“No—” I stop myself. I need to be honest. My need for approval is what got me into this mess in the first place. “Yes. I don’t want to play ball in Pittsburgh.”
He goes rigid, face hard as stone. His blue eyes, so like my own, search my face as if he thinks this might be a joke. “I don’t understand,” he finally says, lifting a hand from the table. It’s not a dismissive wave, more like a gesture to signal confusion. Can’t blame him. I’ve never said the words to anyone but Kennedy before.
“I don’t want to play ball in Pittsburgh,” I repeat. “Pittsburgh is your legacy, Dad. I’ll always love the city and the fans and the franchise, but I want to make my own mark in the NFL.”
“It’s always been your dream to play ball in Pittsburgh. What’s changed?” He frowns, the expression cutting deep lines into his forehead. “Is this about that girl?”
My temper flares, but I swallow it down. “This has nothing to do with Kennedy,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice even. The last thing we need is a scene. The papers would be all over it. “This is about me and what I want. It’s never been my dream to play ball in Pittsburgh. That was your dream. And Mom’s.”
He leans back, deflating faster than a New England football. “But we thought you wanted it too.”
“I know. I should’ve spoken up sooner.” I wipe my palms on my thighs. “I didn’t want to let you guys down. Especially Mom.” My voice cracks on the last word. My father’s eyes lock on mine, and I know we’re both remembering her as she was before the cancer ravaged her body, vibrant and full of energy. Our biggest fan.
“Your mother and I just wanted what was best for you.”
“Pittsburgh isn’t what’s best for me.” I reach across the table and rest my hand on top of his. It’s clumsy and awkward and it just reinforces the gap Mom left in our family. “I don’t want to spend my life living in your shadow. Do you know what it’s like being compared to you week in and week out? You’re a legend. You hold so many records and you’ve done so much philanthropy. The fans love you. It’s a lot of pressure to live up to.”
He blinks and understanding dawns in his eyes. “And it will only intensify if you’re playing for my old franchise.”
I pull my hand back and shrug. My silence speaks volumes.
“Son, you’re one hell of a football player. You’ll probably break every record I set one day, and nothing would make me prouder,” he says, giving me a faint smile, “but I guess I never stopped to think about the pressure you’re under.”
“It’s not your fault—”
He raises a hand to cut me off. “Yes, it is. Your mother and I wanted what’s best for you, but we should’ve asked what you wanted—I should have asked what you wanted—because you’re our son first and foremost.” His voice hitches when he speaks again. “Losing your mom was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through and I…I threw myself into making that dream come true because it felt like keeping a piece of her alive. But I know that more than anything, she’d want you to be happy.”
Tears prick the back of my eyes. It’s probably the most honest conversation we’ve had in the six years since my mom died.
“What a mess we’ve made,” he says, shaking his head. It’s rare my father admits making a mistake. This feels like a big admission, but it’s not just his mistake. It’s mine too. I should’ve been honest from the start, but I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, no holding back. I’m going to speak from the heart, even if it makes me the sappiest SOB to ever play the game. “All this time. Well, I’ll support you no matter where you play ball, but there’s always a chance Pittsburgh will draft you.”
“I know,” I say, drumming my fingers on the table. “And if it happens, I’ll sign with a smile. Just…don’t interfere. Let things play out naturally, okay?”
“Of course.” He narrows his eyes. “But I’ve got to know, is there a team you’ve got your eye on?”
I laugh, the sound exploding from my chest as the weight of the conversation is lifted. “Let’s just say I’d look pretty damn good in orange and navy.”
After breakfast, I swing by the football building. Coach’s optional workout doesn’t start for another hour, so I should be able to catch him before he hits the field. I pass by the guys suiting up in the locker room and head straight for his office. I knock on the open door and he looks up, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“You decided to come out after all.”
“I’m not here to practice,” I tell him, solidifying my resolve. His face falls and he gestures for me to take a seat, but I remain standing. I won’t be here long and I’m pressed for time. “I’m here to thank you for your advice, sir. I appreciate your thoughts on the potential in Chicago and your unwavering confidence in me. I know I said my future was in Pittsburgh,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck, “but I’ve come to realize there’s no one path to success. I’ve talked it over with my father. I’d love to meet with Chicago’s coaching staff at the combine, and I’d be honored if they call my name in April, but there’s something more important than football I need to do today.”
Coach’s brows knit in an angry V. “What the hell could be more important than football?”
“My future.” He looks perplexed, but I doubt he’d be impressed by the truth. The man eats, sleeps, and breathes football. I doubt he’s ever loved anyone or anything as much as he loves the game. It’s a mistake I don’t plan on making. “I hope you’ll give my regards to the Chicago scout.”
He throws up his hands in defeat, and I take it as a good sign.
“Thanks, Coach.”
I start dialing my teammates as soon as I leave Coach’s office, my mood lighter than it’s been in ages. I’ve got some recruiting to do if I’m going to win back my girl.
48
KENNEDY
The auditorium is packedas we take our seats in the third row. I’m wedged in between Enzo and Mom, but that doesn’t stop Becca from reaching over to pat me on the leg.
