“I bought an apartment in Tribeca. It’s very nice. One day you should both come visit.”
My father frowned. “I hope you’re not throwing away money on frivolous things. I recall seeing you on the television in a sports car. Highly unnecessary in the city.”
My temper flared, but outwardly I kept my cool. “Well, I hardly think real estate in the city is frivolous. I majored in economics and business management. Knowing I’d be making a lot of money, I wanted to make sure I understood my finances.” I thought they’d be impressed and that it would alleviate some of their anger at my choice of career. “I’m fully aware that playing sports is for a limited time, and this way I have a viable degree.”
“I still find it hard to understand.” My mother sighed, disapproval and disappointment oozing from her every pore.
“What?”
“Why you chose this route when you could’ve been anything you wanted. You’re intelligent, and yet you’re wasting your life throwing a ball.”
My eyes narrowed. “Football is way beyond a physical game. It’s psychological. You have to memorize plays and understand your opponent. We learn people skills and how to work as a team. I do a lot more than simply throwing a ball.”
“Most of these players can’t even speak proper English. They get arrested for drugs or violent crimes. These aren’t the people you should be associating with. Even though you didn’t apply yourself as we’d hoped, with our name, you could’ve attended any university, and yet you chose some no-name, backwater place.”
Their snobbery was astonishing. I thought of Lovell, raised by a single mother who’d worked two jobs to put him and his six brothers and sisters through school—every one of them a success. Dante’s parents, both in law enforcement, who made him call home every night so they knew he was safe, and text them that he’d landed safely after every flight. And Brody’s mother, who’d barely had two nickels to rub together but was rich in love.
It took all my strength of will to remain calm. “My backwater place has one of the finest football programs in the country. I did the best I could in high school—I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations. But I love playing football. It’s all I ever wanted. Can’t you be happy for me that I’m living my dream?”
My mother didn’t answer but rose to her feet, and I stood with her. “I’m going to rest before dinner.” She walked away, leaving my father and me alone. Figuring he wasn’t going to add anything of value to the conversation, I turned to leave.
“Devlin.”
I stopped and faced him. “Yes, sir?”
“Now that your mother’s left the room, let’s talk, man to man.”
Curious and a little amused, I returned to my seat. “What about?”
His green eyes met mine. “I’ve heard stories of how wild the lives of ball players are. I hope you’re taking precautions.”
Oh, this was fun. At the age of twenty-three, I was finally getting the lecture from my father about the facts of life. I blinked, pretending innocence. “Precautions? What do you mean? Like security?”
“No,” he huffed. “Sex. As in protection. You don’t want to get one of those bimbos pregnant. Your mother and I would never accept that. Your name has come up in passing among my colleagues, and it would be highly embarrassing to have to explain how a son of mine could be stupid enough to fall for that old trap.” He pointed a finger at me and lowered his voice. “Don’t think with your cock. Wrap it up.”
Stunned by my father’s language, I couldn’t help laughing at the irony of the situation. “Don’t worry. I promise you, I will never get a woman pregnant. I’m going to mynewroom.”
This time when I walked out, he didn’t stop me.
**
Saturday night, the three of us entered the benefit. I, ever the dutiful son, two steps behind my parents, stood aside and watched as they were interviewed and had their pictures taken on the step and repeat. A murmur rose from the crowd, and my heart sank. As anticipated, several press people recognized me.
“That’s Devlin Summers, the football player. He’s their son.”
“Devil, look this way.”
“Devil, can we get your picture with your parents?”
“Devil, what’re your team’s chances for the Super Bowl this year?”
Devil, Devil, Devil.
I could see my mother grow stiff and the storm of anger rise in my father’s eyes. I put my hands up. “This night isn’t about me. I’m here to support my father’s donation of his books and papers, as well as my parents’ extremely generous gift to the library. And I’d like to match that amount, in my parents’ names. Public libraries are the backbone of our educational system, especially for anyone who’s unable to afford to buy books.”
The cameras didn’t stop clicking and flashing, and I couldn’t wait to walk away. I joined my parents, who stood on a receiving line to welcome people. The moment I appeared, the microphones switched to me, and the questions turned to me. I rushed to shut them down.
“Sorry, everyone. I’m not here as a sports figure tonight, and I don’t plan to answer any questions. As I said before, I’m here solely to support my parents. Please respect that.” I walked away, proud of myself for adhering to my parents’ wishes. The thing was, I agreed with them. This night wasn’t about me. I escaped to the reception area, heading straight to the bar, where I ordered a Reposado with lime and stood surveying the crowd.
