I just nodded.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Yeah, fuck,” I agreed.
Our defense stopped them from scoring and Gunner’s eyes made contact with me. “You good?”
“Enough to win this game,” I told him. Then the three of us jogged out to the field with the others on the offensive line. It was time to score. I had to even the scoreboard before halftime, and I had four minutes and thirty-six seconds to do it in.