Fallen Crest Forever (Fallen Crest Series Book 7)(70)

I nodded. I had no other choice.

Coach took a deep breath. The nerves were getting to him. He kept squinting—that’s what he did when he was agitated about something.

“I’m going to do everything possible to keep you on the team,” he said. “You might have to do some suspensions, but I’m still going to try.”

It wouldn’t matter. If that happened, no NFL team would touch me. This was the only card I had to play, if I even wanted to attempt to stay in the game. I knew the odds. They weren’t good. I was just hoping for hope right now. That was all.

“I’m ready.”

“Okay.”

Coach reached for the door, but I heard a slight hitch in his voice. That wasn’t normal. He never showed emotion, and hearing that now, I hung my head.

“Mason.” Broozer touched my shoulder, holding me back. “Are you sur—”

“I’m sure, Coach.”

“No, I meant, are you sure you don’t want Logan or your girlfriend here? I understand that you’re trying to spare them in some way, but if Taylor were going through something like this, I’d want to be there for her.”

“That’s your daughter. You’re being a good dad.”

“She’s family. They’re your family.”

Maybe. Maybe I should’ve told them when it was happening. They were at home, expecting me to come back after talking everything out with the coaches, and then we’d call a press conference later tonight. But when I left the house, I knew it wasn’t going down that way. I told the coaches and asked them right then and there to call the media. I wanted it done before Logan and Sam had any idea.

Coach was still waiting, ready to open the door, and I said again, “I’m ready.”

We stepped out, and the room grew quiet. The flashing lights remained constant. The press room was usually hot and stuffy, but not this time. A cool breeze swept through the room like someone had propped the door open, or maybe it was just me. Maybe this time I wasn’t hot and sweaty from a game.

It didn’t matter. None of that did.

I’d expected to be alone when I walked out here. I wasn’t. Both coaches sat beside me. They didn’t say anything. This was all me, but it meant something that they were there. It meant a lot, and I was man enough to wish that either of these guys had been my father. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been in this position. But that wasn’t right. Maybe I wouldn’t have had Sam if that was the case, and if there were a choice between her and anything else, I would always choose Sam.

She was the only direction that made sense to me.

“What’s this about, Coach?”

It was go time.

The reporters jostled to get their mics closer.

Coach pointed to me. “Mason asked you guys to be here. This is his show, and no matter what you hear, I ask you to remain respectful.” He glanced to me.

That was my cue.

I looked at the room, but I didn’t speak right away. This was the end of one part of my life. Emotions surged up in me, and I stomped them down. My problem. My mess to clean up.

“Mason?” It was the same reporter who asked the first question. He had a friendship with Coach, and as he’d softened his tone a bit, I had a hunch he already knew what this was about.

This reporter, he was being cautious right now, but he’d called me by my first name. He acted like we were friends. I didn’t even know the guy, and I looked over the rest of them. They were all the same. They’d been like this since I came to Cain U. They called me by my first name. They gave me friendly smiles, joked like we were all pals. Then they’d go back and write whatever kind of article suited their magazine. Some were scathing, some were reluctantly respectful, and yeah, sometimes they were nice articles.

Okay. Fine. They wanted to act like we were friends, then I was going to make them my friends right now. Or I was going to try.

I cleared my throat and leaned toward the mic on the table.

“Tomorrow, a magazine is going to print a story that says I was given special privileges because of my athletic ability and because of my father’s wealth.”

An interested buzz started to filter through the room. Any dull or glazed eyes sharpened now. Almost as one, everyone moved a little closer.

“I wanted to come out before the article appears and tell you what part of it isn’t true.” I paused. The one reporter’s frown deepened. “And I wanted to tell you what parts of it are true.”

Both my coaches turned to me.

Broozer hissed under his breath, “Mason!”

The mic caught it, and the room shifted once again. An underlying seriousness filled the air. This was a real story, and as I watched, one by one, they drew out their notepads.