Demi’s here.
The second half flies by, and thankfully we leave with the victory. I’m happy to win every single time, but today it feels even sweeter as I step out of the locker room and head toward the exit. I don’t anticipate seeing anyone as I’m leaving since I’m one of the final few out of the stadium, but low and behold, my father is standing outside the double doors chatting with one of the athletic trainers.
My brother, Landyn, is nowhere to be found, which only irritates me as seeing him would’ve been the only reason I would’ve accepted a run-in with my father.
I say good night to the trainer, but my father’s eyes meet mine, and I stop once I get to my truck. He no doubt weaseled his way into being allowed beyond the gate that’s usually only for players and staff.
In the parking lot to the left, I see a couple of the production crew packing up and notice Demi standing outside of her black SUV chatting with one of her colleagues. Her heels from earlier nowhere in sight, just slippers on the pavement, and I fucking love to see it.
“Liam.” My father’s stern voice brings my attention back to him. “What’d I tell you about their defense, huh?”
“They were solid,” I agree. “Thankfully, my guys were ready.”
He shoves both hands in his pockets, and I stare at his body language. Smug. Arrogant. And I pray that, even though we share similar features, I looknothinglike the man in front of me.
“Where’s Landyn?” I ask.
“He’s going to get a table at Lambert’s.”
I nod, knowing he wouldn’t want any witnesses around when he starts insulting me at some point in this conversation.
“You’re welcome to join us. Might be a good idea if you do.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, you and I don’t get out much together.”
I scoff. “You mean we aren’t photographed together enough for your image?” I open my door, tossing my bag into the truck.
I’ve showered and changed, but I still feel sweaty as I stand here. My jeans feel like they’re clinging to every piece of my legs and I want to take off my hat and whip it across the parking lot. But it’s him. He’s making every fiber of my being feel like it’s irritated. On fire. Like I’m an angry, upset teenager all over again.
“Watch your mouth, Liam. It’s in bad taste to start running it.”
I cock my head back with a laugh. I’ve learned over the years to take his verbal beatings, but something lately has me wanting to hit back.
“You thought I’d get slammed today. Hell, you were probably rooting for it.”
“I’d never root for my son to get taken down. You had a good game.” His compliment stuns me into silence until he keeps talking. “It proves how well I’ve taught you. Although if I had to guess your passer rating is around ninety-five.”
“One twenty-four point six.”
The voice is soft, but stern.
It’s full of pride and compassion.
We both turn toward the fence. I know he’s unable to fully see who it is, but I’d recognize that voice anywhere. I hear it in my head daily.
Demi is standing there, one hand propped on her hip, the other holding her phone. Slippers on her feet and her once perfectly bouncing ponytail now in a messier bun on the top of her head.
Her silhouette glows against the lights, brightening the parking lot around us.
“I’m sorry?” my dad questions, taking two steps before stopping.
“His passer rating,” she calls. “It’s not ninety-five. It’s one hundred and twenty-four point six.”
My chest swells with admiration for her.
“Huh.” An amused sound comes from him as he looks down at his feet and then back up at me.
